Trying to Find Chinatown: The Selected Plays of David Henry Hwang Read online

  (Steve enters.)

  STEVE: Buncha weak boys, what do they know? One man—Chinaman—wearing a leisure suit—green! I ask him, “You know Gwan Gung?” He says, “Hong Kong?” I say, “No, no. Gwan Gung.” He says, “Yeah. They got sixty thousand people living on four acres. Went there last year.” I say, “No, no. Gwan Gung.” He says, “Ooooh! Gwan Gung?” I say, “Yes, yes, Gwan Gung.” He says, “I never been there before.”

  GRACE: See? Even if you didn’t die—who cares?

  STEVE: Another kid—blue jeans and a T-shirt—I ask him, does he know Gwan Gung? He says, he doesn’t need it, he knows Jesus Christ. What city is this now?

  GRACE: Los Angeles.

  STEVE: This isn’t the only place where a new Chinaman can land, is it?

  GRACE: I guess a lot go to San Francisco.

  STEVE: Good. This place got a bunch of weirdos around here.

  GRACE: Yeah.

  STEVE: They could never be followers of Gwan Gung. All who follow me must be loyal and righteous.

  GRACE: Maybe you should try some other state.

  STEVE: Huh? What you say?

  GRACE: Never mind. You’ll get used to it—like the rest of us.

  (Pause. Steve begins laughing.)

  STEVE: You are a very clever woman.

  GRACE: Just average.

  STEVE: No. You do a good job to make it seem like Gwan Gung has no followers here. At the university, what do you study?

  GRACE: Journalism.

  STEVE: Journalism—you are a writer, then?

  GRACE: Of a sort.

  STEVE: Very good. You are close to Gwan Gung’s heart.

  GRACE: As close as I’m gonna get.

  STEVE: I would like to go out tonight with you.

  GRACE: I knew it. Look, I’ve heard a lot of lines before, and yours is very creative, but...

  STEVE: I will take you out.

  GRACE: You will, huh?

  STEVE: I do so because I find you worthy to be favored.

  GRACE: You’re starting to sound like any other guy now.

  STEVE: I’m sorry?

  GRACE: Look—if you’re going to have any kinds of relationships with women in this country, you better learn to give us some respect.

  STEVE: Respect? I give respect.

  GRACE: The pushy, aggressive type is out, understand?

  STEVE: Taking you out is among my highest tokens of respect.

  GRACE: Oh, c’mon—they dont even say that in Hong Kong.

  STEVE: You are being asked out by Gwan Gung!

  GRACE: I told you, you’re too wimpy to be Gwan Gung. And even if you were, you’d have to wait your turn in line.

  STEVE: What?

  GRACE: I already have something for tonight. My cousin and I are having dinner.

  STEVE: You would turn down Gwan Gung for your cousin?

  GRACE: Well, he has an X-19.

  (Pause.)

  STEVE: What has happened?

  GRACE: Look—I tell you what. If you take both of us out, then it’ll be okay, all right?

  STEVE: I don’t want to go out with your cousin!

  GRACE: Well, sorry. It’s part of the deal.

  STEVE: Deal? What deals? Why am I made part of these deals?

  GRACE: ’Cause you’re in the U.S. in 1980, just like the rest of us. Now quit complaining. Will you take it or not?

  (Pause.)

  STEVE: Gwan Gung... bows to no one’s terms but his own.

  GRACE: Fine. Why don’t you go down the street to Imperial Dragon Restaurant and see if they have bing?

  STEVE: Do you have bing?

  GRACE: See for yourself.

  (She hands him a menu. He exits. Grace picks up the box.)

  Fa Mu Lan stood in the center of the village and turned ’round and ’round as the bits of fingers, the tips of tongues, the arms, the legs, the peeled skulls, the torn maidenheads, all whirled by. She pulled the loose gown closer to her body, stepped over the torsos, in search of the one of her family who might still be alive. Reaching the house that was once her home, crushing bones in her haste, only to find the doorway covered with the stretched and dried skin of that which was once her father. Climbing through an open window, noticing the shiny, black, thousand-day-old egg still floating in the shiny black sauce. Finding her sister tied spread-eagle on the mat, finding her mother in the basket in pieces, finding her brother nowhere. The Woman Warrior went to the mirror, which had stayed unbroken, and let her gown come loose and drop to the ground. She turned and studied the ideographs that had long ago been carved into the flesh of her young back . . . Carved by her mother, who lay carved in the basket.

