The Stone Monkey

his lowered station, though, Wu refused to give up on his goal of becoming rich. And so, seduced by the fat opportunities in the Beautiful Country, Wu Qichen had bundled up his family and risked immigrating illegally. He would become a landlord in Chinatown.He would ride to work in a limousine and—when, finally, he was able to travel back to China—he would walk into the Paradise Hotel and stay in the grandest suite, the penthouse, the very room to which as a young man he had carried hundreds of bags.
    No, his dreams had been delayed too long; the Ghost would not drive him from the city of money.
    Wu now found a Chinese medicine store. He stepped inside and talked to the herbalist about his wife’s condition. The doctor listened carefully and diagnosed deficient qi —the life spirit—and obstructed blood, both of which were aggravated by excessive cold. He put together a bundle of herbs for Wu, who reluctantly paid the huge bill of eighteen dollars, furious once again that he’d been taken advantage of.
    Leaving the herbalist, he continued down the street to a Chinese grocery store. He stepped inside quickly, before his courage broke, found a basket and grabbed some groceries he didn’t need. He swooped past the drug section, picking up a box of women’s pads for his daughter. He walked quickly to the counter and kept his eyes on a glass container of ginseng root throughout the entire transaction. The gray-haired woman rang up the purchase and, though she didn’t smile or call attention to his purchase, Wu knew she was laughing at him. He left the store with his head down and his face as red as the Chinese flag.
    Wu turned in the direction of his apartment but after five minutes of fast walking he slowed and began meandering through the side streets. He was concerned about his wife, of course, and about leaving his children but, gods of heaven, this day had been a nightmare. He’d nearly been killed in a shipwreck, he’d lost all his possessions, had been cheated by Jimmy Mah and the real estate broker.And, worst of all, he’d endured the shame and humiliation of buying what was in the bag in his hand right now. He decided that he needed some diversion, some male companionship.
    It took only a few minutes to find what he’d sought: A Fujianese gambling den. After showing his money to the guard in front he was admitted.
    He sat silently for a time, playing thirteen points, smoking and drinking some baijiu. He won a little money and began to feel better. Another cup of the powerful, clear spirits, then another and finally he relaxed—making sure, though, that the grocery bag was completely hidden beneath his chair.
    Eventually he struck up a conversation with the men around him and from the thirty dollars he won—a huge sum to him—he bought them drinks. Drunk and in good humor, he told a joke and a number of the men laughed hard. With the conspiratorial tone of men alone they all shared stories of disobedient wives and disrespectful children, the places they now lived and what jobs they had—or were seeking.
    Wu lifted his cup. “Here is to Zai Chen,” he announced drunkenly. This was the god of wealth and one of the most revered throughout China. Wu believed that he had a special connection with this folk deity.
    The men all tossed back their drinks.
    “You’re new here,” an old man said. “When did you come over?”
    Pleased that he had the spotlight among his equals, Wu bragged in a whisper, “Just this morning. On the ship that sank.”
    “The Fuzhou Dragon ?” one man asked, his eyebrow raised. “It was on the news. They said the seas were terrible.”
    “Ah,” Wu said, “the waves were fifteen meters high! The snakehead tried to kill us all but I got a dozen people out of the hold. And then I had to swim underwater to cut a life raft off the deck. I nearly drowned. But I managed to get us to shore.”
    “You did that yourself?”
    He looked down sadly. “I couldn’t save them all. But I tried.”
    Another asked him, “Is your family all right?”
    “Yes,” Wu answered drunkenly.
    “Are you in the neighborhood?”
    “Up the street.”
    “What is the Ghost like?” one man asked.
    “He’s all bluff. And a coward. He’s never without a gun. If he’d put it aside and fought like a man—with a knife—I could have killed him easily.”
    Then Wu fell silent as Sam Chang’s words began to echo in his mind. He realized he probably should not be saying these things. He