not my photograph…
From the papers, translated…
The patient there, on the opposite bed probably has only a few moments to live now. His exposed hand that were flung, outside of the whitewashed sheets looked like a pair of blackened claws from a bird, his fingers were all, bent, out of shape, he couldn’t stop shaking. A short while later, he’d started moaning and groaning, perhaps, it’s the effects from the morphine, wearing off, and the pain became, unbearable to him, and so, the big man who was sitting guard by his bed quickly leapt up from the chair he was in, held tightly, onto the patient’s thin-as-a-bird’s-claws hands, called out to him in a low voice, “Baby, I’m still here———”
That tall man, he’s like a huge shadow, at least, 6’2 or 6’3, heavyset, his huge body, with his two, fatty, thick palms, with black hair, growing out from the back of his hands, it looked, more like the paws, of a bear. His oversized head, shaved, to spit shine, he’d, moved his head toward the patient’s ears, and, started, mumbling, a long line of comforting words that are soothing to the patient who was lying in bed. The face of the patient had already become, disfigured, there’s nothing but, skins and bones left on him, he looked, like a skull, but, every now and then, from those two, black holes came, two strings of tears, down his face. And so, the large man quickly, took out the handkerchief he had stuffed, inside his pant pockets, and, gently, wiped the tears away for the patient.
“Oh, baby————,” the man called out, lovingly.
The big man’s name is Georgio, the younger patient’s name, Ah Mong. Georgio is the head chef of a pizzeria in Little Italy, while Meng is a delivery boy, for the “Golden Sphynx” in Chinatown, he was a refugee who ran away from Vietnam, who came to the States by boat, his parents were migrated Asians from the western regions of Guanzhou. Georgio is twenty years older than Meng, but, the two of them had been together for seven, or eight years. All of these, Fang Yu heard, from Georgio in the rest room. Actually, in Ward 303, the first few days, Fang Yu never said a formal hello to Georgio, there were, a couple of times, when they both entered or exited from the hospital room, that Fang Yu thought that that big man wanted to say something to him, and, Fang Yu had, nodded without hearing what he had to say, then, quickly, excused himself. Fang Yu didn’t want ANYTHING to do with Georgio, actually, other than the doctors and the nurses, Fang Yu had, avoided verbal exchanges or exchanges of any kind, with people he bumped into in the hospital. He’d wanted to become, invisible, entering and exiting the hospitals, without anybody being aware that he was there, because he’d needed to be careful, pay heed to everything, so nobody knows who he is for real. As he’d taken Father Paul to get hospitalized, he’d filled out the forms for Father Paul, and in the occupation column, he’d put down: “Insurance Agent: from MetLife”, the address he’d put down his own resident on Tenth Street at East Greenwich Village. As Father Paul had an attack, Fang Yu immediately, stealthily, shipped him from the dormitory on Eight to St. Vincent Hospital, at the southern tip of Manhattan. Here, nobody will recognize them. The third floor of the hospital building was the infections ward, in the west wing were, all who had been diagnosed with A.I.D.S., and, nobody without any proper business would barge in.
not my photo still…
The moment that Father Paul came in, he’d fallen into a coma, which had, saved Fang Yu a ton of troubles. And, all Fang Yu had to do every day at the hospital is just to sit by Father Paul’s bed, and accompany him in silence. Father Paul’s gigantic form was lying, face toward the ceiling on the bed, he was, fast asleep. Fang Yu put a red velvet hat over his head, to keep him warm, which made his round face looked, even more gentle, made him looked like Santa. The cold fronts hit early this year, it’d, started to snow at the beginning of December. The heat was on low, at the hospital, sitting there long, Fang Yu started to feel that chill down his own spine. Thankfully, Father Paul had lost consciousness, his face didn’t look twisted, and from time to time, when Father Paul became too quiet, Fang Yu started becoming, a bit, unsettled, he’d put down the paper he was reading, stood up, walked over to Father Paul, placed his ear closer to Father Paul’s nostrils, to hear him breathe, and, hearing the air coming out of Father Paul’s lips, he’d sat back down, with his heart, more at ease, and continued to ready. He’d, flipped through the thick stack of Village Voice, and, an entire morning had, passed by. Other than the nurse who was on duty, coming in, to check, the curtains between the two beds were rarely, pulled open. With the curtain, separating, it’d severed the two patient’s world into two halves.