  (Dale enters, approaches Grace.)

  She ran her fingers over the skin and felt the ridges where there had been pain.

  (Dale is behind Grace.)

  But now they were firm and hard.

  (Dale touches Grace, who reacts by swinging around and knocking him to the ground. Only after he is down does she see his face.)

  Dale! Shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . !

  DALE (Groggy): Am I late?

  GRACE: I didn’t know it was you, Dale.

  DALE: Yeah. Well, I didn’t announce myself.

  GRACE: You shouldn’t just come in here like that.

  DALE: You’re right. Never again.

  GRACE: I mean, you should’ve yelled from the dining room.

  DALE: Dangerous neighborhood, huh?

  GRACE: I’m so sorry. Really.

  DALE: Yeah. Uh—where’re your other friends? They on the floor around here too?

  GRACE: No. Uh—this is really bad, Dale. I’m really sorry.

  DALE: What?—You can’t make it after all?

  GRACE: No, I can make it. It’s just that...

  DALE: They can’t make it? Okay, so it’ll just be us. That’s cool.

  GRACE: Well, not quite us.

  DALE: Oh.

  GRACE: See, what happened is—you know my friend Judy?

  DALE: Uh—no.

  GRACE: Well, she was gonna come with us—with me and this guy I know—his name is... Steve.

  DALE: Oh, he’s with you, right?

  GRACE: Well, sort of. So since she was gonna come, I thought you should come too.

  DALE: To even out the couples?

  GRACE: But now my friend Judy, she decided she had too much work to do, so... oh, it’s all messed up.

  DALE: Well, that’s okay. I can go home—or I can go out with you, if this guy Steve doesn’t mind. Where is he, anyway?

  GRACE: I guess he’s late. You know, he just came to this country.

  DALE: Oh yeah? How’d you meet him?

  GRACE: At a Chinese dance at UCLA.

  DALE: Hmmmm. Some of those FOBs get moving pretty fast.

  (Grace glares.)

  Oh. Is he... nice?

  GRACE: He’s okay. I don’t know him that well. You know, I’m really sorry.

  DALE: Hey, I said it was okay. Jesus, it’s not like you hurt me or anything.

  GRACE: For that, too.

  DALE: Look—(He hits himself) No pain!

  GRACE: What I meant was, I’m sorry tonight’s got so messed up.

  DALE: Oh, it’s okay. I wasn’t doing anything anyway.

  GRACE: I know, but still...

  (Silence.)

  DALE: Hey, that Frank is a joke, huh?

  GRACE: Yeah. He’s kind of a pain.

  DALE: Yeah. What an asshole to call my friend.

  GRACE: Did you hear him on the phone?

  DALE: Yeah, all that railroad stuff?

  GRACE: It was real dumb.

  DALE: Dumb? He’s dumb. He’s doing it right now.

  GRACE: Huh? Are you serious?

  DALE: Yeah. I’m tempted to tie him down so, for once in his life, he won’t screw something up.

  GRACE: You’re kidding!

  DALE: Huh? Yeah, sure I’m kidding. Who would I go bowling with?

  GRACE: No, I mean about him actually going out there—is that true?<
br />
  DALE: Yeah—he’s lying there. You know, right on Torrance Boulevard?

  GRACE: No!

  DALE: Yeah!

  GRACE: But what if a train really comes?

  DALE: I dunno. I guess he’ll get up.

  GRACE: I don’t believe it!

  DALE: Unless he’s fallen asleep by that time or something.

  GRACE: He’s crazy.

  DALE: Which is a real possibility for Frank, he’s such a bore anyway.

  GRACE: He’s weird.

  DALE: No, he just thinks he’s in love with you.

  GRACE: Is he?

  DALE: I dunno. We’ll see when the train comes.

  GRACE: Do you think we should do something?

