Shanghai was everything Christie Fisher could want in a city. It was sprawling and alive, full of opportunities and bizarre experiences. To the pretty and bubbly young American, it was her kingdom. It didn’t hurt that when she spoke with the locals, her light Carolina twang became a stream of perfect Mandarin. To most Chinese, she was the enthralling epitome of the perfect westerner.
Of course, if most Chinese knew that Christie also enjoyed a range of amoral Western pastimes, such as getting high and clubbing until four o’clock in the morning, they would likely have a very different opinion of their blue-eyed princess. These disgraceful activities were the mark of “bad children”, black sheep in this conservative society.
Not that it mattered, since not one in a thousand Chinese could distinguish the smell of marijuana from a particularly fragrant cigarette. In this city, Christie could quite literally smoke spliffs on the front steps of her residence hall while passing teachers smiled and waved at their little darling.
Such was China. Full of strict rules and morals under the emperor’s watchful gaze.
And when he didn’t happen to be looking? An almost comically dysfunctional anarchy.
★ ★ ★ ★
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon in the park not far from Christie’s apartment. The ever-present pollution had retreated to a point that sky was almost completely blue. Only the slightest tinge of yellow could be seen in the spring air.
Reclined in a hammock stretched between two leafy camphor trees, Christie stared half-lidded at scraps of cloud drifting lazily above. Her two best friends, Lizzie and Becky, were sprawled on towels nearby chatting about something inconsequential. They were all stoned.
Christie loved watching the clouds on these lazy Sundays. If you imagined hard enough, they could become nearly anything you wanted. Even scrawny wisps like these could transform into schools of fish or prancing deer if you squinted your eyes in just the right way. At the moment, Christie had her eyes fixed on a long-eared rabbit that appeared to be melting into some sort of dog. It was a beautifully therapeutic display. A private show mother nature had made just for her.
“WHAT. THE. FUCK?!?”
Lizzie’s voice jerked Christie out of her thoughts.
“Wha..?” She asked groggily as she pulled herself into a seated position. She looked at Lizzie standing big-eyed and open-mouthed, gaping like a fish marooned in a shallow puddle. Becky was standing next to her with a similar expression. The two seemed well prepared to meet any threats with a coordinated gaping offensive.
“Look!” Lizzie said, shooting a stiff finger forward along her outstretched arm.
Christie followed the finger’s trajectory to a patch of trees on their left. There was a man standing among the shrubbery some four meters away. He had dark, leathery skin and a dirty white wife-beater draped over a wiry frame. His jagged teeth, dirtiness and generally rough appearance made it seem likely that he was some sort of migrant worker. Most striking, however, was his distinct lack of pants.
It wasn’t that his pants were pulled down, or around his ankles, or in any other state of half-dress. They simply weren’t there. And this enterprising parkgoer was taking full advantage of the freedom this afforded to manhandle his genitals, yanking unashamedly in a whisking motion as casually as if he were distributing bird feed to a flock of pigeons.
It looked like a sandbag, this revolting lump of flesh being jerked about by their unexpected guest. A lumpy bag of filthy sand.
Three fish now stood united in their gaping offensive. Several long moments passed while they attempted to process what was happening. The silence was finally broken by a giggle. The absurdity of the situation began to overwhelm Christie. It was too much. Her giggle burst into full-fledged laughter.
Such a beautiful day in the park, sunshine and green grass all around. Children, pets and families happily frolicking about, basking in the innocent joy of their Sunday outing. And here he was – a dirty, pants-less stick man, standing in the shrubs, slapping a floppy sandbag.
Lizzie and Becky glanced at Christie, then to each other. Apprehensive grins quickly gave way to bubbling laughter. Before they knew it, all three girls were nearly in tears, unable to do anything other than laugh hysterically at the lecherous scarecrow.
The man had a gift. Few people could muster the nerve to so casually pleasure themselves in the middle of a sunny park.
The three girls laughed for what must have been several minutes. With the speed of cold molasses, realization dawned on the stick man. He had an audience.
The grungy sand-beater gave a bashful smile. He took two steps to the left behind a scrawny shrub. It concealed almost nothing.
Slap, slap, slap. The beating continued.
Things were becoming a bit less funny. The girls’ laughing died down as the nature of this bizarre situation started to settle on them.
The sandman’s grin and continued slapping now seemed more to be the signs of an aggressive lunatic than an oblivious idiot.
There was a brief moment of tense silence. The girls remained frozen. Three heads turned towards each other like ancient stone pillars grinding into place, gargoyle expressions carved on their faces.
The spell broke.
All three girls flew into action, ripping down hammocks, wadding up towels and throwing belongings into beach bags. Within 10 seconds the space was empty of everything, including the girls. Half-jogging, arms overflowing with piles of cloth and frazzled curly hair bouncing erratically, Christie led her band of refugees away as quickly as their burdens would permit.
By the time they reached the park entrance the three were nearly out of breath and had slowed to a brisk walk. Becky was red-faced and panting. Just as they were slowing to a stop Christie spotted something that catapulted her back into a full sprint.
A police officer. Her knight in shining armor.
This officer of the law would put a stop to the relentless sand-slapping. A champion of order to sweep the emerald grass free of the dirty stick. In fact, he looked to be already headed in the direction of the offending shamble-man.
Christie leaped in front of the officer like a starving man ambushing an ice cream truck. The man started at the sight of the frazzle-haired, wide-eyed creature.
“Mister! There’s a man over there jerking-off!” Christie half-shouted the words into the officer’s face as she pointed frantically in the stick man’s direction.
The man stood for a moment staring at Christie, face plastered with a mixture of shock and concern.
“Your Chinese is very good,” he said with a bewildered look.
Christie stood dumbfounded for a moment.
“There is a man JERKING-OFF OVER THERE!!!” she leaned in closer as she repeated the last words slowly and loudly.
The officer seemed to snap back to his senses, “Ah?! Really?! Where?!”
“YES. RIGHT OVER THERE!!!” Christie repeated in an exasperated tone as she threw her finger repeatedly towards the scene of the incident.
“Ah OK, I’ll go have a look!” the officer sprang into action with all the nimbleness of a geriatric cowboy waddling off a long day in the saddle.
Christie stared after the man for a moment as he tottered away. It took her several seconds to recover from the stunningly anti-climactic encounter. The officer seemed as likely to be distracted by a passing butterfly as to actually ever find and confront the stick man.
Christie shook her head once and regained her senses. With a swift turn she pivoted back towards the park entrance and out of the tainted meadow, Lizzie and Becky close behind.
The three sped down the road from the park in a shuffling race-walk, faces painted in shock and disgust. The silence was broken by occasional exasperated and largely meaningless exchanges.
“Oh my god. What the fuck was that?!”
“What was wrong with that guy?!”
“Why didn’t anybody there report someone walking into the park WITH NO PANTS ON?!?”
The three girls parted ways at the nearest metro station. They gave quick, distracted goodbyes before shuffling off the direction of their respective homes.
By the time Christie threw open the door to her apartment and dumped her supplies onto the floor, she was entirely sober. She collapsed onto her bed and laid staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.
That was enough of that park. Forever. Christie made a firm decision to avoid the sandbag safari for the rest of her natural life.
She closed her eyes.
China. Naked men publicly pleasuring themselves in the largest city of the most powerful authoritarian state on the planet. The raw freedom to do drugs and expose yourself in a sunny park.
The pros? The emperor was far away.
The cons? The emperor was very, very far away.
End
James B. Cutchin 