This Hungry Season

After dinner this evening I decided to walk off some of the rich, spicy Japanese curry I had just gorged on. There is nothing like a good walk after a big meal, especially on a new Spring night. I walked slowly, deciding to cut through Fuxing Park, with its reluctant palms still wrapped in winter's rope. Everywhere were lovers and friends, young and old, walking, sitting, and cycling in their way. The park's leafy paths were a murmuring shadow world of secrets. Intoxicated by all this rebound and rebirth, I strayed further than I wanted and got lost in the maze of walkways, finally finding myself on handsome Sinan Lu. Not caring in the least, I continued along this august corridor of plane trees, with their twisting camouflage trunks. The walking felt wonderful, and I suddenly wanted a coffee. I decided to double back and stop in at Figaro Cafe, hoping to grab a day old copy of The Herald Tribune while I was at it.
I don't know why I was so hungry tonight. Perhaps it was the weather. The past few days have been sun steeped and almost hot. The nights are trickier, as the damp winds blow through the old streets and make you reconsider that slim jacket, stylish though it may be. I decided to sit outside at the cafe and watch the people go by. There is never any shortage of people to look at in Shanghai. Slowly sipping the strong coffee, I perused the front page of the 'Mei guo bao' (American paper) and quickly decided it was too lovely a night to worry about the insanity of our times. I quickly read Doonesbury on the back page, and with a smile curling my lips I folded it up and put it into my bag.
The young Filipino waiter came out and started folding up the umbrellas and chairs, thoughtfully saving mine for last. A few lights went out inside and I found myself in near darkness. A car pulled into the space right in front of me and a busy little woman got out to inspect her parallel parking job - not a good one. But she seemed satisfied, and I quickly thought of a story someone told me about buying licenses and not having to take the test if you could afford it. Just then the meter maid appeared out of nowhere, amazingly still on the job.
'Do xiao chien?' Asked the small, lively woman. How much? The woman looked suspiciously at the meter maid, understandably unhappy that there was someone out collecting money at that time of night. I looked at my watch and saw that it was just past ten o'clock.
As the last lights of the cafe went out I crossed the road and turned the corner onto Danshui Lu. Within moments I had been nearly sideswiped by a junk collector's overburdened three wheeler - on the sidewalk naturally. As he pedalled by he spat the stub of his cigarette out, cleared his throat, and spat - not at me, or even near me, but close enough to let me know he'd seen me. His look told me he knew what his lot in life was, and exactly how much he could get away with. I chuckled out loud, letting him know I also knew. In this situation, no matter what anger I may display I am always ultimately simpatico.
As I crossed Zizhong Lu the life of the street instantly took on a new urgency. Add a few people and a street can become a neighborhood just like that. The owner of the shabby little restaurant near the corner was sweeping out the day's crusts and crumbs into the gutter. Across the road the old ladies were in their battered chairs in front of the corner store, like so many sentries. Just next to them a woman came out of the closed up tobacco shop; peeking in I could see that the regular card game had moved inside. She was wearing a pair of red flannel pajamas with a pattern of small teddy bears, a pink cardigan sweater, and house slippers. Noticing that I was peering into the sanctuary of their game, she quickly coughed, spat, and turned back to the gambling. Not a movement was wasted, and everything had a meaning.
About halfway up the block I started to realise that it was indeed chilly, and was thankful for the close proximity to my own building. All the shops along Danshui Lu were closing up for the night and throwing anything and everything out into the street for the sweepers to pick up later. Outside of the biggest fruiterer's shop I saw a fat calico cat rubbing up against a disused wooden crate - looking like it couldn't make its mind up whether to stay in or out for the night. A few steps later something caught my eye among the refuse of the gutter. It was a small dead cat - not much more than a kitten - and was in an awkward pose, as if it were prancing along a back alley fence, but frozen in time. It's orange fur was dirty and caked against its scrawny frame.
Just then I heard some rambunctious voices behind me, and heard a loud slap followed by hearty laughter. As the shadows caught up with me I was suddenly abreast of three teenagers in the full swing of happy camaraderie. One of them had obviously just clapped his friend just a little too hard on the back and they were rough housing. As they passed me they kept looking back over their shoulders, telling me instantly that they had been running gags and being rowdy all along the block. Two of the boys were wearing windbreakers and the third, a chubby kid, had on an ill-fitting tweed jacket. The other two were obviously giving him a hard time about his choice of attire, and trying to pull his blazer off. They were laughing happily, and started running up the block for no other reason than they were young and excited on a Spring night.
Waiting for the light to change at the corner of Fuxing Lu, I noticed that the two boys had shamed their friend into taking his jacket off amidst much joking and laughter. Then the light changed and they took off running up the street, but the heavy kid was breathing hard and kept walking, holding his jacket at his side. The other two were calling back to him and taunting, but he kept his pace knowingly. I knew then that they were heading to Jianguo Lu, and its many 'Pink Houses' - barber shops where you can get just about anything but a haircut. Nothing else could explain this level of hilarity, hope, and nerves. The fat kid suddenly started to shuffle along a bit faster, calling to his pals. He almost broke into a light jog, but somehow his body was against him. He was sweating and mopping his neck; yelling to his friends who were by now almost a block ahead of him. They were well out of sight now as I crossed the road to my building, but still he didn't run. Surely they have a plan, I thought, and they will know where to meet up.