  DALE: What?—You’re not gonna fall for the twerp, are you?

  GRACE: Well, no, but...

  DALE: He’s stupid—and ugly, to boot.

  GRACE: ...but staying on the tracks is kinda dangerous.

  DALE: Let him. Teach him a lesson.

  GRACE: You serious?

  DALE (Moving closer to Grace): Not to fool with my cousin.

  (He strokes her hair. They freeze in place, except for his arm, which continues to stroke her hair. Steve enters, oblivious of Dale and Grace, who do not respond to him. He speaks to the audience as if it were a panel of judges:)

  STEVE: No! Please! Listen to me! This is fifth time I come here. I tell you both my parents, I tell you their parents, I tell you their parents’ parents and who was adopted great-granduncle. I tell you how many beggars in hometown and name of their blind dogs. I tell you number of steps from my front door to temple, to well, to governor house, to fields, to whorehouse, to fifth cousin inn, to eighth neighbor toilet—you ask only: what for am I in whorehouse? I tell north, south, northeast, southwest, west, east, north-northeast, south-southwest, east-eastsouth—why will you not let me enter in America? I come here five times—I raise lifetime fortune five times. Five times, I first come here, you say to me I am illegal, you return me on boat to fathers and uncles with no gold, no treasure, no fortune, no rice. I only want to come to America—come to “Mountain of Gold.” And I hate Mountain and I hate America and I hate you! (Pause) But this year you call 1914—very bad for China.

  (Pause; lights shift. Grace and Dale become mobile and aware of Steve’s presence.)

  GRACE: Oh! Steve, this is Dale, my cousin. Dale, Steve.

  DALE: Hey, nice to meet...

  STEVE (Now speaking English with a Chinese accent): Hello. Thank you. I am fine.

  (Pause.)

  DALE: Uh, yeah. Me too. So, you just got here, huh? What’cha think?

  (Steve smiles and nods; Dale smiles and nods. Steve laughs; Dale laughs. Steve hits Dale on the shoulder. They laugh some more. They stop laughing.)

  Oh. Uh—good. (Pause) Well, it looks like it’s just gonna be the three of us, right? (To Grace) Where you wanna go?

  GRACE: I think Steve’s already taken care of that. Right, Steve?

  STEVE: Excuse?

  GRACE: You made reservations at a restaurant?

  STEVE: Oh, reservations. Yes, yes.

  DALE: Oh, okay. That limits the possibilities. Guess we’re going to Chinatown or something, right?

  GRACE (To Steve): Where is the restaurant?

  STEVE: Oh. The restaurant is a French restaurant. Los Angeles downtown.

  DALE: Oh, we’re going to a Western place? (To Grace) Are you sure he made reservations?

  GRACE: We’ll see.

  DALE: Well, I’ll get my car.

  GRACE: Okay.

  STEVE: No!

  DALE: Huh?

  STEVE: Please—allow me to provide car.

  DALE: Oh. You wanna drive.

  STEVE: Yes. I have car.

  DALE: Look—why don’t you let me drive? You’ve got enough to do without worrying about—you know—how to get around L.A., read the stop signs, all that.

  STEVE: Please—allow me to provide car. No problem.

  DALE: Well, let’s ask Grace, okay? (To Grace) Grace, who do you think should drive?

  GRACE: I don’t really care. Why don’t you two figure it out? But let’s hurry, okay? We open pretty soon.

  DALE (To Steve): Look—you had to pick the restaurant we’re going to, so the least I can do is drive.

  STEVE: Uh, your car—how many people sit in it?

  DALE: Well, it depends. Right now, none.

  GRACE (To Dale): He’s got a point. You car only seats two.

  DALE: He can sit in the back. There’s space there. I’ve fit luggage in it before.

  GRACE (To Steve): You want to sit in the back?

  STEVE: I sit—where?

  DALE: Really big suitcases.

  GRACE: Back of his car.

  STEVE: X-19? Aaaai-ya!

  DALE: X-19?

  STEVE: No deal!

  DALE: How’d he know that? How’d he know what I drive?

  STEVE: Please. Use my car. Is…big.

