Two Macao philosophers

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Two Macao philosophers (study for a novel in
progress)
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• Rejoicd they werena men but dogs
• each took aff his several way,
• Resolvd to meet some ither day.
• Burns The Twa Dogs

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• Corner of Patio da Dissumulacao and Rua da
  Felicidade. Somewhere in the endless season,
  which goes on for too long to all be called
  summer. Just when the sun begins to slink from
  the alleys. From the hot and humid air, snippets
  of a robust dialogue translated from the Mandarin
  and vernacular into English idioms of rough
  equivalent.

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• All men are bastards, how can you imagine there
  are exceptions?
• I dont imagine, I know At every stage of my
  life there have been men who have shown me
  kindness, as well as the other kind. And now of
  course A kindly glance cast in the direction of
  the disreputable loiterer on the next corner goes
  unnoticed.
• And which, one might ask, was the rule, and
  which was the exception?
• I would say that the good were rule and the bad
  were the exception. Humans are basically good,
  even sometimes despite themselves.
• Oh spare me, take off the rose tinted glasses.
  Occupation Lets see, youre profitably engaged
  in the business of bringing out the best in men?
  I suppose it was your idea to come here, your
  vocation of choice?
• Well, it was me or my little sister and she was
  just too young...
• I knew it. A martyr. Theres one on every
  street. The good prostitute! Doesnt it wear you
  out being a cliché?
• Better a cliché than a monster.
• I dont think were the monsters in this game.
  Wait on, heres a thirsty looking fish And
  instantly she is across the street accosting the
  pedestrian male, who could be an innocent
  tourist, a man looking for a girl in general or
  in particular, or on the one hand a third floor
  resident of the building opposite Only one way
  to find out.

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• Anmo? Massagey. Do you want to go? Only a
  hundred for a short time Youre very handsome.
  You like massagey? Arm in arm until he forcibly
  frees himself and then our conversation can
  resume. While shes still half way across.
• O.K., now so you tell me whos a monster and
  whos not, Im genuinely interested.
• All right, so men are born with some monster
  business in them. Its how theyre made. Not
  their fault. Men need milking. Babies milk us and
  we milk men. Some girls arent very good at it or
  dont like it or are too busy and theres an
  opportunity for a girl in need who has time on
  her hands
• Supply and demand?
• Law of the jungle.
• To be rich is glorious?
• It would be too.
• I see a ship about to dock, a rich cargo being
  loaded ashore.
• Go, go, go. Hes yours.
• Why did the chicken cross the road? Rhetorical
  question. But the others out of earshot now
  anyway.

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Same time the next day, the classical unities
observed
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• So, men are supposed to be benevolent and women
  are supposed to be obedient. Let me get this
  straight. As long as everyones sincere everyone
  can be happy After a sigh laden pause. I dont
  know about that obedience stuff, its a bit old
  fashioned these days. But theres a man over
  there whod agree with you I think. Head
  motioned sleepily in the direction of the pimp.
• Hes not all bad you know. He has to make a
  living too.
• As the meal said to the cannibal, this
  conversation is becoming one sided.
• Im sorry, Im just a little sleepy thats all.
• Too much action again? Milking all that human
  kindness. Its tough on a girl. But youre a
  regular Florence Nightingale, arent you girlie?
• Couldnt you think of someone Chinese for me to
  be?
• Youre Kungzi and Mengzi rolled into one. I went
  to school too, you know, Xunxis. But I do see
  where youre coming from. Do you know the story
  about the girl who was standing just where you
  are and the only reason she was here was to pay
  for the coffin to bury her father? Its true.
  Its true. Theres some filial piety for you. But
  how sincere do you think these men are being to
  their wives? Or do you think the problem is that
  their wives arent obedient enough at home or in
  bed or?

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• I dont know what these men get up to or dont
  get up to with their wives. But I do what they
  ask me to do and
• Keep that up and you might not be alive much
  longer
• Most of their requests, dear, are not only
  reasonable, I would say that they are quite
  natural, even wholesome. A man has certain needs
  after all and if they cant be met somewhere then
  theyre bound to be met somewhere else
• Pelease! Didnt you do any Marxism classes at
  school? Dont you know what capitalist
  exploitation is? Dont you realise sweetie that
  this is not a healthy occupation?
• Shhh, pimps coming.

