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

“He ask me, ‘He really the cousin?’ He want to make sure you are not journalist wanting story, or maybe double-oh-seven, like me!”

“Oh, right, I forgot you’re Mata Hari,” I say. “But seriously, how careful do we have to be about that stuff? I’ve gotten a strange vibe from Cherry.”

“Cherry, no!” Jade scoffs. “In my opinion always good to keep eyes open. But Cherry I believe no threat.”

This completes my good humor. I’m in a triumphant mood that nothing can wreck. Yes, the triumph has a twist to it: a bit of heartlessness mixed in with my high spirits, knowing that someone else is to die for Larry to live. But I’m relieved that the donor is a bad-bad criminal…and I’m fairly confident that the recipient is not a bad-bad criminal…so it’s a trade-off, the survivor’s dilemma. We pass the Red Guards waltzing on the terrace near the Old Faithful fountains, but we’re going so fast that my shiver’s only momentary.

Mostly what I am is ravenous. “What say we celebrate by chowing down,” I suggest. “Where shall we eat? Larry, your choice.”

Maybe he feels the mix of emotions, too? He’s acting more than usually subdued, sitting like a lump of concrete in the back with Jade. Or maybe it’s just his baseline moroseness. “Let’s have a change of pace,” he says without enthusiasm. “I’m in the mood for something authentic. How about Friday’s?”

“You mean the New York chain? They have a franchise here?”

“I saw a flyer when I went for my stroll the other day,” he says. “Good to get a little variety in my diet.”

I turn to the cabbie beside me in the front. Aside from being a speedy driver, she’s what you’d call a full-figured gal: a Chinese Queen Latifah, complete with freckles and a chesty laugh from smoking or just exuberant living. “You know Friday’s?” I ask her. “We go Friday’s?”

“Friday’s!” she whoops, picking up on my mood. “We go Friday’s!”

“Friday’s!” I whoop back at her. After weeks of Chinese food, the prospect of bloodred American beef at a New York-style restaurant is making me drool. “Friday’s, yeehaw!”

“Friday’s, yahoo!” she bellows.

“I’m trying to remember an old expression,” I tell her. “Yong yay, mong mee or mong may, something like that…”

“Give it up!” laughs Jade from the backseat.

And suddenly it comes to me. In a flash, I’ve got it back, fully formed. I try it tentatively at first, sounding it out:

“Jong may yo yee wan-su-aee.”

The cabbie’s the first to hear it. “Wan-su-aee?” she asks, her freckles blinking at me.

“Yes,” I say. “They used to compliment my pronunciation, twenty-five years ago.” I try it out again, a little more confidently. “Jong may yo yee wan-su-aee.”

The cabbie looks startled, then very happy. “Jong may yo yee wan-su aee,” she confirms.

“Yes,” I say, “long live the friendship between the Chinese and American peoples!”

Jade in the back is bouncing up and down in her seat. “Jong may yo yee wan-su-aee,” she booms.

“Long live!” cries the cabby, honking her horn and weaving in and out of traffic. “Long, long live!”

It’s mine again, in a flash. “Unbelievable!” I say. “It just came back to me!”

The cabbie’s as excited as I am, exulting something similar. “La-la believable!” she shouts, beeping the horn in jubilation. “Jong may yo yee wan-su-aee!”

Our joyride delivers us to Friday’s-which turns out to be half American chain restaurant knockoff, half traditional Chinese kitchen. Jade’s never been inside an American eatery before, and she looks amazed. Is it the concept of silverware? Or the photo of the monster mushroom-bacon burger on the plastic menu, along with the Chinese specialties? I feel guilty even considering a burger, as though I’d be doing my stomach no favor after weeks of lighter Chinese fare.

“I want cock no ice,” Jade orders sweetly.

“Make that three Cokes no ice,” I amend. But am overruled by Larry, halfheartedly trying not to be a party pooper.

“No soft drink for you, dear,” he tells Jade. “You’re getting a genuine American cocktail.”

To the waitress he says, “ONE COCK FOR DAN,” not noticing that he’s adopted Jade’s pronunciation. “ONE STRAWBERRY SCHNAPPS FOR THE LADY, WITH A COUPLE OF EXTRA CHERRIES ON TOP. SAME FOR ME,” he adds, explaining, “I need to live a little.”

His words contain so little life, however, that when the drinks come, about thirty seconds later, I try to lift his spirits by pointing my index finger at him in victory.

“You’re getting your Princess!” I tell him. “Your Princess, a kidney!”

He doesn’t seem to grasp my meaning and grasps my finger instead, not letting go.

“You’re getting your surgery within two weeks,” I say, lifting my glass. “Toast to Chairman Larry!”

“To a soon surgery!” Jade echoes. She takes her first sip of schnapps, which, by evidence of her face, is a revelation.

“Let the record show that I continue to have a very bad premonition about it, however,” Larry reminds me.

“Nothing can wreck my mood right now,” I tell Larry. “Not even having my pointer finger mauled by you.”

He seems embarrassed that he’s still grasping my finger, lets it go, and takes his first cautious sip of his drink, coughing at its strength. “Do you think Dr. X took it all in?” he asks. “Those references to Paul Volcker may have been a little much.”

“What references to Paul Volcker?”

“I feel confident he got my gist, though,” he says. “And just so you know, that was a conscious decision on my part not to tell him about all the nineteen-year-old girls from Appalachia who board those cruise ships five to a room in the hope of bagging someone good. I calculated it would be overkill. Because forget coeds-a girl from the mountains will commit acts at sea she wouldn’t dream of doing ashore. Are you kidding? With an American professor in a balcony penthouse? I make out like a bandit.”

“So everything’s great,” I say. “Why the long face? You having second thoughts about your donor?”

“I’m delighted with my donor,” he says. “What’s not to like? He’s thirty-one.”

Count on Larry to cut to the chase. He’s right-the donor’s youth is a plus. I guess it’s too much to expect moral hair-splitting from Larry; I should just be relieved he didn’t try to make a deal for the other kidneys-the six kidneys of the donor’s murder victims-for him to scalp outside Dolphin Stadium.

Rather than lightening his mood, however, the schnapps seems to be readying him for his next set of problems.

“I couldn’t help noticing there was no mention of price,” he says. “Did he say how much discount he was willing to give us?”

“I didn’t hear the word ‘discount’ at all,” I say.

“I continue to have the feeling I’m being set up for a stupendous fall.” He fixes his cinder-block gaze on his drink, takes another sip. Meanwhile Jade’s exploring the miracle of her American cocktail, like a hummingbird at a feeder of sugar water. “Unless my ears deceived me,” Larry says, “I’m pretty certain he said he would try to keep expenses down.”

“I didn’t hear that either, but let’s hope so.”

“Well, let’s do more than hope,” Larry says, leveling a placid gaze on me, “because it’s only fair to tell you that I won’t go through with this if the price is too high.”

I assume he’s kidding. “That raises an interesting question, though,” I say. “What price do you put on saving your own life? Is fifty grand appropriate for an extra few decades? Is sixty? Seventy?”

“If it doesn’t come in under fifty, I’m jumping ship,” Larry declares.