  DALE: Yeah? Well, how much room you got? (Pause; slower) How-big-your-car-is?

  STEVE: Huh?

  DALE: Your car—how is big?

  GRACE: How big is your car?

  STEVE: Oh! You go see.

  DALE: ’Cause if it’s, like, a Pinto or something, it’s not that much of a difference.

  STEVE: Big and black. Outside.

  GRACE: Let’s hurry.

  DALE: Sure, sure. (Exits)

  GRACE: What are you up to, anyway?

  STEVE (Dropping accent): Gwan Gung will not go into battle without equipment worthy of his position.

  GRACE: Position? You came back, didn’t you? What does that make you?

  DALE (Entering): Okay. There’s only one black car out there—

  STEVE (Resumes speaking English with an accent): Black car is mine.

  DALE:—and that’s a Fleetwood limo. Now, you’re not gonna tell me that’s his.

  STEVE: Cadillac. Cadillac is mine.

  DALE: Limousine... Limousine is yours?

  STEVE: Yes, yes. Limousine.

  (Pause.)

  DALE (To Grace): You wanna ride in that black thing? People will think we’re dead.

  GRACE: It does have more room.

  DALE: Well, it has to. It’s built for passengers who can’t bend.

  GRACE: And the driver is expensive.

  DALE: He could go home—save all that money.

  GRACE: Well, I don’t know. You decide.

  DALE (To Steve): Look, we take my car, savvy?

  STEVE: Please—drive my car.

  DALE: I’m not trying to be unreasonable or anything.

  STEVE: My car—just outside.

  DALE: I know where it is, I just don’t know why it is.

  GRACE: Steve’s father manufactures souvenirs in Hong Kong.

  DALE (To Steve): Oh, and that’s how you manage that out there, huh?—from thousands of aluminum Buddhas and striptease pens.

  GRACE: Well, he can’t drive and he has the money—

  DALE (To Grace): I mean, wouldn’t you just feel filthy?

  GRACE:—so it’s easier for him.

  DALE: Getting out of a limo in the middle of Westwood? People staring, thinking we’re from SC? Wouldn’t you feel like dirt?

  GRACE: It doesn’t matter to either way to me.

  (Pause.)

  DALE: Where’s your social conscience?

  GRACE: Look—I have an idea. Why don’t we just stay here.

  STEVE: We stay here to eat?

  GRACE: No one from the restaurant will bother us, and we can bring stuff in from the kitchen.

  STEVE: I ask you to go out.

  DALE: Look, Grace, I can’t put ya out like that.

  GRACE (To Dale): It’s no problem, really. It should be fun. (To Steve) Since there are three of us—

  DALE: Fun?

  GRACE (To Steve):—it is easier to eat here.

  DALE: How can it be fun? It’s cheaper.

  STEVE: Does not seem right.

  GRACE: I mean, unless our res
taurant isn’t nice enough.

  DALE: No, no—that’s not it.

  STEVE (Watching Dale): No—this place, very nice.

  GRACE: Are you sure?

  DALE: Yeah. Sure.

  STEVE (Imitating Dale): Yeah. Sure.

  DALE: Do you have... uh—those burrito things?

  GRACE: Moo-shoo?

  DALE: Yeah, that.

  GRACE: Yeah.

  DALE: And black mushrooms.

  GRACE: Sure.

  DALE: And sea cucumber?

  STEVE: Do you have bing?

  (Pause.)

  GRACE: Look, Dad and Russ and some of the others are gonna be setting up pretty soon, so let’s get our place ready, okay?

  DALE: Okay. Need any help?

  GRACE: Well, yeah. That’s what I just said.

  DALE: Oh, right. I thought maybe you were just being polite.

  GRACE: Yeah. Meet me in the kitchen.

  DALE: Are you sure your dad won’t mind?

  GRACE: What?

  DALE: Cooking for us.

  GRACE: Oh, it’s okay. He’ll cook for anybody.

  (Grace exits. Silence.)

  DALE: So, how do you like America?

  STEVE: Very nice.

  DALE: “Very nice.” Good, colorful, Hong Kong English. English—how much of it you got down, anyway?