Until two afternoon’s ago, when Fang Yu felt, especially fatigued, he sat on the chair, kept, dozing off. He’d, left the hospital room, walked, to the third-floor rest area, where there was, free coffee, Fang Yu had, wanted to have some, to keep himself awake. In the resting area, Fang Yu glance over at Georgio who was, sitting there, all alone, with his hands, covering his head, his elbows, against the tabletop, seemed to be, lost in thought. Fang Yu had originally wanted to, go around Georgio, pour himself a cup of coffee, then, leave, quietly, not disturbing him. But, as Fang Yu walked, closer to Georgio, he’d realized, that this huge man was, sobbing, and, his giant body and shoulders were, twitching, perhaps, he’d, pressed himself too hard, to not let his cries heard. Fang Yu had, stood, behind that huge man, then, he’d, reached, to press down on his shoulders. The big man lifted his head, and, his face that’s covered with moustache, tears were, flowing from, his eyes were, already, too red, from the crying.
“The doctor told me, that it will be time soon, that I need to, prepare——”, the large man continued, sniffling.
Then, that large man had, pulled Fang Yu, to the chair next to him, and started, ranting on the story of he and his “baby” Meng. His English carried a thick Italian accent, and, Fang Yu could only understand about seventy, to eighty percent of what he was saying.
Meng and his whole family had, escaped from Vietnam via a boat, and, as they were on their way here, their ship was taken by pirates from the Philippines, both his parents, as well as his two older brothers were killed, only Meng, who’d suffered stab wounds all over his body, he’d, survived. The very first time that Georgio saw Meng, he was only seventeen, so skinny that he’d looked like a starved puppy with skin disease, looking at him, with his two, big eyes, as if, tears are going to, fall from them at anytime. Meng worked as a shoeshine in the streets of Chinatown, it was, Georgio, who, took Meng home. And, every single evening, he’d, sneak out a box of his own handmade pizza, so Meng didn’t stave, pepperoni, sausage, meatballs, ham, the toppings were, doubled, and, the heated pizza, with all the fatty oils, and, just like so, his “baby” was, finally, fattened up by him.
“Meng is a great kid, he’s my baby, my life——— “, that large man called out, passionately, “It’s so sad, because Meng would have nightmares every single night, that kid would often dream, and start screaming, he’d always dreamed about how those pirates were after him. I guess, what got him into drugs were his own fears, he’d started, hanging out with the Vietnamese gangs, he is actually, very scared, trying, to escape!”
The big man, Georgio wiped away his own snot that came out as he’d talked on, with the back of his, furry hand, Fang Yu quickly got up and, handed him a bunch of the Kleenex next to the coffee pots.
“Ah, thank you.”
The big man, Georgio said thankfully, used the Kleenex, and, blew hard into it. He was about to, continue the story of him and his “baby” Meng, when two nurses walked in, interrupted him
Meng didn’t make it through the night, the very next morning, as Fang Yu returned to the hospital, walked into room 303, Meng’s bed was already, unoccupied, and the sheets were replaced with clean ones. And that big man, Georgio never came back again. Not long thereafter room 303 had a brand new patient, it was, a Latino man, with tumors growing, all of his face, his face resembled that of purple cabbage.
Father Paul stayed in the coma for twelve days in the hospital, originally, the doctors believed, that he would only be in a coma for no more than a week, which meant, that Fang Yu would have more than enough time, to prepare for Father Paul’s funeral. He’d found a funeral home not far from the hospital, “Rocker’s Place”, and, he’d even, picked out an urn, for Father Paul’s ashes, it was, a book-shaped container, made from copper. Fang Yu told the manager of the funeral home, that there won’t be any wake before the cremation, he would be, in the small church inside the funeral home, to stay for a short while.
On the day of the cremation, Fang Yu accompanied Father Paul’s body inside the “Rocker’s Place”, for an entire afternoon. He kneeled in front of Father Paul’s coffin, silently, recited the verses, with the Rosary beads in his hand, as he’d recited the words once, he’d counted one bead, as he was done, going through all one hundred sixty-five beads of the Rosary, the winter sun was, already setting, the last ray entered through the sky window of the small church. That very long Rosary bead, was the thing that Father Paul had, left behind, its history, very long winded, the amber colored beads now, shone with luster. On the evening that Father Paul had his heart attack, Fang Yu drove him to the hospital in a hurry, without the time, to take anything else, but he had, taken along this rosary bead. After Fang Yu was done with the recitations, he’d placed that bead around Father Paul’s neck. Father Paul lay there, inside the coffin, had been, made over, and the strands of silver, draping over his forehead were, groomed, with his eyes shut, as if, he was, just sleeping soundly.
