The Rattle of the Van in the Desert
Mark Koyama
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(...) “It’s Russian vodka,” says Ben, “you’d better have some.” I take a drink from the bottle and try and pass it back to the old man, but he motions for me to pass it to Ben. Ben drinks. The old man smiles at us. “American?” he asks. “Yes” “Michael Jackson?” “Yes.” “Madonna?” “Yes.” He lights his cigarette. I light one also. The old man looks at me and speaks in Chinese. “He wants to know if you like Chinese cigarettes.” I look at him and nod. I lift my cigarette and give the thumbs up with my other hand. He scowls and gives the thumbs down, speaking to me in Chinese. “He wants to know if you have any American cigarettes?” “Tell him I’ll give him a pack when we get back to town.” The old man smiles broadly and drinks again. Outside night has fallen in the desert. In the distance I can make out the lights of town, an indistinct halo on the horizon. “Michael Jackson?” “Yes.” (...) MARK KOYAMA is literary editor of Publio. |
