Ghosts (Book 1 Part 1)

Part 1:
Shanghai

“From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring”

--Edgar Allen Poe

“Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful
Comes death on a strange hour
Unannounced, unplanned for
Like a scaring over-friendly guest you’ve
Brought to bed”

--Jim Morrison

Shanghai, I really don’t know what to tell you about it, Arthur. It was quite interesting to be there, but China is ancient and she holds many ghosts. It is hard to relax unless I am inebriated, as the euphoria also brings me a sense of peace, or maybe it just gives me a fuck-off attitude and I cease to care. If I were of a different sort, I might have very much enjoyed Shanghai compared to the vastly different culture in which I was brought up in. But…I am me.

The flight to Shanghai was rough. I have been many places in the world, but this was the first time I had used the skies to travel in several years. On the last international flight I had taken to the Philippines, I was allowed two bags in addition to my carry-on backpack. Well, I guess things had changed, and the guy behind the airline counter at LAX wanted another seventy dollars for my additional bag. I have no paper trail, so I have no credit cards. I do not even have a bank account from which I can use a debit card. The asshole had insisted on a credit card. It is so hard to use cash anymore, at least in the States. After negotiating with his manager, or whatever the hell she was, I was allowed to pay cash after approximately thirty minutes of people getting angry with me for holding up the line.

I had a layover in Vancouver. You have to love the Canadians. They have the ability to take all the bad legal habits of the States and somehow, almost magically, make them even worse. The flight had not offered me any meal, as it was approximately three hours. So, I looked forward to buying some shitty, expensive food at Canada’s airport in Vancouver. Well, they had no place to exchange my American dollars for Canadian dollars. So, I could not eat. Also, they have abandoned giving smokers any rights at all, just like their counterparts in the United States, so I could not smoke either. So, I sat around their Nazi airport for three hours with fantastical thoughts of food and cigarettes drifting through my mind.

I missed the airport in Tokyo where people still had some semblance of rights. They had a nice, albeit it enclosed, smoking area for those of us who think we still have the right to expose our lungs to toxins. Maybe the next time I hit Tokyo, the PC movement will have hit there first.

I probably complain too much, especially when I have never seen a ghost on an airplane. However, I am of the physical word, and I hate to fly. Every time we hit any sort of minor turbulence I am almost positive that the wings will rip off of the aircraft and we will all plummet to our deaths. That is quite ironic because most times I do not care if I die and many times I even wish it. There is something about being that far above the Earth and travelling at such a speed that seems to make me want to cling to the shattered and broken remnants of my life.

Upon my arrival in Shanghai, I had been awake for approximately two days. I find it difficult to sleep on airplanes, or at airports, or just in general regardless of the circumstances. Morpheus often eludes me. However, with my particular personality and all the inherent flaws that I embolden within myself, even after two days of no sleep, I wanted more of a nectoral fluid release into my blood stream than any sort of rest. I would much prefer the company of Dionysus than that of Morpheus.

*****

I saw Vera enter the hostel bar, as did any male not too into his drink to be completely oblivious to the sight of female beauty. Her dress was definitely Chinese, seemingly silk with Chinese characters patterned about it that had no relevance to me. Bright red though it was and all that conjures up in men’s minds about lights of a similar color, it was best described as conservative up top, but left enough of a view of her legs to not be entirely considered so. Black high-heels, probably giving her at least three inches of false height completed the relatively meager outfit and allowed all to know she was very much female. Her clothing seemed to have been made to specifically cling to her feminine proportions and she walked with such confidence that let all but the dullest in the room know without a doubt that she was unattainable to their sexual wants.

The ghost that was wandering around the room was but a child. She seemed to be doing something with an object or objects unknown to me, maybe a ball or dice. Who knows? I could not see what she played with. It appeared that she was rolling the invisible object, and then jumping about quite ecstatically. She almost looked like she wore the uniform of a Catholic school girl, yet she retained her image of being very young and innocent and not too Catholic. Maybe one of those Japanese School-girl outfits. I have difficulty differentiating between them. I had not heard of Chinese girls wearing them. She was what I refer to as a repeater. She seemed very content to be stuck in some eternal purgatory. Well, she never failed to smile and she always had a look of innocent enjoyment on her face. There is nothing I can do for repeaters. They continually repeat, like watching a video over and over. I’m not sure that they are eternally stuck like that, but I have not discovered a way to help them.