Before the casket was closed, Fang Yu took off the cross that he had around his own neck. Pressing that copper cross against Father Paul’s lips, then, he’d, closed the casket. That cross, was something from Father Paul. He’d worn it, for a decade, it’d, never left his neck one day, and that cross had, become an amulet for protection to him, with the cross around his neck, Fang Yu can feel safe and secured, like there was, the Holy Spirit, really, looking out for him.
A decade ago, Fang Yu was only sixteen, he’d been tramping the streets of Manhattan for a little over a year, done anything one can only imagine: stolen, sold drugs, prostituted, he’d often rummaged through the trash bins, to find left over to feed himself. On a snowy and windy night, right before Christmas, Fang Yu finally, collapsed, he had a fever of 105 passed out, right outside of Central Park, near to Sixty-Sixth Street. It was, Father Paul, who, saved him, and placed him in the “St. Francis Homeless Shelter”. This shelter was set up by Father Paul, taking in, all of the runaway teens, and it’s also called, “the Juvenile Home on 42nd”. It was, a remodeled factory building, right next to St. Francis Church.
It was also, on a snowy and winter Christmas Eve, after Father Paul had finished with the midnight masses, as he was about to lock up, he’d found, that there were, a group of children, who hadn’t left. There were, four children, all boys of fifteen or sixteen, with single layered, torn up clothes, each one of them had, frozen to when their faces were green, shivered, nonstop. Two white children, one black child, one Latino, they were all, little homeless boys who ran away from home, on that freezing Christmas Eve, they all had, nowhere else to go, snuck into the church, to stay warm. Father Paul had, told them to stay, he believed, that it was God, who’d, delivered this group of children to him on that windy and snowy night, wanted him to look after them. Since then, Father Paul had, started, planning setting up this “Homeless Shelter on 42nd”. Over the years, the shelter had, taken in the homeless by the numbers, those teenage boys who all had, separate scars on their hearts. And, every year, especially around Christmas, after the midnight masses, Father Paul would, lead a couple of volunteers from his church, got into an SUV, and patrolled the streets of Manhattan. And every single time, they’d, run into a couple of teens who had, nowhere else to go, waited for, Father Paul to, extend that helping hand. If Fang Yu didn’t get found by Father Paul on that particular evening, he would’ve, frozen to death in the snow, it was, Father Paul, who’d, saved his life.
Fang Yu had, slept for two whole nights and finally, woke up, he saw Father Paul, sitting, by the edge of the bed, with a gentle smile, looking at him. Father Paul had on a black robe, and the white collar was, stiff, there was, a set of, amber-colored rosary beads hanging around his neck. He was slightly overweight, with a red glow and smooth skin complexion, a patch of white hair hung across his forehead, made him look elderly. He had a kind look, a pair of, large, gentle eyes, Fang Yu thought, that Father Paul was, emitting this, warmth about him.
“Your fever is gone now.” Father Paul told him, he’d tested Fang Yu’s forehead with his own hand, his palms felt soft and thick, “You’d been asleep so long, you must be starving.” Father Paul helped Fang Yu sit up, handed him a cup, there was, warm milk inside, and, Father Paul saw how Fang Yu had, drank it all up with just one single gulp, he’d smiled and patted his head, said, “Slow down.”, and, he’d, turned around, and came back into the room, with a bucket of warm water, with a towel, draped over his shoulders.
Father Paul taught Fang Yu to soak his feet into the water, Fang Yu’s feet were, covered with, frostbites, swollen and red, there were, a couple of cracks on his feet. As Fang Yu soaked his feet, Father Paul squatted down, used the towel, dried his feet, t hen, he’d taken an antibiotic ointment, and, got the ointment onto Fang Yu’s purple feet, then, used a Q-tip, to spread the medication out evenly. “I’d worked as a nurse!”, Father Paul lifted his head, smiled at Fang Yu, his chubby hands were, very swift, in a very short time, he’d, wrapped him up.
“Okay, buddy, you can come off the bed and walk now.” Father Paul used some energy, to get his body weight supported, took a long breath in and out, patted Fang Yu on the shoulders and smiled.
“Father————“
Fang Yu, called out, stuttering, he’d wanted to tell Father Paul thank you, but the words were, stuck in his throat, he lifted his head toward Father Paul, his lips wouldn’t stop trembling. Father Paul stared at him in silence, after awhile, he’d, taken the copper cross from his neck, and, placed it around Fang Yu’s neck.
“God bless you,” Father Paul said, in a lowered voice, “They’re still, waiting for me, over at the church, my child, I will be giving them a mass now.”
