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

And she looks like she’s lying.

“Well?” Larry says.

Okay, what I really think is twofold. Number one, I think I ought to investigate candeyblossoms.com myself. Because in case Mary isn’t going to pan out, I could better advise Larry if I have a sense of the field out there.

Larry agrees. “Take it out for a spin. Try running Shi and see what you come up with. Just make sure you limit your search to ages twenty-five to thirty, or you’ll be completely overrun. Oh, and be advised that in their profiles read ‘mistakes’ as ‘kids.’ If they say they’ve made three mistakes in life: three kids.”

I log on. I’m not going to lead any of the women on or set up a date; that would be worse than viewing time-sharing solicitations solely to collect the free gifts. It’s unethical to waste people’s time. But there’s nothing wrong with swapping a little screen info for educational purposes, is there?

Then, with a click of the mouse, there they are-like when my childhood pet hamster produced babies-a sudden rush of vulnerable bodies: so many candey blossoms that they threaten to litter my hard drive. Is that what they are, these Third World brides, just so much helpless brood? Or are they sophisticated young ladies availing themselves of modern technology? It’s an exploitative situation to be sure, but don’t both parties get something out of the deal?

Enough so that it’s worth a try, I guess…

“Hi, Zhang,” I type. “Can you tell me a little more about yourself? Would you say you’re a giving person? Are you kind to those less fortunate than yourself? Have you ever had nursing experience? Hope to hear from you soon!”

I can’t bear to stay on longer than a few minutes but leave the Web site open on my laptop, like leaving a fishing line dangling in the water.

The other thing I think, number two, is that I should ask Jade about the trust issue. This is something I won’t tell Larry about-it would only launch us into a proxy war, Larry and I sparring through our women: Mary versus Jade in a mud-wrestling pit. So I say nothing, wait till I’m alone that evening, and make the call from the second floor, where the Badminton Boys are going at it with macho brilliance.

“So what’s your opinion of Mary’s employment history?” I ask Jade. I’ve reached her on her cell at a girlfriend’s harmonica recital, and she’s speaking in a hushed voice, as I am.

“I cannot say, really,” Jade says.

“I know, but do you think she’s capable of holding down any sort of school job at all?”

“Yes, a little unbelievable, I think. And to take so many days away to be with Larry? I have a bad feeling about that.”

“Me, too.”

“Good chance she is lying,” Jade says, becoming more direct. “Some Chinese ladies want to cheat money from foreign, it’s torrible. As women Chinese citizens, we lose our Chinese face. I want to say sorry for that.”

“Ah, well, it’s not your fault-”

“So I think I can spy for you,” she says quietly.

“Spy for me? You mean like bang, bang, your fantasy career?”

“I can try,” Jade says. “Be private eye, find out what I can about Mary. I will call her school and say I am poor student, looking to speak Mary to ask job.”

“You cauliflower!” I cry. “You’d do that for us? And what do you think about the phone bill she’s run up?”

“This you not tell me about yet.”

“Four hundred dollars from our suite, just for the past two weeks.”

I hear Jade suck back her teeth bubbles with a sharp intake of breath. “How big the bill is!” she exclaims. “She must be call at least two hour each day, maybe when Larry is snoring. Who she can call for? May be another man?”

Whoa, really? A plastic birdie ricochets off the wall onto my head. Handing it back to Abu with a wink gives me time to assess this suggestion. “Another man?”

“Such a bill is too big if you call your relative. Only to lover we say so many words. But this is only my guess, not a fact. We can ask hospital for detail of the bill, see which phone numbers?”

“Got it right here,” I say, scanning the bill quickly. “There’s one main number that keeps popping up, to 04317137130. Do you want to call the number and see-”

“-if she lying wholesale,” Jade completes my thought.

“Bang, bang!” I say. I’m thrilled to have my own personal spy but am held back by one qualm.

“Before we jump the gun, though, are we sure we want to intrude?” I ask. “I mean, maybe Mary will turn out to be okay even if she does have ulterior motives. People are complex! So what if she met him only to make a better life for herself? Isn’t that a legitimate thing to want to do, as long as she genuinely cares for my cousin, which she seems to do?”

“No,” Jade declares. “The large heart of Larry, she will hurt it, definitely I think.”

It couldn’t be any plainer. Maybe it’s time I stop giving everyone the benefit of the doubt and just accept that life is sometimes as clear-cut as a badminton game: The birdie lands either fair or foul.

“Well, anyway, your pronouns are coming along nicely,” I tell her.

“I am learning the difference between man and woman,” she says with a catch in her voice.

“Uh-huh,” I say.

And that’s all I say.

Later that night, just as I’m crawling onto my couch to sleep, there are three loud knocks. I open the door to Larry’s room. But the Larry-Mary conglomerate is fast asleep. I’m back on the couch twenty seconds later when there are another three knocks. It’s my laptop, receiving nibbles from the Web site I forgot I left open: instant chat invitations. Barbi is thirty, from the suburbs, drinks occasionally, smokes not at all. But huwwo, what’s this? Is that a whip she’s holding? No, a microphone cord. Sure enough, one of her passions is karaoke-not as piquant as S &M, perhaps, but I’m not privy to Larry’s requirements. KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK: My, my, now here’s ShiJen, a nimble little typist. Her messages come racing in one after the other. Insistent, too. “U there? U want talk? U busy chatting? U find someone else?” Then KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK: Messages from more women come tumbling in un-summoned, one on top of the last, no waiting in line but cutting in front of one another to pound the door down. KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK: It’s “Hiedi,” snuggling with about thirteen teddy bears. I decide not to care that she misspells her own name. KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK: It’s Kate with an eye patch, no stated religion. Her bio is rather touching in its brevity: “Well… jst simple lady hoping for love…jst ask me what u want to know…” KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-

Ah, the world’s needs. When do they not threaten to drown us all?

A fall into a ditch makes you wiser.

CRAAAAACCCK! A peal of thunder. Thank heaven, a storm’s on its way-only a tempest could break this infernal heat wave. I’m sweating in my skyscraper gym with leaded windows closed, relishing the solitude as I ride my manual typewriter of a bike while Abu sluggishly practices his half gainers. Bring on the rain!

But the afternoon remains oppressively bright. I resume the thought sequence I was in the middle of before the thunder hit: wondering if Burton ’s guilty. Did he do anything to deserve Larry’s fatwa? And would he really try to stop this operation if he could, in the misguided belief that it would end his troubles with Larry? I’m not in a position to judge, but I do know that Burton ’s always been honorable in his dealings with me. He’s been nothing but upstanding, loyal, and generous. Also, Burton has devoted his life to healing thousands of brain ailments and is beloved by his community at Harvard and an army of patients. But then again, I’ve always known Larry to be honorable, too, in his fashion. He made a point of always paying back my loans promptly and in full. Except that one time he didn’t. I wouldn’t say he stiffed me; I’d say he didn’t pay me back promptly and in full. It’s possible he figured he paid me back in other ways. For the condo he convinced me to buy as an investment, I had trouble evicting a certain tenant who didn’t pay rent for almost a year. Larry took it upon himself to call the tenant a name to her truck-driver son, for which Larry received and returned several body blows. Perhaps in his mind this was worth the grand he owed me? We never discussed it in so many words, but when I asked for my grand back, that’s when he ratted me out to the FBI. Maybe there was a similar misunderstanding with Burton? Or maybe Larry resents Burton because he helped so much with Judy’s epilepsy; Larry’s constitutionally incapable of not biting the hand that feeds him? Who’s to say? As in most family feuds, there are few truths we could take to the bank. A homegrown Inscrutable.