him.
“You are not the person who I thought was once here pending the arrival of the white man. And anyway, he is gone,” Bruce Willis said.
“And yet you very much resemble he who isn’t that person or any other,” Uma Thurman replied, “and he is not white. Surely your mother was forced to write a number upon you.”
“If it were up to me, I would rather go away now,” Willis said.
“They say when you are wrong twice, that is bad, and this you know,” the actress replied.
“Even if you choose to say nothing, the thing you do not say will be loud. You may yell now.”
“Did you finish?”
Cui asked. Wu sighed.
“I did my best. If I’m lucky, everyone will be too busy looking at Uma Thurman to read the subtitles,”
Wu Xiake said, adding, in English, “Why soitenly—nyuk nyuk nyuk…”
“I wish my wife had breasts like hers,”
Cui said.
“They were like that when my wife was nursing our daughter, but she wouldn’t let me touch them. Like Hong Kong. Very appealing,
but what difference does it make if you’re not allowed to go there?”
Wu Xiake had just moved on to the next scene when he heard a noise, a low rumbling that sounded like a locomotive was crashing
through the building. The noise grew louder and the building shook, until he was certain that an earthquake had struck. He
crawled under his desk, where Cui joined him as the power went out in the building and they were engulfed in darkness and
dust. He coughed. It was hard to breathe. “Cui?” he called out. He was fortunate in that he still had the headlamp his wife
had bought him for his birthday, to wear when he had to ride his bicycle home in the darkness, and the light was strong and
the batteries were fresh. He turned it on, but the room was full of dust and smoke. Cui was crying, so Wu did what he could
to comfort his friend. The noise lasted for perhaps twenty or thirty seconds, and then the building was still again. Cui was
shaking. Wu held his friend.
“We must get out,”
Wu said.
“There could be aftershocks. Are you hurt?”
“No, I think I’m okay.”
“Follow me, Cui.”
Wu put his headlamp on his head and made his way through the darkness, crawling over fallen file cabinets and shelves. In
the hall, they found Ji Jiabao, the cleaning lady, trapped under her cart, so they lifted it off her and helped her to her
feet. She seemed to be okay. As far as they knew, they were the only ones in their part of the building. A night watchman
was supposed to make the rounds, but he was usually in the warehouse, watching movies.
When they got to the end of the corridor, Wu Xiake opened the double doors and stopped, because that was where the building
stopped. He saw only flame and smoke and the stars in the open sky above, and below, a pile of rubble where the warehouse
had once been, a part of the old converted factory once the size of several soccer fields now simply gone, and with it, millions
of yuan worth of copied DVDs waiting for shipment. The earthquake had destroyed Shijingshan Entertainment, and yet, when Wu
looked across the river, he saw that the old two-hundred-foot-tall brick chimney from the coal-burning power plant was still
belching smoke—how could the earthquake demolish the warehouse but not knock down the chimney?
By the time Wu reached his bicycle, the building was surrounded by fire trucks and policemen and people manning manual pumps
to bring water from the river to pour onto the smoldering rubble. He probably should have stayed to help, Wu thought, but
he was just tired and wanted to go home. Yet looking back at the building, he couldn’t help noting how odd it was—it was as
if somebody had taken a large knife and sliced the building neatly in half in a straight line. Perhaps that was where the
fault line of the earthquake lay, and yet, none of the other buildings in the neighborhood had been touched or damaged in
any way. The night watchman was the only
“You are not the person who I thought was once here pending the arrival of the white man. And anyway, he is gone,” Bruce Willis said.
“And yet you very much resemble he who isn’t that person or any other,” Uma Thurman replied, “and he is not white. Surely your mother was forced to write a number upon you.”
“If it were up to me, I would rather go away now,” Willis said.
“They say when you are wrong twice, that is bad, and this you know,” the actress replied.
“Even if you choose to say nothing, the thing you do not say will be loud. You may yell now.”
“Did you finish?”
Cui asked. Wu sighed.
“I did my best. If I’m lucky, everyone will be too busy looking at Uma Thurman to read the subtitles,”
Wu Xiake said, adding, in English, “Why soitenly—nyuk nyuk nyuk…”
“I wish my wife had breasts like hers,”
Cui said.
“They were like that when my wife was nursing our daughter, but she wouldn’t let me touch them. Like Hong Kong. Very appealing,
but what difference does it make if you’re not allowed to go there?”
Wu Xiake had just moved on to the next scene when he heard a noise, a low rumbling that sounded like a locomotive was crashing
through the building. The noise grew louder and the building shook, until he was certain that an earthquake had struck. He
crawled under his desk, where Cui joined him as the power went out in the building and they were engulfed in darkness and
dust. He coughed. It was hard to breathe. “Cui?” he called out. He was fortunate in that he still had the headlamp his wife
had bought him for his birthday, to wear when he had to ride his bicycle home in the darkness, and the light was strong and
the batteries were fresh. He turned it on, but the room was full of dust and smoke. Cui was crying, so Wu did what he could
to comfort his friend. The noise lasted for perhaps twenty or thirty seconds, and then the building was still again. Cui was
shaking. Wu held his friend.
“We must get out,”
Wu said.
“There could be aftershocks. Are you hurt?”
“No, I think I’m okay.”
“Follow me, Cui.”
Wu put his headlamp on his head and made his way through the darkness, crawling over fallen file cabinets and shelves. In
the hall, they found Ji Jiabao, the cleaning lady, trapped under her cart, so they lifted it off her and helped her to her
feet. She seemed to be okay. As far as they knew, they were the only ones in their part of the building. A night watchman
was supposed to make the rounds, but he was usually in the warehouse, watching movies.
When they got to the end of the corridor, Wu Xiake opened the double doors and stopped, because that was where the building
stopped. He saw only flame and smoke and the stars in the open sky above, and below, a pile of rubble where the warehouse
had once been, a part of the old converted factory once the size of several soccer fields now simply gone, and with it, millions
of yuan worth of copied DVDs waiting for shipment. The earthquake had destroyed Shijingshan Entertainment, and yet, when Wu
looked across the river, he saw that the old two-hundred-foot-tall brick chimney from the coal-burning power plant was still
belching smoke—how could the earthquake demolish the warehouse but not knock down the chimney?
By the time Wu reached his bicycle, the building was surrounded by fire trucks and policemen and people manning manual pumps
to bring water from the river to pour onto the smoldering rubble. He probably should have stayed to help, Wu thought, but
he was just tired and wanted to go home. Yet looking back at the building, he couldn’t help noting how odd it was—it was as
if somebody had taken a large knife and sliced the building neatly in half in a straight line. Perhaps that was where the
fault line of the earthquake lay, and yet, none of the other buildings in the neighborhood had been touched or damaged in
any way. The night watchman was the only
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