Peter Liu - Watering Heaven

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Martin who greeted me, but a young Chinese woman who was a couple of months pregnant. She appeared as though she’d once been beautiful under her layers of withered mascara and cheap rouge. Hard to say though, especially with the gaudy leather boots and skimpy crimson skirt.

“He’s waiting for you,” she said.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Amber,“ she replied. “A friend.”

She led me into the mall, which was filled with people who looked like they’d belong in a Starbucks, lined up for cappuccinos and non-fat blueberry muffins. They had their belongings in anthills next to them, families carting behind.

“Are these people homeless?” I asked Amber.

“ This is their home,” she replied.

Martin was lounging in a furniture store full of discarded goods. His skin was tan, and there were bruises along his face and a scar on his cheek. He looked gnarled, like he’d been inside a microwave too long. His hair was a disheveled mess. Surrounding him on velvet couches and broken mattresses were about twenty girls — twenty pregnant girls — of varying ethnicities, all generally attractive.

Martin embraced me. “Thanks for coming.”

“What’s going on?”

“A lot.”

“Who are the girls?”

“I…”

There was a scream, a blonde with a big belly sprinting our way. “Martin! He’s here.”

Martin sighed. “Amber, can you take Walt for a walk? I’ll explain everything later.”

The mall was a catacomb for ambition: empty stores occupied by hordes of tenants; a dead roller coaster; different regional zones marked by shattered signs that read Venice, Thailand , and Zimbabwe like gravestones. Old ladies dried their clothes on defunct escalators and the floors were littered with trash, resembling a multi-fabric rug. The fountains I saw were reeking silos of shit. Though the sun provided light, there were bonfires and candles in darker corners. “I wanna show you my favorite artist,” Amber said.

A swarthy, emaciated male with a beret had a glass display case with what appeared to be a few dozen swirling colors in constant flux. The motion was nauseating and hypnotic at the same time. It took me a second to realize they were a swarm of roaches painted in a schizophrenia of color.

“I hate roaches,” Amber started. “But that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The artist tipped his beret at us.

“I went to art school a long time ago,” she said. “But I don’t think I ever really understood art until I lost everything.”

“What’s there to understand?”

“It gives color to our monochrome world.”

Only a few places could afford generators. One was the mini-market. Eight security guards with machine guns and bulletproof vests patrolled the entrance. They looked ominous enough, but under their black vests, they wore pink t-shirts with smiley faces. I tried to peek inside. Amber stopped me. “Mr. Lee is a big shot around here. He has the only working phone and doesn’t appreciate people who look without buying.”

“I’ll buy something, then,” I said, grabbing for my wallet.

Her eyes tensed and she grabbed my wrist. “You brought cash here ?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You can’t let anyone know. I mean it,” she emphasized. “People’d slash your throat for a quarter.”

“You serious?”

“We should start heading back.”

We crossed an old bowling alley.

“How’d you meet Martin?” I asked.

“Through Celeste.”

“Who’s Celeste?”

“A co-worker.”

“You worked with Martin?”

“I worked with Celeste,” she answered.

“Which company?”

She stopped, looked at me. “We all worked for an escort company.”

“You mean…”

She nodded. “You didn’t know?”

I glanced down at her womb. “Is Martin…”

“Why do you look so shocked?”

“I… I don’t know. He’s — well, he’s so shy.”

She laughed. “Maybe that’s why we trusted him with our future.”

Martin was talking with three of the women when I saw him again. He got up, greeted me. “You wanna talk?”

He led me to the back of the store, up a ladder. We climbed several floors to the roof. It was night.

“Interesting situation, no?” he said.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m having a lot of kids,” he replied with a snicker.

“Amber told me all the girls are hookers.”

“Yeah…”

“Look, it’s not my place to question…”

“Then don’t,” he cut me off. “Did she also tell you they have HIV?”

“No,” I said, surprised.

He walked along the roof.

“Why?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Why not?” he asked. “It was their only chance at something.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hookers with HIV? Life expectancy is almost nothing, and there’s no way they can get a job. Soon as anyone sees the check on the application…”

“It’s like a scarlet letter.”

Martin shook his head. “You can take off a letter.”

“My mom was a prostitute in Hong Kong,” he said.

“What?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know, and then one day, my sister got mad and told me everything. Told me I was the bastard son of a whore, and I was lucky her dad saved me.”

“Shit, man,” I said.

“I don’t define myself by the past so it doesn’t matter.”

“But your sister…”

“She’s not my sister. You should have seen her eyes. She wasn’t human. I hate people who are cruel to the weak.”

“American dream,” he said.

“What about it?”

“It’s a question.”

“What question?” I asked.

“Why do we work? Why do we wake up every morning? Everyone has the right to answer it the way they want.”

“How’s that the American dream?”

“You have your aspirations: you want your promotion; you want that fancy car. But what about hookers? Guys working shit jobs as dishwashers and janitors? Why are they living?”

I lowered my head.

“They don’t get to ask why,” he said.

I started seeing what he had in mind. “Your resistance to HIV — you think the babies will inherit it?” I asked.

He looked up at the stars. “That’s the hope.”

Despite the undercurrent of bitterness, there was a serenity in his gaze. “I’ve accepted my fate. I get the whole sacrifice thing now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Everyone criticized me, turned against me. Asked how could I do this immoral thing… Caterpillars shed their skin when it’s time for a metamorphosis,” he said.

“So do snakes,” I replied.

He laughed. “I’m surrounded by snakes.”

“What do you mean?”

“These pimps weren’t happy when they found out their girls were pregnant.”

“The pimps know they have HIV?”

He shrugged. “I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I have a lot of money saved away, but I can’t leave without someone tracking me. If you can take my ATM card and grab the money, I can pay off the…”

“Martin!” someone screamed.

It was the blonde I saw earlier.

“Garnaut is back,” she said, eyes round and taut, a shiver in her voice.

He followed her.

“Martin!” I called.

“Don’t let him see you!” he barked.

I lingered for a few minutes before Amber popped her head up. “Come with me,” she said.

I followed her into some vents, crawled behind her. She looked like a bobbing apple. Spider webs and clumps of dust covered the corners. We heard voices, peeked down through some grates. Martin was surrounded by guys in suits.

“…think this is funny?” an obese guy was asking.