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• Couple of philosophers are we? All this noise
  you girls are making. Its unattractive. You
  need to be as attractive as you can, and frankly
  girls, with faces like yours, youve just got to
  be trying a little harder You should look where
  youre painting, dear She winces as he touches
  her face. Thats come up nicely. But you should
  try with the eyeliner over the eye, leave the
  cheek out
• You bastard! You know thats where you
• Oh, little chickens getting all upset. Do you
  want me to make you symmetrical?
• She simmers, bites lip, and through a superhuman
  effort, instantly comes off the boil.
• Thats better, slut. Remember your place. And
  look at the way you stand. You want them to think
  you have tits, at least before you take them
  upstairs. No more fighting, OK? It will drive
  customers away. And you know what? That makes me
  unhappy. And when I get unhappy I can get ugly.
• Well, you couldnt get much uglier than you
  already are.
• You just couldnt hold your tongue, could you?
  How can a girl like you make a man happy. Its
  ten minutes work half the time, but youre just
  too proud
• But this time she manages to say nothing.
• Watch it bitch, Keep your big trap for special
  occasions. Ill save you for later, tonight.
• Leers with much menace, stalks off to threaten
  some others.

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• In a whisper at first.
• Give me the told you so look, will you?
• Well, its better to say nothing from the
  start. Can you deny it?
• And men are basically good and the world will
  be fine if we do what they say?
• Change what you can change.
• Platitudes are great if youve got an office
  wall to hang them on.
• Might be even more helpful if you dont.
• How about some sympathy? Or is that only for
  members of your immediate family.
• No, sympathys helping you not get hit.
• Helping me to help myself, love my neighbour,
  turn the other cheek. Youre not a
• Not at all. Im just a practical girl. I try to
  make the circs work.
• The thing is

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• Impatient now. The thing is what?
• The thing is Id rather have it out, bring
  things to a head, be beaten senseless if
  necessary. I just dont want to rot in this
  place.
• Just the one visa, right? We can rot somewhere
  else next?
• Thats just it.
• The thing is hell beat you senseless and then
  hell find some sicko bloke who can only do it
  with a girl someone else has beaten senseless.
  Dont you see, you can make it better or you can
  make it worse. Its the same when youre with
  them, every time
• Thats right, because theyre all lambs arent
  they?
• Most of them, most of the time.
• Oh, I get it. Your face is so sweet you only
  get the wholesome types, the scumbags are all
  looking for a slut like me but every trick you
  perform is on some innocent hayseed who just
  happens to have won the village lottery and you
  just happened to be the prize
• With that attitude you can get through life.
• Please, Im going to throw up.
• Youre just a drama queen. Tell me, whats the
  use of being the only revolutionary on the block?
  Didnt you learn anything in history classes?

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Stalemate. Thus they fade with the street into
the dusk.
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Twenty four hours later. One seated, one leaning
over. In a dark doorway, their shift of spruiking
done. The odd weary sigh from each.
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• Youve seen too much action, dear.
• Thats it, action. Most of it up here. The mind
  is a maze. So much happening, the things they
  tell you. The things they want, different every
  time. It wears you out.
• Different every time? Youre kidding.
• No.
• I mean, just take these men. Theyre all the
  same. You couldnt tell them apart.
• Oh, I could.
• Well dear, you dont know them to begin with, so
  how could you tell them from each other?
• I could tell them from themselves.
• Now that is cryptic. What on earth do you mean?
• I mean take the regulars each is different
  every time.
• I see. You cant sleep with the same man twice.
• Exactly.
• Wed have a hard time disproving that, wouldnt
  we?
• It could kill some time.