“There she is, Queen of Shanghai,” I slurred, forgetting the ghost for the moment and concentrating on the living beauty that was there for me, exclusively. I was as prematurely early to our rendezvous as Vera was fashionably late. And slurring is nothing new to me after dark, sometimes after daybreak.

“The Queen of Shanghai and the King of the Drunks. What a wonderful couple we would make.” Most of those of The Delphi Circle tend not to try to offend me with talk of my excessive drinking, but Vera always seemed to know how to bring up my habit without overly insulting me. I guess pretty girls have it easier than the rest of us.

“Have a seat, my lady; what news of The Circle have you brought me?” I pulled out the barstool next to mine while I was still seated. I realized belatedly in my false sense of chivalry that I ought to have gotten up to do so.

She seemed to take no heed or most likely just knew me well. As she sat, her smile made her pretty face quite beautiful and it conjured up memories of a few years prior. “How are you, Ulie? You seem to be doing well.”

“I still live and breathe. I assume you know why I’m here, Vera.”

“No hug?”

It had been too long and I often don’t know what to do when it has been too long. I immediately rose to my feet, as she did. We embraced briefly and seemingly robotically. “Sorry, Miss Wang,” I said as we both took our seats again.

“Ulie, it is no longer ‘Miss Wang,’ but now, ‘Mrs. Hirotoki.’”

That hit me hard even though Vera had no obligation to remain single on my account. When I get my drink in me, I am often considered to be a little irrational. “That sounds Japanese. Why did you marry a Jap?”

“Well…Ulie, I married a Jap because that is the person I fell in love with. My obligations to The Circle do not prevent me from marrying whomever I choose.”

The ghost of the young girl ran several steps then turned around and started giggling. I could hear no sound emanating from her apparition, but her open mouth and body language led me to conclude that she was giggling. She then stood in the middle of a table as her form was not physical, but the table was very much so. I assumed that when she died, the table was not in that location. Perhaps the hostel had not even been built.

“I guess it’s been a while. Sorry about the Jap thing. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Actually, it is quite all right. He hates Americans. So, you making ignorant racial remarks might be something he deserves offhandedly, even though he will never hear of it.”

“I thought Japanese and Chinese people hated each other and everyone loved Americans,” I stated lugubriously.

“Well, it is a good thing you are not often required to think.” She sat, contemplating me, looking me over slightly, but mostly her eyes were fixed on mine. I was well aware that she noticed the bags under my eyes and the unhealthy pallor my skin had taken on the last few months. “I’m worried about you, Ulie.”

The little Asian girl suddenly vanished, then appeared a few feet away. She started the cycle over again, like rewinding a video recurrently and watching it continuously. Repeater.

“This has been my lot in life. I accept it as thus. I thought that is why I got all the support from you folks.”

“You do get support from us,” she stated, taking my hand in hers. I didn’t realize how cold my hands had been until I felt the warmth of hers. Everything about her touch warmed my entire body, not just my hands. “You’ll get all the support you received before.” She slowly brought my hand up over her abdominal area and breasts to touch her face.

“You’re married to Mr. Fucktoki,” I regretted it before I even said it. But alcohol does wonders to your inhibitions, your manners, and your intelligence.

“Ulie, you seem committed to a woman long dead. We could have been together on a more permanent basis, but you never seem to want anything until you cannot have it. You can have what you need of me tonight. Also, I have information for you.” She slowly stood, and pulled me to my feet. With her other hand she took the empty beer bottle from the hand that was not held by her own, the hand that had unconsciously put the bottle to my lips again. She gently guided me to set down the bottle, with the same amount of feminine ease that she used to gently guide me back up to my room.

Before I left the hostel bar, I glanced at the ghost of the little girl. Eternally smiling, eternally playing. If only we could all be so lucky.