The Artificial Chinaman
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The Artificial Chinaman

Taipei, Taiwan, 2003

The Artificial Chinaman lives in a suburb of Taipei in a villa which cost him US$ 865,000 and he paid most of it in cash. Those were the good old days! When he isn't hiding from the rays of the sun in his villa, he is lying in his Mercedes SLK 230 Kompressor, cowering in his brand new Cadillac Escalade ESV, or his regular car, a Mercedes Benz S320. Usually on his way to the office - where he spends almost sixteen hours per day - or on the way to a fabulously expensive restaurant or KTV. The food isn't very good there, but they treat him like a king, which is the whole idea. It makes him feel good and it gives him a chance to impress his friends and clients. He doesn't even know what the word pretentious means and would have trouble understanding it when he looked it up in a dictionary. And then he would solemnly declare that he doesn't much care for that kind of people.

His skin is white, almost translucent, in contrast to the foreigners, who look red. Also, they are extremely hairy, whereas he is smooth, almost completely without body hair. They perspire a lot and tend to smell bad; probably because they don't shower every day. He doesn't know whether he should give credence to the reports, but he has heard that some of them are positively dirty in this respect. He has never gone on a picnic, has never gone fishing, avoids walking whenever he can and exercise of any kind seems like the height of absurdity to him. Why did he study and work so hard, if in the end he still has to toil like a lowly peasant? If he gets fat, so be it. If he dies early, it would be a shame, but it can't really be helped. Anyway, all this talk about healthy living is greatly exaggerated.

He gets sensitive when he talks to people who went to a better university, have a higher position or significantly more money. At the same time, he is extremely proud of his achievements, of his material wealth which he shows up compulsively and in exaggeration. He is also very proud of his children who only enjoy the best. The best tutors, the best violin-, piano-, and ballet- teachers, the best food, the most fashionable clothes - the best of everything. But he doesn't spoil them! Only ignorant people do that and he sure isn't ignorant.

He does not get on with their teachers who show a complete lack of understanding for the difficulties his kids go through. He is slightly exasperated by their tutors, who though highly recommended, don't seem to do much for their grades. The grades, of course, are the shame of the family, but since only the system is to blame and all friends have quite similar problems, the whole issue either isn't mentioned or has become a conversation topic with real close friends.

His son, eleven years old, naturally has the very best credit card and the newest Nokia that money can buy and things are getting a little expensive. Well, not really. They will get slightly more expensive later on, as he has promised his only son - the apple of his eye - a sports car as soon as he passes the entrance examinations to the university. Any university. He is not yet aware of the fact that his son is probably not going to enter a university. One of his daughters might, but it is far from sure.

The Artificial Chinaman's wife has a Filipina maid. She had a couple before, but they didn't do a good job, and every Sunday they wanted a day off, which is intolerable. She tried an Indonesian maid, but that was even worse than before. Within less than a week she had sent her back to the agency. Friends have been telling her that Vietnamese servants are the way to go, and she is definitely going to try it out next time. They look much less like peasants, not so black and sun-burnt, and they are supposed to be really hard workers. One could almost mistake them for Chinese, if the truth be said. Actually, aren't they really Chinese? Their country once belonged to China and only a quirk of history has changed that fact. OK, they could be honorary Chinese. Kind of.

The Artificial Chinaman's wife has a problem. She is bored to tears. You can only have your hair done so many times, you can only play Mah Jong a couple of times per week - lose or win a grand doesn't mean a thing, it'll all be spent on inviting the losers to dinner or KTV anyway - and the movies get worse and worse these days as well. She has only one solace, or maybe two. Shopping of course! Gucci, Hermes, Aigner or Louis Vuitton, never mind. As long as it is expensive, looks expensive and has class. Never mind taste. That word belongs to another universe. Certainly not hers. The other reprieve is gossiping. She meets her friends in coffee-shops, really fancy coffee-shops, and she talks about any juicy subject that presents itself on TV or the specialized gossip magazines. Sex, scandal, politics cum sex & scandal - that's the stuff.

She loves her kids dearly, and so does the Artificial Chinaman. They never go out of the house unattended - the driver gets them to school and picks them up again - and their lives are safe. Not quite safe enough, what with all the kidnappers, madmen and incompetents around, but as safe as money can get them. Last week the kids had a bit of an adventure: Dad called up a taxi and told him exactly where to deliver the three of them, but the kids were in charge of paying the taxi, ordering the drinks at Starbucks and making it to their tutor by themselves. They were thrilled! Taking a taxi ride all alone, what an amazing adventure!!

The Artificial Chinaman has bloodshot eyes, not because of too much booze, which he doesn't like very much anyway, but because he can't sleep at night. He never slept much more than five hours anyway, but with the economy going the way it is and the high-interest debts he had to take on to jump-start his company, he is worried about the future. Not his future, of course, he could live on white rice and soy-sauce, but the future of his children and of his expensive and high-maintenance wife. What will happen if he can't pay the bills any more? Already business has gone down an alarming 70% - but he can't move out of the posh (and mindblowingly expensive) highrise downtown, because that would signal his clients that he isn't on the ball anymore, that the swing has started tipping in the wrong direction, that the end is near. Which again would spook them because they worry that they will be next in line. What a mess! To stay gets one deeper into trouble and to leave would mean the end right here right now. What to do?

He would love to talk to someone about his worries, but it would be the height of bad taste to mention it to friends and no real man would bother his wife with serious things like this. Wives shouldn't need to worry, that's the man's responsibility! He has no respect for people who can't even manage that much. But things have started slipping and he's been deeply ashamed to not even fly business class anymore, but had to endure an agonizing hour cramped in a tiny seat amongst the riff-raff in the back.

What is the world coming to? Hasn't he always worked hard and followed every sound business principle he has ever come across? The Artificial Chinaman is more than a little bewildered. What went wrong all of a sudden? Just a couple of years ago everything seemed so easy and so perfect. Almost, almost, he had made his one billion Taiwan dollars. And he would have retired, he really would have, if only he had made it that far. I swear, he would have.

And what makes this story even more sad, is that he happens to be my best friend on this island.
Cheers!

Holg http://pub38.ezboard.com/fpeaceandboatdrinks66759frm2.showMessage?topicID=33.topic