Daniel Rose - Larry's Kidney, Being the True Story of How I Found Myself in China

Tick-tick…tock. Jade’s eyes are as dark as marbles.

“Hold everything,” Larry suddenly says. “I may have misspoken. There actually may be a twelve-dollar port charge I didn’t report in the Bahamas.”

“Twelve dollar I can manage!” Dr. X chortles, coming around the desk to clap Larry on the shoulder. “I like the way you operate, Larry. Good head on you shoulder!”

“The appreciation is mutual,” Larry replies without emotion, discreetly shrugging out from under Dr. X’s hand. “And meantime we will keep your secret very silent,” he says.

“Yes, first thing is silence…”

“If asked, Dan here will find a way to disguise all the pertinent facts,” Larry says.

“Disguise very important,” Dr. X says. “Sometime matter of life and death.”

“Dan’s very strong in that department,” Larry says, opening up a second line of assault while I adopt an expression of deep modesty. “Every manner of persuasion. You should have seen the masterful way he talked his way out of things when we were kids.”

“Yes, me, too,” Dr. X says, chortling at the memory. “In Cultural Revolution, I pretend my family all a bunch of poor peasant!”

“That truly is amusing,” Larry says with an unamused expression.

“Just a bunch of hilly-billy dirt farmer!” Dr. X says. He is doubling over with laughter. “Rural weed pokers, even with advance degree!”

“Dan, too,” Larry continues, killing two birds with one stone-making points with Dr. X while taking potshots at me. “During his hitchhiking days, he used to convince his drivers they wanted to go where he was going, not where they were going, even if it was miles out of their way. Did you know he was voted Con Man Who Will Sell the Brooklyn Bridge by his senior class in high school?”

“Well, I was also voted Best Actor, because I wanted to channel my abilities into something artistically acceptable,” I say, firing Larry a cautionary look.

“Didn’t I tell you? My cousin!” Larry says, beaming at me proudly but also with more than a little malice.

Dr. X stops his wheezing to look me over admiringly: my ratty sandals, my filthy white hat. “Yes, that truly impressive,” he says.

“A total bunco artist!” Larry brags.

I cross my legs and clear my throat and do everything but kick Larry under the table to let him know it’s time to start wrapping up.

Larry ignores me.

“All the best writers are like that,” Larry expands. “Faulkner was considered a total goldbricker by his townsfolk. Frank McCourt, the review of ’Tis in his hometown Limerick paper was headlined ‘’Tisn’t.’”

Now I do kick Larry while Dr. X rocks with hilarity at this new information. Down below, where I meet Larry while pretending to adjust my Velcro sandal, I mutter, “How the fuck are you in possession of these facts?”

“Hey, I read the funny pages like everyone else,” he mutters back, before bobbing above the table again. When I ascend, Dr. X is scribbling his personal cell-phone number on a business card, just in time to present it to me with both hands and the slightest of bows.

“Sank you,” I say, giving him mine, not quite so impressively. But he seems to enjoy the splotches on my well-traveled card, perhaps figuring that an organic business card goes with my getup.

“Perhaps at our next meeting, I will tell you details about my latest breakthrough,” Larry tells Dr. X. “A UFO hotline so people who think they’ve seen a flying saucer won’t feel so alone. They get a friendly voice on the other end of the line taking down their information with the respect they may or may not deserve.”

“UFO! I am UFO buff, big time! Tell me details now!” Dr. X begs.

Larry sadly shakes his head no. “1-800-I SAW UFO, is all for now,” he says.

Dr. X is jittering with so much excitement I half expect him to haul out a violin and start playing “Danny Boy.” Instead he comes around from behind his desk and urgently starts rubbing both of Larry’s shoulders. “I love UFO! UFO give me chance to sharpen party-host abilities, entertain my friends at soirees with many creepy tales!”

“I look forward to telling you more after the surgery,” Larry says indifferently.

“Me as well!” Dr. X confirms, rubbing both of Larry’s shoulders energetically. “So now we have to wait for surgery, but not so long,” he says.

“I hope so, because Larry is visibly weaker than when we got here,” I say. “As you know, he took a fall recently-”

“We are aware of these developments. We monitor closely,” Dr. X says, handing me a camera and gesturing Larry and Jade to clump together with him for a group photo.

“How long do you estimate before surgery?” I say, focusing.

“When get order from high court, perhaps one week, two weeks,” Dr. X says, directing a few phrases to Jade in Chinese while composing his all-purpose professional smile for the portrait. “Usually many months, but since you special friends, I insist to get done sooner. Shhh, secret…”

Two weeks!? How did we just blast past the Badminton Boys from the Middle East? I contain my excitement. I contain my guilt. But what can I tell you-I’m an American: How I channel my guilt is to ask for more.

“If it can be done any sooner, we’d appreciate it…”

“Sooner the better,” Dr. X says. “I know you must be eager to get home to your two little boys.”

Click! Dr. X posing with his suave international smile. Jade staring into the flash so no light escapes her eyes. Larry looking as happy as a mug shot. Carnivore Babes barely managing to fit inside the frame.

“Yes,” I say slowly. “Of course. How’d you know I have two-”

No time to finish my question. Everyone is already shuffling to the door. Pocketing his Cosmos Club matchbook, Larry glides languidly out of the office arm in arm with Dr. X. Jade and I follow in stately fashion, like the parents after a wedding ceremony. We finally managed to get our least-marriageable daughter hitched…

Those who have free seats at a play hiss first.

“Can you believe it?” I explode once our taxi is safely speeding off. “We’re on our way to a healthy kidney!”

“Where!? Now?!” Jade asks.

“No, right now we’re taking what’s called a joyride,” I explain from the front passenger seat. “We’re celebrating the meeting with Dr. X by driving-anywhere, fast-doesn’t even matter where. Whee!”

“Joy die!” Jade says. “Whee!”

No whee from Larry. Of the three passengers in the cab, only Larry isn’t happy, protecting himself from happiness lest it turn on him, like a high-schooler going to the prom but sitting on his carnation accidentally on purpose.

“This good development,” Jade confirms as neon lights flash past outside. “Everything coming up like roses.”

“So the surgeon definitely means what he says?” I ask Jade. “We can count on him?”

“Oh, yes,” Jade says cheerfully. “In my judgment he kill prisoner in two weeks.”

That’s putting it a bit starkly, but it damages my mood only slightly. It’s the equivalent of seeing a baby calf frolicking in a field and realizing it’s this evening’s veal piccata. I’m not quite ready to resume humming “Danny Boy” till I square away a few things.

“And we’re sure it’s a real criminal and not someone who voted against the mah-jongg commissioner or something?” I ask.

“Of course that,” Jade says. “You see how much passion Dr. X was. Chinese generally hide their feelings. But he turn red, voice shake with anger. ‘Kill hundred time!’ Only because it is bad-bad criminal.”

“What’d he say to you in Chinese when I was taking your picture?”