Touch Me Not
I woke up to the sound of sirens. What the fuck, I got up, drew the curtains, and squinted my eyes. Outside, people were getting on and getting off the public buses, a few old men in fluorescent orange jackets were cleaning the streets, and food delivery bikes were dodging pedestrians like acrobat dancers. Must be one of those stupid commemorative sirens for winning the war or something, I thought, oh well, at least I’m up.
It was Saturday morning, well, almost afternoon. I should do laundry first, I thought. I had planned a house warming party, and all the towels needed to be washed. I picked up the basket, and slid the balcony glass door open. I dumped the clothes into the washer, walked back into the living room, and put on the Buena Vista Social Club album on the speakers.
The floor was dusty, and the plants looked dry. I picked up the phone, and scheduled a cleaner for the apartment. I should shower before the cleaning lady arrives, I ran the hot water, and brushed my teeth. When I came out of the shower, I heard someone knock on the door. Can’t be the cleaning lady, I thought, that’s too fast, even for China. I wrapped the towel on my waist, and went to the door. I peeked through the peephole, but there was no one outside my door. Weird, I thought. I went back to the bathroom, applied a layer of charcoal mask on my face, and turned the volume up on the speaker.
After a few minutes, the bass on the speaker thumped hard, so I turned the knob down, but realized it wasn’t the bass. Someone was knocking on the door again, louder that time, it sounded like the person was using their fist instead of their knuckles. I ran to the door, and opened it.
“Shénme guǐ” (what the hell,) the woman said. A white Poodle emerged from behind her, entered my apartment, and licked my feet. I squatted, and patted the Poodle.
“Bù hǎo, bù hǎo” (not good, not good,) the woman bent down and picked up the Poodle in her hands. She frowned, and said something in Chinese. I shrugged my shoulders, but she continued. So I said, “tīng bù dǒng” (I don’t understand.) She pointed at me, shouted something in Chinese, and walked away. The only word I understood was “yīfú,” which meant clothes. I wondered what was the big deal if I answered the door in my towel. She’s the one who came to my apartment.
I closed the door, turned the bass up on the speakers, and went to the balcony to check on the laundry. I heard the Poodle bark next door, and the woman shouting on the phone, the only word I picked up was “wàiguó rén,” which meant foreigner. Is she complaining about me? I leaned over the balcony railing to scrutinize the state of foreign affairs. The woman noticed me, curled her lips, and raised her hands up in the air. The Poodle barked louder. How can such a high pitched noise can come out of such a tiny creature? I wondered, and walked back into the living room.
Someone knocked on the door, so I lowered the volume on the speaker, and went to answer. I looked through the peephole, it was the cleaning lady. I opened the door, and smiled, “nǐ hǎo” (hello,) I said. She nodded. She walked in with the mop and the water bucket, and placed it near the kitchen door, then went back outside to pick up the rest of her supplies, but never returned. After a minute or so, I went out to check. She was inside my neighbor’s apartment, listening to her hysteria. I noticed that my neighbor was wearing plastic gloves, a transparent face shield, and was examining the barking Poodle’s body. What the fuck is going on? I sneaked into her apartment, “is there a problem?” I looked at the cleaning lady.
“Bù hǎo, bù hǎo” (not good, not good,) the cleaning lady rushed out, tiptoed around me, and entered my apartment. She picked up the mop, the water bucket, all her supplies, and ran to the elevator.
WTF, I picked up my phone, and messaged the cleaning company, to figure out what the hell was going on. They refunded the money, and sent me a picture of some Chinese text. I used the Baidu translation app, and couldn’t believe what I read.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” I said out loud.
Apparently, a few days ago, the Chinese mainland reported its first Monkeypox case, after an inbound traveler to the southwestern municipality of Chongqing tested positive for the virus. The worst part was that the chief epidemiologist at the China Center for Disease Control and Prevention offered five pieces of advice to prevent Monkeypox infection. And the most important rule, apparently, was:
“Do not have direct skin contact with foreigners.”
I wondered what she would do with the dog, and how she would react when she would see so many of my expat friends tonight. I imagined her widened eyes, piercing through the transparent face shield, and her hands trembling in her empty lap.
Well, if she’s gonna get rid of her Poodle, I thought, then I don’t need any meat for the BBQ tonight.