As Father Paul left that factory warehouse, he’d turned around, waved to Fang Yu and smiled at him.
“Merry Christmas!”
Fang Yu had lived for sixteen years, and, nobody had been so gentle toward him. Fang Yu was a bastard child, he’d grew up in Chinatown in Manhattan, with his mother. His mother was from Hong Kong, stowed away, to come to the States, hid out, in the restaurant of Chinatown, and worked her whole life. Fang Yu took his mother’s last name, he’d never know who his father is, and, when he’d asked his mother, she’d give him a dirty look. Said, with animosity, “He’s dead! He’d been dead, a long time!”, his mother was with a ton of men: waiters, deliverymen, those who worked odds and ends. Sometimes, the men would take care of her, sometimes, she’d taken care of the men. She’d once, dated, a white cop too, and, every single man she’d dated had, left a scar on Fang Yu’s body. There was, a scar that was, over ten stitches over the top of his head, it was, from that heavyset officer, after he got drunk, and, beaten him down, and, he’d also, raped him too, that, was when Fang Yu was just thirteen. Later on, his mother finally married a head chef from “Shunli Garden”, the chef was a great cook, but, he was also, a bully, with a bad temper, a man from Chaozhou. Fang Yu followed his mother, squatted down on in the kitchens, shelling the shrimp, as the chef called out to him, Fang Yu was only a bit slower to answer, then, a slap across his face. And, every now and then, Fang Yu would, fight back, and that was when, the chef had, picked up a chopping knife, started from the back kitchen area, chased him out, onto the streets. At age fifteen, Fang Yu’s mother died of illness, and, he’d, made his getaway from the bad chef, started, drifting, on the streets.
Ever since he was younger, Fang Yu had become, especially sensitized to the word “Father”, no matter where he was, what he was doing, at the sight, or at the mentioning of the word, “father”, he’d felt, that heartache inside. From before when he’d blurted out “Father” at Father Paul, he was, shocked himself, that, was the very first time in his life that he’d, spoken that word aloud. Since that moment, he’d become, attached to Father Paul without knowing why. He’d stayed, for two months at the “Homeless Shelter on 42nd”, during that time in his life, he’d followed, closely, behind Father Paul no matter where Father Paul had gone, unwilling to be parted from him. The shelter took in a total of twenty youths altogether, and that warehouse was barely able to keep ten bunkbeds. Father Paul, took along his handful of volunteers, caring for the group of, young runaways, helping them solve their problems, to set them up for jobs. Fang Yu had, helped Father Paul out, and, as Father Paul gave him a task, he’d done it, willingly and happily, he was, willing, to give his life to Father Paul, becoming his tag-along. In the evenings, Father Paul would take them along in the church next door, to do the evening recitations, and, everybody would follow Father Paul’s lead, Father Paul says one line, Fang Yu would repeat. Fang Yu wasn’t a believer, nor did he entered into a church from before. As the pastor’s wife from the Baptist Church in Chinatown came to get his mother to go to church on Sunday morns, he was, the first one, to make an excuse, to not go. It was, Father Paul’s gentle voice in reciting the verse that’s touched his soul, that drove him, to want to, become baptized. For Fang Yu, that simple and crude warehouse on 42nd, was his very first home, a place where his heart and soul were in. later on, Father Paul sent Fang Yu to study at St. Joseph’s Academy, and applied for the three-year’s scholarship for him too. but, every Sunday, early in the morn, Fang Yu would take the hour long train ride from Brooklyn to Manhattan’s “42nd St. Shelter”, to catch Father Paul’s eight o’clock mass, then, get the holy communion, and confess to Father Paul. When he’d returned to that warehouse shelter, that, was when Fang Yu felt, that he was, coming home.
After Fang Yu graduated, he’d started working, in the Mets Insurance company, he’d found a job as an assistant, and, he’d become, a volunteer of Father Paul’s group, there were, an eighty-year-old family physician, an elderly lady who works as a counselor, a pair of retired male nurses, and a chef that cooked, for the masses, an assortment of people, there were also, those like Fang Yu, who’d returned to volunteer, after being helped by the homeless shelters all around—they’d all come, to the ,call of Father Paul, to help those coming, and going, group of young homeless people, some of these homeless children became prostitutes, and wandered on and on, by the red light district at the edge of Time Square, by Eighth, and until their pimps beaten them to seriously injured, their lives, threatened, that, was when they escaped to the shelters, some were on drugs, caught by the police, and didn’t have anywhere else to go after their release, and were sent to shelters, they’d come, to find Father Paul.
