Free The Hua Shan Hospital Murders by David Rotenberg Page B

Awful.”
    He nodded but thought, “Politics. None of my fucking business.”
    A waiter plunked down a dish of steaming noodles in front of Tuan Li. She quickly swirled the sauce into the noodles and wrapped a swath around her chopsticks. “Open,” she said extending the noodles toward Robert’s mouth.
    “This wouldn’t be traif , would it?” he mocked.
    “Is that one of those kosher things?” she mocked back.
    Robert wanted to say, “Yes, it’s one of those kosher things,” but his mouth was filled with the thick noodles. They tasted glorious but he knew that often the company made the food taste better than it actually was. He recalled a particular croissant after a particular night with a particular dark-haired Montrealer. Then he couldn’t believe he was reminiscing about another woman with Tuan Li across the table from him making bedroom eyes. What the fuck was wrong with him!
    “Nice trip?” Tuan Li asked as a small sad smile came to her lips.
    “How do you mean?” Robert covered, surprised that she could see through him so easily.
    “You’re not nearly as good a liar as you think, Robert.”
    “I’m sorry to disappoint you in my . . .”
    “It must be very lonely where you are, Robert,” she stated flatly. “Do you know why your mind floats like that?”
    “No. Do tell.”
    “Because you have no faith. No faith. No love.”
    Robert thought, “No trust. No love,” but said nothing.
    “You know that play I’m working on?”
    “The one about the dumb nigger?”
    “You are a very bad person,” she said. “The love in that play exists because of faith. Both Othello and Desdemona know that love is the gift the gods bring after you make the leap to faith. But no leap to faith. No falling in love.”
    “Well, it doesn’t exactly work out – the love in this play.”
    “No. True. But they have at least lived. Known each other.”
    “I’ve ‘known’ you in the biblical sense,” Robert shot back.
    “No. Robert. We’ve contacted each other but we have not known each other – in the biblical or any other sense.”
    “Well, maybe that’s all there is – contacting each other.”
    “Maybe there’s more, Robert, and you just refuse to see it. You have been with a lot of women but have found no place to rest.”
    He sighed deeply. “You want to go on with this?”
    Tuan Li canted her elegant head, “I do. How long have you been like this?”
    “Always,” he said, hoping that would end the conversation on that topic.
    “You were always like this?” Tuan Li prodded.
    “Yes, I’ve always been like this.”
    “I don’t believe it.”
    “It’s true.”
    “When did you first experience this? Be honest, Robert.”
    “When I was a kid. My parents sent me to summer camp. Jewish people in Toronto always sent their kids to summer camps named after trees – don’t ask me why.”
    “Why, Robert?”
    “I thought I asked you not to . . .”
    “You did. Why?”
    “Well, probably because there are lots and lots of trees – trees, trees, trees, and one Succoni station. Lenny Bruce said that – heard of him?”
    “No. Why do you do that?”
    “Do what?
    “Talk fast about things that don’t matter?”
    “Because . . .”
    “Yes, I’m listening.”
    “Because I’ve almost always done that.” Before she could jump on top of the “almost” he continued, “At any rate I remember coming home from a tree camp by train and getting off with all the other campers and going into the central hall of Union Station. It’s the downtown train station – not nearly as big as your North Train Station – but plenty big for a kid. Well, everywhere there were kids hugging parents. I looked around and couldn’t find my folks. A neighbour was there and she told me to wait with her. She saw I was upset and she held out her arms to me. I hugged her. It didn’t matter to me that she wasn’t my mother. I hugged her because I needed to be hugged and it really didn’t matter to me who she