Shifu, You'll Do Anything For a Laugh

right hand tightly to keep her from opening the door and jumping out of the taxi. The hand was cold and clammy, like a dead fish. But it didn't seem as if she wanted to pull it back, since it didn't even twitch. He held it tight, anyway.
    The taxi turned onto a narrow street cluttered on both sides with light-colored trash, with the occasional glint of green watermelon rind. Colorful sheets of flypaper draped in front of roadside diners fluttered in the wind and rain. Coarse, dirty women in revealing blouses leaned against doorways, cigarettes dangling from their mouths beneath bored expressions. The sight took his thoughts vaguely back to the town where she lived. “Driver,” he said anxiously, “where are we?”
    The driver didn't reply. The interior of the taxi was steaming up; the sound of the windshield wipers snapping back and forth was unnerving.
    “Where are you taking us?” He was nearly shouting.
    “Take it easy!” the driver shot back angrily. “You said you wanted to go to Yuanming Gardens, didn't you?”
    “Why are you taking us this way?”
    “Which way would you like me to take you?” the driver asked coldly as he slowed down. “Come on, tell me, which way do you want to go?”
    “How should I know? But this way seems wrong.” Then, softening his tone of voice, he said, “You're the driver, you know the way better than I do.”
    “I'm glad to hear you say that,” the driver replied scornfully. “This is a shortcut. It'll shorten the trip by at least three kilometers.”
    “Thank you,” he said.
    “I was going to knock off for the day to go home and get some sleep,” the driver said. “Who in his right mind would be out in weather like this? I just felt sorry for you folks… .”
    “Thank you,” he repeated. “Thank you.”
    “I'm not out to cheat you,” the driver said. “Just give me an extra ten yuan. It was your good luck to run into an honest man like me. Now if… if you think you're paying too much, get out now and you don't owe me a cent.”
    As he looked out the window at the gray sky, he said:
    “It's only an extra ten yuan, isn't it, driver?”
    The taxi sped out of the small street and turned into an even more deserted dirt road with deep muddy puddles. The car raced madly along, splashing water on the roadside trees. The driver was cursing under his breath, either at the road or at the people, hard to tell. Meanwhile, he sat there biting his tongue, his mind filled with ominous premonitions.
    The taxi forged its way off the dirt road and onto a gleaming asphalt street. With one last curse, the driver swerved around another corner and screeched to a halt in front of an open gate.
    “Is this it?” he asked.
    “It's a side entrance. The Western Garden is down the way a bit,” the driver said. “I could tell that's what you two wanted to see.” He looked down at the meter, added ten yuan to the amount, and handed it through a hole in the wire divider.
    “I can't give you a receipt,” the driver said.
    He ignored him as he opened the door and got out. Then he held the door for her, but she climbed out the other side.
    The cabbie turned his car around and drove off. He cursed softly to himself, but once the curse was out, instead of harboring ill thoughts toward the driver, he actually felt grateful to him.
    It was still raining. Leaves shone on the roadside trees, clean and incredibly appealing. She stood there in the rain, her face pale as she gazed blankly off into the distance. Taking her by the arm, he said:
    “Let's go, dear. Here's your Shen Garden.”
    Submissively, she let him lead her through the gate into the garden, where peddlers manning stalls along the way shouted out invitingly:
    “Umbrellas, umbrellas here. Beautiful, sturdy umbrellas . .
    He walked up to one of the stalls and bought two umbrellas, a red one and a black one. Then he walked up to the ticket counter, where he bought a pair of admission tickets. The ticket seller had a large, doughy white face. Her penciled eyebrows looked like two thick green worms.
    “What time do you close?” he asked her.
    “We never close,” doughface replied.
    Holding their umbrellas over their heads, they walked into Yuanming Gardens, he in front holding the black umbrella, she following with the red one. The rain beat a steady tattoo on the plastic skins. Clusters or pairs of people passed by in front of them. Some were strolling casually, gaudy umbrellas in hand, while those without umbrellas