Tales from the Lower Street

Back at the office, Wang Dong was on the phone: “Brother Lan, don’t make fun of me. Where would I have any money? Da Kuan? Don’t kid me, he’s even poorer than I am. How much can you make from this little business anyway? It’s not like before—now I’m so broke I could piss blood… Enough nagging, listen to me: stay away from that stuff, quit if you still can… Brother Kuan’s back, you talk to him.” He handed me the phone. “Lan Slant-Eye is trying to borrow money again, you talk to him.” Lan Slant-Eye had gotten into heroin. Last time he came around asking for money, claimed he wanted to invest in a clothing store. I knew whatever I gave him would be money down the drain; I didn’t give him a cent. It wasn’t stinginess—I just couldn’t tolerate drug users. I’d had a guy working for me who got into drugs; as soon as I found out, I kicked him out. If I gave Lan Slant-Eye money, I’d only be hurting him. That day I told him, “Brother Yan, if you’re really on that stuff, I’ll give you money—but you have to take it to rehab. If you blow it on drugs, you’ll pay me back double.” Lan Slant-Eye, face flushed, just said, “You’re not as straightforward as your brother,” and left. Later Wang Dong felt bad and secretly gave him five hundred. When I found out, I gave Wang Dong a tongue-lashing. And now, only a few days later, he was back again.

I took the phone and said gravely, “Brother Yan, do you have time now? If you do, come over.”

Lan Slant-Eye understood at once and stammered, “Kuan, I won’t ask to borrow the money anymore. I know you’re all having a hard time. I’ll go ask