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• But its ridiculous.
• More ridiculous than theyre all the same
  because you dont know them?
• Touchée, my dear, touchée. And still I
  maintain
• Different every time?
• Thats it Take me for example. A wig is
  removed revealing a short crewcut. Not what
  youd expect.
• You dont have...?
• Cancer, no nothing like that. Id be living it
  up, wouldnt I.
• Would you?
• Well, I dont suppose
• Lacking the wherewithal?
• Got me on the objective conditions?
• No contradiction simpler than a man.
• And none more easily resolved. Another wig
  comes off.
• You?!
• Well, now everythings out in the open

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• Do you know I actually fancied you for a while
  back there.
• The compliments mutual, Im sure.
• Youre not?
• Dont get me wrong, Ive got nothing against
  gays, but you know a wife and kids back in
  Guangxi and a girls got to make a living after
  all.
• Too right. Cest la guerre.
• My sentiments exactly.
• You know, I knew we had something in common.
• Is that right? That pimp, he doesnt know, does
  he?
• No. Its amazing. But then how many of your
  clients ever twig?
• Dont even have to be drunk.
• Dark room. Reassuring voice. What would they
  know?
• Really just a matter of not losing your nerve.
• A girls got to do what a girls got to do.
• You havent had any operations?
• No, no. Nothing like that.

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I have to tell you though, there are some days
when I dont know whether Im a man dreaming Im
a butterfly. And let me guess there are
other days you think youre a butterfly dreaming
youre a woman.
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Ladies spa of the Hotel Lisboa, later that
evening. Undressing, the philosophers bump into
each other, in what at first seems a coincidence
to both of them.
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• Now heres a horse of a different colour.
• You know I really didnt expect to see you in
  here.
• Likewise Im sure.
• How can you afford it?
• He had a few passes.
• Right, thats me too.
• He probably has some crusty old farts lined up
  for us as soon as we walk out of here.
• Could be, could be. Must be something special
  to go to all this trouble. Nothing but the best
  for my girls.
• When hes not starving you or beating you up.
• There you go dwelling on the negatives again.
• Meanwhile, youre game, sweetie.
• I could say the same of you.
• You know they look very realistic. I knew you
  were pretty flat.

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• Yours are quite nice too. No injections or
  anything?
• No, no, nothing like that. Im a natural girl.
• Me too.
• Youre pretty well concealed down there. Just
  tucked away in the bushes, eh? Sure youve got
  kids? That wife of yours is into gadgets?
• Youre shaved. I cant believe it. I dont mean
  to stare but special tape?
• No. Nothing special. Think about it, sweetie,
  the doctors certificates, the passport,
  pre-menstrual tension, period pain, pretty
  realistic, wouldnt you say?
• So in fact youre not really
• No, not really. I was just pulling your leg.
  Taken in? Go on, admit it.
• You were!
• Well, I might have been for a bit.

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In the steam room, fits of giggling subside only
to be recommenced, the only others present being
speakers of Russian.
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• So why the short hair?
• Lice.
• Here? Now?
• No. Back in Guangzhou. A gig a few weeks back.
  You?
• Pause, head down. I guess I could say fashion
  or I like wigs but actually its chemo.
• Shit, Im sorry to hear that. Pause. So
  youve got cancer and youre still doing this to
  send the money back to your folks in the
  village?
• Fuck them. Im doing it to pay for a special
  herbal treatment a traditional remedy
  something you can only get in Macao. Thoughtful
  pause, languorous stretching. A few suggestive,
  if parodic, poses.
• Like girls?
• Mmmm. Never really...
• Safer, no messIll take that for a yes.
  Holding hands.
• Life is an experiment. Too short not to be.

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• Do you know its just occurred to me that if we
  leave the wigs off, hell never notice us coming
  out, in fact hed never recognise us at all.
• But hes got your familys address.
• No, hes just got some bullshit I scribbled on
  a bit of paper.
• But hes got your familys address?
• Yeah, well fuck them. Theyre the ones who sold
  me to the miserable prick, didnt they?
• You dont think we should try our luck on White
  Horse Street, do you?
• Are you really sure theres such a street?
• Well Im sure its there but Im not positive
  its a street.
• Youre a dark horse, you are.

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• fin

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Kit (Christopher) Kelen is a well known
Australian writer and a doctoral student at the
University of Western Sydney. Kelen teaches
Comparative Literature and Creative Writing at
the University of Macau, in South China. The most
recent of his five published volumes of poetry
are Republics(2000) and New Territories (2003).
Apart from poetry he publishes in a range of
theoretical areas including writing pedagogy,
ethics, rhetoric, cultural and literary studies
and various intersections of these. Kelen is the
principal investigator in the University of
Macau's 'Poems and Stories of Macao Research
Project' and the editor of the universitys new
on-line journal Writing Macao creative text and
teaching.