Language of Love - 5. Chapter 5: "Shanghai Grand"

Chapter 5: “Shanghai Grand”

We walked five blocks, crossed 3 intersections, and 2 parking lots filled with Toyotas. We did not speak or text the entire way, but maintained a close proximity to one another as we walked. To most observers, we could easily have been mistaken for a pair of older and younger brothers heading to Chinatown to get some dinner.

I was taking him to a restaurant that was located in an alleyway facing a supermarket and a parking lot. On the outside, it looked like a dilapidated tenement building with a simply lighted Chinese banner over its door. The window view into the place gave an impression of tight and confining space, like a small parlor with a handful of fish tanks. There was no menu on the outside with English wording, no “Combination Specials”, and no pictures of “General Gau Chicken”. Most Americans, tourists, and general outsiders would be scared to enter such a place due to the outer décor, the claustrophobic view, and the lack of neon lights..

However, inside the restaurant after you take left turn into the main dining room; you are offered something unexpected. The real dining area holds up to 150 seats with spacious room for waiters and guests alike. The walls were beautifully decorated with Calligraphy and ink paintings. The center of the restaurant holds an elaborate gold sculpture of a dragon and phoenix, symbolizing the two mythical Chinese creatures of royalty, fortune, and family.

Hakka is a simple and humble Chinese culture, which welcomes others into their households as they were welcomed into the southern parts of China. I think Americans sometimes put too much emphasis on the beauty of the exterior and ornate need for wealth in appearance; many people would rather go to PF Chang or a five star restaurant inside a fancy hotel for instance instead of restaurants like this one. It’s a flaw in the American Dream, when the need for an appearance defines a society.

A waiter seated us at a small table fit for two people. I waited for him to sit first as is the custom of host before I took my seat across from him. While we waited for a waitress, I took out my solar charger and plugged the mini-USB charging cord into it my phone. A waitress came by to take our orders. Mui choy cai yuk, or mustard greens with pork belly, was easy to pick, but I had to weigh my options for the “sui choy” or vegetable dish. Eventually, I chose “Ong Choy” or water spinach, wok-cooked with garlic. White rice would come automatically with dinner as it is customary. He ordered us some “meiju”, or plum wine, which caused the waitress to immediately ask for our ID’s. When she saw his actual age, she twisted her head and smiled before heading into the kitchen. He blushed and cursed under his breath in an attempt at Cantonese, “Ba Po”.

I could only smile at him; he looked like a little kid pouting over his life. Now that expression of grief and indignation, I could love for a lifetime, if fate allowed. The term he used is loosely translated as “Gossip mongering old hag”, or “Bitch”.

The same waitress came out with a pitcher of plum wine and two cups, she was still focused on him with her stare of amazement. In a show of bravado, he grabbed one of the small cups and drank a shot straight. Then, he poured another shot and stared at her with a dead gaze, leaving no missing meaning or innuendo that she should mind her business. I heard somewhere that Shanghai people were some of the best drinkers of China and even the Pacific Rim. I only have had their food twice, but I could tell its very alcohol friendly. The dishes such as drunken chicken, drunken duck, and alcohol infused fish are native Shanghai specialties. Ironic, since Chinese people suffer from one of the highest rates of alcohol allergies due to our liver being unable to process too many alcohol proteins. For his size and his appearance, he was able to down 4 shots of plum wine within 30 seconds, while I was still nursing my first cup. I freely admit to be a light weight in drinking alcohol. I can hold probably 4 shots at most throughout a night. After my first cup, he poured me another, then another, and another until our food came. I was turning red in the face and could feel a strong flow of blood pouring through my veins. The food was good, but I was more focused on keeping my composure rather than the taste of the food.

By the end of the meal, three pitchers of plum wine later as best I recall, I was exhausted and I was drunk more than I had ever been. He looked tipsy and more or less out of it as he spoke scattered words of mandarin to the waitress and me. I don’t know how I managed it, but I ended paying the bill on my credit card.

As we headed out of the restaurant, our arms and bodies were tangled together. There was nothing sexual or romantic about it, it was a mutual need to maintain balance as we were walking down the alley. As a cool breeze brushed my face, I felt a surge of adrenaline and energy. My mind was supercharged and thinking about what to do with the guy on my shoulder. I was eerily aware that the streets were quiet now in Chinatown, far too quiet for two gay guys on their first date. In my mind, I had accepted this was a date finally.

I stood in the middle of an empty parking lot with him swaying slightly, “Do you know Shanghai Grand?” I asked in English, not considering if he knew my question. For some reason, the song had just come into my head as I was thinking about him and Shanghai. He gave no reply of course, just smiling and swaying with me. I turned on my recharged cell phone and did a Youtube search for “Shanghai Grand”. I tapped the first song that came up.

“Shanghai Grand” was originally a Cantonese song sang by Francis Yip, she became extremely famous due to the song’s popularity in the 1980’s. The song is connected with the Hong Kong TVB drama “The Bund” that centered on Shanghai during the 1930’s, when corruption and lawlessness were part of Chinese society. Among Chinese fans, the drama series is often compared to the American movie series, the Godfather, due to its intricate plots, depiction of moral ambiguity, and the loss of idealism in a world of crime vengeance, and death.

As Youtube began to load the music, I began to sing the song in Cantonese:

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Long ban long lau
maan lei tou tou gong seoi wing bat jau
Tou zeon liu sai gaan si
wan zok tou tou jat pin ciu lau
Si hei si sau long lei fan bat cing fun siu bei jau
Seng gung sat baai long lei hon bat ceot jan mei jau

Moi nei han nei man gwan zi fau
Ci daai gong jat faat bat sau
Zyun cin waan zyun cin taan
Jik mei peng fuk ci zung zaang dau

Jau jau hei jau jau sau
Zau syun fan bat ceng fun siu bei jau
Jing jyun faan baak cin long
Zoi ngo sam zung hei fuk gau

(Rushing waves, flowing waves

Thousand miles of the torrential river flows ceaselessly forever

Washed away the worldly affairs

Torrential mixing of the tidal currents

Is it happiness? Is it sorrow?

Hard to differentiate between happiness and sorrow in the waves

Success or lost?

Hard to see in the waves

Love you, hate you

Asked you if you know

Like a giant river, once distributed will not be withdrawn

Passed by in many bays

Passed by many beaches

Still not yet to suppress these struggles

Both happiness and sorrow

Unable to differentiate between them

Still wishing to overcome these waves

My heart has enough of these rises and falls

Still wishing to overcome these waves

My heart has enough of these rises and falls)

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When the song was done, he looked at me with a weird expression. I still cannot describe it completely. It was half shock, half drunken stupor, and something else in between. Among Chinese guys, I guess that was a dorky thing to do, especially at night in an empty parking lot. Hindsight, if I were not drunk, I probably would not have sang that song in front of him.

To my amazement he grabbed my phone and did a Youtube search of his own. As the song began to play, I could hear the familiar melody of “Shanghai Grand”, but there was a rougher tempo to it. He began to sing in Mandarin. While the words were different, the emotions were the same.

When Youtube stopped for him, we walked with our arms stretched against one another. The alcoholic buzz was passing us, but I could feel another surge of energy coursing through me. Was this love?