coincidences of the “i know”
tableau: A chic, teak-coloured coffee bar on the telawi sidewalk.
a man (tall, chiselled, aryan)
teetering on the high stool,
his entire upper-body thrust like an unsprung coil into the book he is reading.
he moves his hand, and I read the title: Globalization; and its discontents, stiglitz.
i smile knowingly, the coincidence!
his brow furrows as his eyes gulp down the words (coffee untouched).
every now and then a smile spreads widely over his face;
his head nods with barely suppressed glee;
he lifts his eyes from the book,
staring intently at a point just above the display shelf of sandwiches.
I can hear his mind whirring, purring with satisfaction.
yes, yes, yes. by the end of his chapter I am in love with him.
just before he leaves , he passes my table.
quickly i reach up to touch his elbow (I cannot reach his shoulder).
"watching you read that book made me happy," I tell him.
he grins broadly. when he speaks I can tell he’s french.
he says, "it is brilliant!"
I tell him, I know.
____________________________________________________________
tableau: the cramped, claustrophobic restrooms at a Chinese restaurant, somewhere in Taman Megah.
as I come out from the stall,
a woman is at the sink, hastily dabbing her eyes.
she is trussed up in a parody of a cheongsam, all green, gold and gruesomely garish.
"没事吧?" I ask. are you all right?
she sniffs, peering swollenly at her reflection.
"哭啊. 哭啊!" I’m crying. I’m crying.
she is defensive, coiled like a spring, daring me to respond.
I squeak a sympathetic noise, which emerges like a gurgle.
"为什么哭?" I ask why she’s crying.
she glances sidelong at me; I fumble for an expression.
"好闷. 做工好闷." so depressed. my work is so depressing.
she washes her hands, launches herself savagely at the taps.
my heart goes out to her,
but my skill of the chinese language fails me.
all I manage to blurt is,
"可不可回家?" can you go home?
she stares almost pitifully at me, about to leave.
"没钱," she says simply. no money. exeunt.
I am left with my reflection, mocking me with its ridiculous look of pained sympathy, quite helpless.
when I finally leave the bathroom, she is outside, elbow deep in a wasteland of dirty dishes.
I touch her shoulder as I walk past,
but I say nothing,
because I can’t tell her I know.