“The Shelter on 42nd” became a sanctuary in the red light district. The group of drifting youths, came and went, some, after they were out, returned to their old ways, because their addictions got the best of them some returned back to the red light district by Time Square, and started selling again, until they’d contracted A.I.D.S., they’d stumbled, back in, and asked for Father Paul’s help. Father Paul had, given his all, looking after this group of children who have contracted A.I.D.S., for several of them, Father Paul had, taken care of them ‘til the end, became their legs, and, put them to rest.
Year after year, the “42nd Street Homeless Shelter” slowly gained its reputation. The Village Voice printed out the photograph of Father Paul and his group of runaway children, called him, “the Savior of the Red Light District”. There were, more and more teens who’d come, to seek out shelter, from the 42nd Street Shelter, and, the responsibility that landed on Father Paul became heavier and heavier still, he’d often needed to write those letters until dawn breaks, to those donors, told them all the stories of those little vagabonds, and, Father Paul’s letters had, moved all of the donors, and most of them became, long-term supporters, and, there were two of them who’d, donated their inheritances after they’d died to the “42nd Street Shelter”. But, as Fang Yu watched Father Paul withered away by the tear, his chubby stature, as he’d walked, his steps became, more and more labored. Until two weeks after he’d had an attack, it was, the dusk of one afternoon at the start of the winter season, the weather was already changed, there’s that hint of coldness, Fang Yu went to the 42nd St. Shelter, and, in the church, he saw Father Paul, kneeled before the shrine, praying silently. Fang Yu sat, at the last row, quietly, waiting. The burnt colors of the setting sun came from the glass windows of the left side of the building, there was, a ray of dying light, that landed, on Father Paul’s black robe, making his robes look dusty, which made Father Paul’s bent-over, kneeling figure seemed, especially lonely. Fang Yu waited until Father Paul was done praying, then, went up to him, gave him a hug.
“Father———”
Fang Yu called out lightly, as Father Paul saw him he’d still flashed that warm smile as usual, but, don’t know why, but he’d sensed that there was, this deep and gigantic sense of sorrows, from Father Paul’s gentle, big eyes, it was, what he’d never seen, for so many years. Father Paul looked really tired, beaten, even, like he’d, aged, instantly. He stumbled to led Fang Yu out, as they were half way down the steps, he’d turned around all of a sudden, told Fang Yu, “Fang, let’s sit down, I want to talk to you about something.”
Father Paul looked over Yu Fang a bit, gently, patted the back of his hands.
“I’m truly glad for you, Fang, it’s been hard, getting to where you currently are today,” Father Paul looked toward Fang Yu and nodded, then, he’d exhaled deeply, said, “I do hope, that all of my kids can be like you, but, several of them had, returned, back onto the streets again, and, when I thought about those kids, shivering in the cold nights, standing on the street corners, I’d felt so awful, as if, I’d, abandoned them all—” Father Paul was in regret now, and Fang Yu tried, to pull him back again, “but, you’d managed to save a lot of children too!”
Father Paul shook his head, “That was, with the strengths from God.”
“I’m sure, that that, was what God wanted you to do,” Fang Yu insisted.
“But, I didn’t do it well enough—”, Father Paul said, like he was in pain, “I’d, let Him down!” Fang Yu saw tears, coming out of Father Paul’s eyes now.
“Father———”, Fang Yu called out.
“I’d often prayed, asked the Lord to guide me, so I won’t be lost, but sometimes, it seems, that I can’t find where I am, like I’m, buried, deep, in the depth of the long, dark nights, completely, gone astray———”
Father Paul exhaled, remained silent for a bit, then, seemingly, as if, talking to himself, said, “Perhaps, I’d, loved them all too much, all my children.”
After Fang Yu finalized Father Paul’s final affairs, he’d received that copper urn back into his apartment in the basement of Tenth Street. He’d swallowed two Valium, and slept, for a day and a night without disturbances, the very next day, he’d rushed back to MetLife and started working again. His manager, Mary Tu was this chubby woman from Hong Kong, normally, Mary looked out for him, but this day, as she saw him entering the office, she’d slammed a huge stack of paperwork on his desk, pointed at him, warned, “If you didn’t show up today, I was going to fire you! This, is the final day, tomorrow will be Christmas vacation!”
