Read Online Chenxi and the Foreigner by Sally Rippin - Free Book Online Page B

him arguing fiercely with the Consul guard. Every now and then Chenxi was interrupted as someone in the crowd offered their opinion. The guard was shaking his head.
    â€˜Chenxi!’ Anna called. ‘What’s the matter?’
    Chenxi stopped shouting for a moment and looked at Anna. The crowd did the same. Then he turned back to the guard, pointing towards Anna, and continued shouting even louder.
    â€˜Is that your friend?’ Laurent raised his eyebrows.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Anna.
    â€˜He’s not acting very Chinese, is he?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Well he’s saying some pretty heavy things for a Chinese. He should watch out. That kind of talk could get him into trouble!’
    Chenxi strode over. ‘He not want let me in. He say no Chinese allowed but I tell him you invite me,’ he muttered to Anna. ‘Shit!’
    â€˜We’re leaving anyway,’ Anna said. ‘You want to come? This is Laurent.’
    Laurent slapped Chenxi amiably on the shoulder and said something long and complicated in Chinese. They both laughed.
    â€˜Yeah. I come,’ Chenxi said.
    The three of them pushed through the arguing crowd and set off down the street.
    Laurent and Chenxi chatted in Chinese as they strode through the pools of yellow light on the pavement. Anna followed and tried to look as if she didn’t care that she couldn’t understand.
    Chenxi was warming to Laurent, and Anna wished yet again that she could speak Chinese. If there was a way to reach him it would certainly be through his own language. But we share a language, too. Our art. He has to feel there is some connection there. Surely the language of art traverses all cultures?
    Laurent stopped and leant against a high brick wall in the shadowy space between two street lamps. He took a film canister and a packet of French cigarette papers out of his hip pocket.
    Anna looked around. The street was certainly not empty. A sulky girl and her boyfriend walked past, turning to gape at the foreigners.
    Laurent broke off a little of the greasy hashish and, with a practised hand, mixed it with tobacco into one of the papers. Then he licked the seal and rolled a neat joint. She noticed that even though Laurent’s hands were scrupulously clean, old stains of hashish had worked their way into his fingerprints.
    â€˜You’re not going to light up here?’ Anna said, astounded. A young man wobbled past on his bike, crooning to himself. An old lady stretched out of the window above, pulling her shutters closed, locking out the night. The streets were quiet in the consulate quarter, where the old European-style buildings and spotted plane trees lining the streets were reminiscent of France.
    â€˜They don’t know what it is,’ Laurent assured her. ‘They think it’s just some strange type of foreign cigarette.’
    Anna had the feeling that Laurent might be showing off. For her benefit.
    Laurent lit up and drew back hard, squinting in the smoke as he passed the joint to Anna. She took it and drew back tentatively at first, savouring the sweet musky taste. It was a lot stronger than grass. She handed the joint back to Laurent and waited for the effect.
    Laurent offered the joint to Chenxi who smiled slowly and shook his head. ‘I am Chinese, maybe, but I know what that is. I been to Xinjiang.’
    Laurent shrugged and took another drag.
    Anna began to feel fuzzy. When Laurent passed the joint back to her, she drew on it once again. Hard.
    The street noises became treacly. The lights softened and blurred. Anna knew she was smiling like a fool.
    They stood between two streetlights, against the brick wall.
    Anna heard Laurent saying, ‘Hey, let’s go to a bar!’ His voice came to her as if through cotton wadding.
    She heard herself answer, ‘Sure.’
    â€˜Do you have your bike?’
    Anna thought for a while. ‘No.’
    â€˜I take her on mine. It’s in front of