Friday Night at Hong Bin Lo

It was not the first time. Such things are part of this life. A Friday: an inauspicious day for such things, under a nascent moon. The moon fills with water at this time of year. Even a Spanish Moon. The Gwailos do not believe, save for a very few. Our science is as old as time, our elements those of even their antiquity. But the Gwailos are our living, however little they know. The customer receives respect, regardless of desert. Many came, that night. The beginning of their month had recently arrived. Cash in their pockets and greed in their bodies. Senyue, third month, is how we call it, although sometimes it is known as Peachmonth, for the blossom that grows at home. The English Gwailos call it May. It is how they ask permission, if they are polite.

By the hour of ten, all our tables were full. My husband was helping in the kitchen. Two nephews were attending to the needs of the customers. They are young, but they are family - and they are inexpensive. One table, large and round, had been occupied since the doors were opened. Three men and a woman, all past the years of fruitfulness, but yet to reach wisdom. These Gwailos were drunk, as is their way on Fridays, Saturdays and holy days. Especially if they are the English. The Spanish come only for 'para llevar': they eat their food at home, in front of their raucous television. Some esteemed clients had arrived shortly before 10. This is their time to come and they come on Fridays always. I had hoped they would be able to sit far from the round table They are not English Gwailos. They come from somewhere half a world away, as my own home is. It was unfortunate, they took the only free table.

Truly, they do not see us, the English Gwailos. At least, not when blinded by spirits. The most drunken of the four English smelled even worse than other Gwailos. How do they not smell the sour milk? Even so, he did smell worse. A smoker of pipes, the pipe never left his hand although he had to go outside to smoke it. A vile stench of the cheapest of tobaccos lingered like fog around him. He stood up, unsteady as a leaf in the wind, his eyes narrow and unblinking. He passed too close to other customers, using an unwelcome hand on a shoulder to help him on his way. I clapped my hands, Jin and Jun brought complimentary drinks to the customers the drunken man had touched. Do they not understand the insult of touching? I thought. But I have always known that they don't. Since the border crossing into the New Territories. I am no longer fourteen, but I do not forget.

There was another couple, that Friday night. I was sure they could not be married. The man had snow upon the roof and the woman most assuredly had the embers still burning in the hearth. Not for long, even so. Her clothing was not subtle: her chest, trapped in the skin of a tiny leopard, seemed on the point of escape at any moment. The couple sat near to the door. It was inevitable the drunken man would pass them. The woman leered at him, as a cat would at a rat. Of course, the drunken man paused on his route to the terrace. Who would not have done so? Certainly not a Gwailo. He sat down with the grace of a rhinoceros. The table shook, spilling the old man's beer. I clapped my hands once again. Jin came with a cloth and Jun with another beer. There was shouting. The drunken man was not welcome, at least not for Snow Roof. His younger friend had skin as dark as polished wood, her teeth shone, even under the restaurant's lights. The man would not leave despite Snow Roof's harsh words. One of his companions stood up and helped him to the terrace. The others laughed and the sneering might have been for their friend or the couple, I could not tell.

Snow Roof and She-Leopard left shortly afterward. I said nothing as they counted each coin onto the metal tray until the sum on the bill was covered. There may have been a scuffle on the terrace, but there were no customers on it, and so I did not investigate. After too few minutes, Pipe-Man stumbled back to the table with his friends. They had long finished their foo yung and curry. It is strange how they believe that we would eat such things. Their bill would be a reckoning. Balance would come.

The Not-English were quiet; they spoke only in whispers and showed their backs to the room. I felt sad that their qi had been disturbed by such low people. The Not-English were of course polite, when I served them their food. Perhaps they noticed that I, and not Jin and Jun, had brought the duck and vegetables to their table.

Jin had the misfortune to present the bill to the drunken table. I saw him pale at the first shout. The wave of my hand despatched Jin to join Jun to the rear of the room, I bowed at the side of the table. The bill was most fastidiously correct, as it always must be, with the Gwailos. They protested that it was not so. I bowed again, and listed their consumption. It was no surprise that they could not follow the litany and that their eyes crossed with the effort of doing so. Pipe-Man took an unsteady lead, standing and pointing a wavering finger. His companions remained seated, a crow chorus. He became quite aggressive. The man told me that he believed I liked him and wondered how I could try to cheat him in such a way. A friend. I told him that in the world of work, money is one's only friend. He took a step backward, or perhaps he stumbled, before he lifted his hand. The Not-English man stood up and moved behind me, an English man came from another table. They said that they would defend me, if necessary. I did not expect this.

The drunken man looked from the Not-English to the English: his lips moved many times before the words came out,

'Perhaps I made a mistake,' he said. They paid. The tip was one euro, in 5 centimo coins. One percent of the bill. I bowed to them as they left.

The Not-English couple left shortly after, foregoing a drink after their meal. I bowed low, and said,

'True friends are always welcome, please return soon.'

I winked at the woman, and hoped she understood.