Fang Yu took a whole week of sick days off, and extended for five more days, Christmas is here, there was, an accumulation of a full stack of forms, that Fang Yu needed to sort through. This MetLife is located on Broadway, not far from Chinatown, there were a lot of Asian customers, from Hong Kong, Taiwan and immigrants from China too, the refugees from Cambodia, and Vietnam too, so, the company had, hired, a huge group of Asian employees. Seated to the left and right of Yu Fang’s desk were two female employees from Singapore and Malaysia, Vicky, and Kitty, single ladies in their thirties, both older than Fang Yu, because of how shy he seemed, they’d always, made fun of him. As Fang Yu sat down at his desk, they’d started grilling him: where did you disappear to these past couple of days? What sort of bad deeds did you get into? Fang Yu dodged left and right, stuttered. And, as Vicky and Kitty got nowhere with questioning him, they’d become, sort of annoyed.
“Fang must’ve eloped with someone!”, Vicky laughed aloud.
“Oh, I know!” Kitty hollered, “Fang and Amanda went rendezvousing!”
Afterwards, Kitty and Vicky both started laughing so hard. Amanda is this heavyset woman from Brazil, she claimed that whenever she’d curled up her index finger at any men at the office, they would all, be at her beck and call. As she saw Fang Yu, she’d tried to grab a hold onto him, and kiss him, and Fang Yu was the only one who’d tried, to get away from her, she swore, that one day, she will get Fang Yu into her bed. And, that week, just so happened, that Amanda was on break too, and, Kitty intentionally mixed her and Fang Yu together. Fang Yu’s face was now, all red, tried to ignore the ladies’ rants, kept his head, buried in the piled up paperwork. There was, that agitation that came, before a long holiday at the office, all of the coworkers all got off work early. Vicky and Kitty slung their coats on in a hurry, screamed out, “Merry Christmas”, then, left. The chubby Mrs. Mary Tu stayed until five, she saw Fang Yu still working hard, went over, patted him on the shoulder, smiled, “There’s no way you’ll manage to finish all the work, it’s fine, Fang, go home, it’s Christmas!”
“It’s quite all right,” Fang smiled and answered, I’ll leave after I’m done with this stack.
Fang Yu continued working until past nine in the evening, and there was nobody else but him at the office now. He’d put on that navy blue coat with the hat, put a red scarf around his neck. The snow was coming down outside now, all the shops, the diners on Broadway are all, closed now, the Christmas decoration in the store windows shone on in the snow, blinked, in the snow. There was, a cold wind that hit his face, like a knife, hacking at him, Fang Yu pulled down his hat, placed both hands into his pocket, walked hurriedly toward Little Italy, he’d not had any food all day long, he was feeling dizzy now. There were still, a couple of pizzerias that were opened in Little Italy, he bought two slices of supreme, stood by the outside of the shop, and started, gulfing down the food. After he finished, he’d looked at his watch, ten o’clock. He watched the streets that were, filled up with the snow, he’d become, lost, all of a sudden, not knowing where to go next. For all the past Christmases, he’d returned to the “42nd Street Shelter”, and attended, with the youths, Father Paul’s midnight mass. Several times, after the masses, Father Paul took him out, on that old church SUV, patrolled the streets of Manhattan, took a couple of wandering children off the streets, on Christmas Eve, giving the kids, a temporary place to belong in, like how Fang Yu was saved, by Father Paul that snowy, cold night too. Father Paul is gone now, Fang Yu can’t return back to the 42nd Street Shelter anymore. On this eve of Christmas, Fang Yu, all of a sudden, felt homeless.
There were, almost no pedestrians on the streets now, only the bars at Greenwich Village which are, still open. Fang Yu walked to Eighth Street, entered into Rendezvous, a bar with all the races welcome, mostly, Asian partygoers. This bar was not far from where Fang Yu worked, as he got off work, he’d gone here, to get drunk from time to time. This bar is usually, jam packed on the weekdays, and the weekends too. But on Christmas Eve, most people had, headed home for the holidays, and, the bar became, vacant, only by the bar, there sat, a row of customers, several of them quite young, like Southeast Asians, there was, a fifty-year-old chubby white man that sat in the midst of them, with a tall paper hat that glowed like gold, flirting with those young Asian men. Fang Yu walked over to the bar asked the bartender for a double martini, then, stumbled to the corner of the bar, where there was, a huge fireplace burning. He’d walked around, in the snowstorm, and was, completely, frozen. Fang Yu sat next to the fireplace, drank at his martini, keeping himself warm, the jukebox at the bar kept playing “Silver Christmas”. There was, a young server of Latin descent with gold stars on his face running toward Fang Yu to show him kindness, Fang Yu ordered up a double martini again, and gave them a huge ten-dollar tip, the young server was so happy, he’d flashed his row of white teeth, said, “You’re so sweet mister, god bless you!”
