“You get charged for the full stay. It’s policy.” He pointed at a sign behind him on the wall.
“That’s an explanation of the fire exits, in Chinese.”
“Say, you’re one smart Korean, aren’t you?” He let loose a few long sentences in Hakka.
“OK, I get it,” I said. “I pay for the day I’m not here, and you pocket the money.”
“Any complaints, fill out the form in the desk in your room.”
“There isn’t a desk in my room.”
“Really? Well, you can use one of the forms over there.” He pointed at a few dirty pieces of paper on the counter.
“Where do I put it when I’m done?”
He grinned.
“I’ll tell you what I need. I need a train ticket for tomorrow.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Macau is practically an island. No trains.”
“Yeah, I figured that out. But you must have travel agents that can make arrangements. I’ve seen one or two luggage stores, and that means people travel; if people travel, they have tickets, and they must get them somewhere.”
“Depends. Where you going?” He gave me the canny look of a man calculating how much he could get for selling the same information to three buyers.
“Shanghai, to pay my respects to my uncle, who ran a noodle shop there. Then to Beijing to see my aged mother, who lives with her sister in one of those new villas near the Kempinski. You know it? Then on to Yanji. Yanji is lousy with Koreans, in case you didn’t know.”
“Right.”
“Can you get me the tickets?”
“No, but I can tell you where to go.”
“A ticket office.”
“If you knew, why did you ask?” He was already reaching for the phone.
6
That night I went back to the restaurant where the Chinese girls ate before they went to work in the hallway. The Russian girl was sitting in the same corner.
“Hi,” I said. “Can I sit?”
“Sit.” She smiled up at me. “Yes, sit.”
“You’re here again.” I scanned the menu. “You want something beside noodles and orange juice?”
She shook her head. “It’s good. You want some?”
“Nah, I never eat the night before I travel.”
“You leaving? Changing hotels? That’s good. You don’t want to be at the Nam Lo.”
“I’m going to Shanghai. My uncle died.” Might as well put the story out in more than one place, though I felt bad using her.
“Sorry.” She shrugged. “You’re a nice man. I will miss you.”
“And you’re a nice girl with beautiful eyes. I wish you’d go home.”
“I can’t. I have a contract.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“I already told you, a thousand dollars.”
“How many other girls does your boss control?”
“You want someone else?” She looked hurt. “All right. There are eight girls altogether. For a few days we were nine, but now it’s back to eight again.”
“Someone went home?”
“Who knows? We never got a good look at her. She was older than the rest of us, showed up suddenly. My boss put her in the Nam Lo for one night. I don’t even think she was there the whole time. She didn’t work, that’s for sure, and then she was gone. I saw her from the back, just briefly. She was blond. When she left, my boss told me to clean out the room she had been in. There was a small suitcase full of clothes and a razor. Otherwise, it was as if she hadn’t been there.”
“But she had been there.”
“Yes, but the room didn’t feel right. It didn’t smell right.”
I stood up to go. “Maybe I’ll see you again.”
She stood and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “Make sure it’s before April. My contract is up then, and I’m never coming back.”
7
I had time on my hands, money in my pocket, and things on my list. The first thing I did was stop one of the girls walking up and down the hall.
“Where are the best pork buns in town?” The girl was carrying a black patent-leather bag with matching shoes. I figured if anyone knew about pork buns, she would.
“Fifteen hundred,” she said.
“Maybe later,” I said. “Right now, I need pork buns, the best. When you go out for pork buns, where do you and your friends go?”
She called over one of her co-workers, frilly white blouse and her hair done up in a tight bun. Very fetching, but not what I needed. The two spoke between themselves for a moment.
“You want both? Twenty-five.” The black bag swung provocatively.
“Listen,” I said. “When I need to kill myself, I’ll call you first. Meantime…”
“I know,” she said, “pork buns. Rua da Barra, not far. It’s a place called Mama Nhi’s. Pretty good.”
An older girl walked up. “Keep it moving,” she said, and looked at me. “Either buy or don’t buy.”
8
Mama Nhi didn’t have a box, but she did have a big shopping bag.
“Fill it up?” She put her hands on her hips. “That’s one hell of a lot of grease. You planning to sell the stuff? Tell me; I can get you more.”
9
I opened the door of the van. “These are for you,” I said. “Maybe we can talk.”
10
The next morning, I was at the luggage store in the Lisboa when it opened. None of the suitcases looked big enough for a body, not even for one of the skinny models waving from the photographs in the window.
“I need something large.” I smiled. “Let’s say I wanted to go on a trip. Let’s say for laughs I wanted to go in my own suitcase. You got anything?”