After two double martinis had been consumed, the alcohol started, spreading, inside of Fang Yu’s body, the flames from the furnace was, burning high now, and, Fang Yu started to sweat, he’d taken off that scarf, and, stared, into the burning fire. All of a sudden, Fang Yu felt, a huge palm, pressed down on his shoulders. “Georgio!”, Fang Yu lifted his head, and called out excitedly.
That huge man stood behind Fang Yu, with a face of smiles, looking at Fang Yu, he had on, layers and layers of thick clothing, but with a red Santa hat over his head, with a fuzzy ball on top. Fang Yu pulled Georgio to sit next to him, then, called out to the young waiter, he’d asked Georgio, “what do you want to drink? I’m buying, I’m having martini.”
“Then, I shall have the same.” Georgio seemed flattered.
Fang Yu ordered two martinis from the young waiter.
“Double”, he’d added.
The young waiter brought two more martinis to them, and, Fang Yu gave him another ten for tips, and that Latino boy was so happy that he’d thanked him continuously.
“Merry Christmas!”, Fang Yu toasted Georgio.
“Merry Christmas!”, Georgio returned it.
“Can’t believe that I’d bumped into you tonight in here!”, Fang Yu said, with excitement.
“Actually, we come here, quite often,” Georgio said, “I mean, just me, and Meng, the two of us.” Then, from Georgio’s widened face, there was, a hint, of sorrow.
“Georgio, on this Christmas Eve, I’d bumped into you, I’m sure, that it was, God’s arrangement.”
Fang Yu said seriously, that as he bumped into this gigantic man, it was, as if, he’d found his family. Although he’d only spent a few short days with Georgio at the hospital, but they’d gone through life and death in Ward 303, there was, that special kind of connection there. Fang Yu was shy, not at all talkative, back when he was younger, and the men her mother dated became abusive to him, he’d, sealed his lips, not said a word, and, fought, silently. Until he’d met Father Paul, did he find someone, to tell his secrets to, he’d often gone to Father Paul for confessions, and, told all the pains, the sufferings he’d, endured since he was a child, to Father Paul, and, as Father Paul had died, Fang Yu felt, that all of a sudden, he’d, become dumb, he couldn’t make a sound now, a lot of words were, buried, inside of him, there seemed to be, a thick, brass plate over his chest. As he saw Georgio, all of a sudden, he felt, the impulse, to “confess” to this huge man, and, blurted out everything that he’d kept, buried, for very long. Georgio was the only one who saw him last with Father Paul.
After three rounds, the double Martinis started taking an effect. Fang Yu started slurring his words now, he’d told the original story of Father Paul and him to Georgio completely, started, from that snowy Christmas Eve, ten years ago.
“Georgio———”, as Fang Yu got real emotional talking, he’d held out his hand, to grab onto Georgio’s huge palm, “That night, I’d gone to find Father Paul, the next day, I was about to leave the shelter, to St. Joseph’s in Brooklyn to study. As I walked to his room in the apartment, to say goodbye to him, thanking him, for saving me. As I saw him, I’d hollered out, “Father——”, then, fallen, to the ground, and, held on to his legs, and started wailing, do you believe it? Georgio, that, was the very first time, for sixteen whole years, that I’d, cried aloud, and with the tears too. As my mother’s cop boyfriend beaten my head open, I’d not even cried a single tear. Father Paul took me into his arms, I’d, managed my way into his embrace, I’d, curled up inside his arms, lay there, for the entire night, I felt the heat from his body—that was, the warmth, from the world. That, was the most blessed moment in my life, I really felt, that I was, being blessed, by God——”
Fang Yu finished the remaining glass of his martini in one gulp, took a deep exhale. Georgio ordered up another round, and, the two of them, toasted one another.
“Georgio,”, Fang Yu was now, half-intoxicated, he’d lowered his voice to Georgio, “I must, protect, Father Paul, don’t I, Georgio? I can allow him to get hurt, I found a patch in the distant Catholic cemetery, I plan to send Father Paul’s ashes there to be buried, he will be safe, resting there.”
“Georgio,” Fang Yu was now, muffled, “He’d given his whole life to his children—he’d, loved his children too much. But, those people from the church won’t understand him, I need to, protect him, right? I’d prayed, for Father Paul every single night, I’m quite certain, that God would forgive him——”
As Fang Yu talked, he’d, leaned over, his head fell, to Georgio’s thick and sturdy shoulders.
“God will forgive him, right?”, Yu Fang mumbled, drunk, the burning furnace had, made his face all red, and he’s starting to, sweat now.
Georgio nodded, seemingly, to understand him, he hugged on to Fang Yu’s shoulders, whispered into his ears, “Let’s go home now, the bar’s closing now.”
That young Latino waiter just hollered out for the last round, there was, Fang Yu and Georgio left. Georgio lifted Fang Yu up, helped him put on his coat, put his scarf around him, wrapped one of his arms around his own neck, and, stumbled, the two of them helped each other, out of Rendezvous. The snow had, stopped falling outside, the streets of Greenwich Village was, paved with a layer of snow of two, three inches. Georgio helped Fang Yu, step, by step, moved in the loosened snow. His beat up small Chevy pickup was parked on the corner of Eighth Street and Fifth Avenue, as they walked toward the parking spot, there was, a group of youth choir, with a dozen teenage boys, of all the races, in white robes, wearing red, white, green velvet hats, led, by a priest, on that paved with snow square, performing “Silent Night” over, over, and over again: Silent Night, Holy Night, All is Calm, All his Bright———”
The children’s voices were very childish in the cold night, like the snows, fell on the streets of Greenwich Village. Georgio allowed Fang Yu to lean on him, stood awhile by the car, waited until those choir boys went off, then, he’d opened up the car door, placed Fang Yu in the passenger side buckled him up, then, got in the driver’s side, started the ignition.
Georgio lives close to Little Italy, a four story old apartment, there was no elevator, and, Fang Yu was out for good, he’d, slung Fang Yu onto his own back, and, started climbing the stairs, step, by step, from the first floor, to the fourth. After they’d entered into his apartment, Georgio put Fang Yu onto a long sofa, and, placed a pillow underneath Fang Yu’s head. The heat was made possible with heated water in Georgio’s apartment, in the snowy night, the cold was, attacking them. Georgio went over into the kitchen, carried out some logs, a stack of old paper, to the fireplace in the living room, stack up the wood, lit the paper, then, made a fire. As Georgio was squatting, with his oversized body, trying to keep the fire going, he’d heard a “wah” from behind him, Fang Yu started barfing. Georgio rushed over to him, he saw, that Fang Yu had, soiled himself, as well as onto the couch, and onto the carpet too. Fang Yu couldn’t stop gagging, like he was, getting rid of his own insides, and the stench from the alcohol wreaked the house too. Georgio didn’t try to get away, he carried Yu Fang into the bathroom, removed his dirtied clothes, and, wiped off the vomit on Fang Yu’s face and body, with a wet towel. Then, that man that resembled a giant spirit, with his humongous hands, carried Fang Yu’s weak, thin body, carefully, into the bedroom. He’d taken out a bathrobe that Meng used to wear, put it onto Fang Yu, then, placed him, into the bed, tucked him in. Fang Yu was, completely, drunk, and, was in a comatose state, and, the moment his body hit the bed, he’d, fallen asleep.
Georgio returned back into the living room, and, the fire in the fireplace is really burning, and, warmth took over the apartment now. He went, and got a bucket of water, found the rags, and detergents, and, scrubbed and rubbed the vomit off of the floors and the couch. Then, he’d, changed into his pajamas, bathed himself, and, shaved off the moustache that started growing out in the middle of the nights, then, returned back into his bedroom. He lay next to Fang Yu, turned off the light. In the darkness, he heard the heavy breaths of Fang Yu after he was drunk, and, he’d also felt, the warmth, from Fang Yu’s body, underneath the covers. During these days, after Meng had died, every night, at bedtime, was the hardest for Georgio. This oversized old wooden bed, was bought by him and Meng at an used furniture shop in Soho that they both shopped for. Meng is no longer there, and, Georgio felt the loneliness, attacking him, lying, on this, big and empty bed of theirs. But, on this Christmas Eve, there was, a younger man lying, next to him, accompanying him. And, serenity took over, Georgio’s mind. And, as he was about to fall fast asleep, out of habit, he’d, extended his arms, and, gently, held on, to Fang Yu’s body.
So, you can see from this, that we’re all, just looking for someone to love us, like Fang Yu, he’d had a hard childhood, until he found the Father, who showed him what love was about, and, there is Georgio, a gigantic man, who relied on his friend, Meng, to keep him company, but, Meng had died, and, Georgio became, all alone, without a companion, until Fang Yu came back into his life again. And this just shows, how lonely these characters are, how although, from different and varied backgrounds, they’re all, just looking, for the most basic of all human desires: to be loved, to love someone, to feel cared for, and to show care to someone.
Life, the Obstacle Course 