Rules for the Road

Sometimes, gems turn up in strange places: like a muddy dollar bill half hidden in the gutter; or a golden nugget lying for centuries at the base of a tree out in forty-niner country, walked over time and again without being noticed; or a two-carat, uncut diamond at last revealing its location with the sun’s rays being bent by its crystalline surface after being covered for the millennia at the bottom of Crater Canyon in Arkansas.

It was Monday morning, and after the frustrations of the weekend, Hanna’s life was in dire need of some form of injection to renew bodily function and calm down all those neurons that had been disturbed numerous times in an almost criminal fashion over the course of the last forty-eight hours.

The day had started as usual: wakeup call at six; breakfast at seven; van ignition at eight; lift off at eight thirty to the halls of negotiation, where, as usual, Zhang asked after their health and expressed his hope that they had all enjoyed a relaxing weekend playing tourist in his fair city. He didn’t need to ask. He had already read the report that detailed every movement Hanna’s group had made since they all departed the dance floor Friday evening. This preliminary bullcrap that occurred every morning before serious talks began always brought Hanna near to tears. The only way he avoided a total breakdown was to smile quietly at the cute little female chick from the kitchens that bent over next to him pouring his first cup of steaming hot coffee, served with copious quantities of cream and sugar and little dried fruit cookies. She occasionally leaned right on to his shoulder if no one was looking.

As remarkable as it sounded, the coffee was good. It was strong and rich, like he had often been served in South America in places like Columbia, Brazil, and Argentina, using a tiny demitasse for the service. Every time Hanna ever accepted an offer of this sort his initial reaction was to shrink at the liquid being poured from the long-handled utensil designed for this purpose. This so-called coffee had the consistency of Formula One motor oil, yet it was tasty with an aroma out of this world and no hint of having been burned in the pot since last night, which is what it looked like. It also had the uncanny ability to snap Hanna’s brain back into place and, on occasion, when conditions were appropriate, standing his manhood on end to gaze around and see if it had missed anybody. Why couldn’t America with all its power produce a coffee that tasted like this?

It was at this point that Hanna began that trip into the universe that would forever change his life, turning one of those unanswered question of the ages into an epiphany that all human kind would be forever grateful to him for having the insight to identify, quantify, and publicize to the masses.

It started off simple enough. Hanna leaned over to Sheu and asked her a question to pass on to the Chinese delegation, which was seated across the oblong table with plastic green things parked in the middle of it that were supposed to look like some form of vegetation. The question was truly innocuous (or at least Hanna thought so) and required nothing more than a simple “yes” or “no” response. To his amazement, it took Sheu at least ten minutes to translate the question to the other side—so long that Hanna got up from his seat and moved to one of the several windowsills looking out to the plaza below.

Then, the translator for the Chinese got up, leaning with his hands placed against the table, and two other people on the team also stood. Everyone lit up, and the room hung heavy with smoke. It occurred to Hanna that he would have to pack away today’s attire until he had it all cleaned back home. He could feel the stench seeping into every fiber of his clothing. The Chinese didn’t smoke ordinary cigarettes. What they stuck in their mouths was something between a roll-your-own Bull Durham and an unfiltered Galois that the French loved so dearly. Sheu concluded presenting the question, and the Chinese immediately went into executive session. They all gathered around in a circle, screaming loudly at each other.

It was the classic fire drill. Zhang was the only one still seated, but he had rotated in his seat and was in the middle of the melee. Sheu tried to interrupt to no avail. Hanna inquired as to why she would try to do that, since these guys appeared to almost be ready to kill one another. Sheu’s response was that everyone was screaming so loud it was hard to catch all the conversation, but she thought they might have misinterpreted the question she had asked. Oh, God, Hanna thought. Well, it was too late now. They would just have to wait until this ad hoc meeting came to order. Hanna expected a declaration of war within seconds.

He moved to the end of the room where the old 1950s hot plate with its worn electrical cord plugged into the wall kept the coffee warm. He poured himself another cup. Chinese was whirling everywhere, and Hanna heard his name (Hannasan) mentioned innumerable times.

By this time, Hanna had again sat down at the table to muse over the fact that he needed a good manicure from that exquisitely formed piece of Barbie doll from the hotel spa whose miniskirted frame and fully made-up face with lips painted ruby red had so enamored him Saturday evening. She always beckoned to him to come over every time he came or went through the lobby. He had begun to dwell on how much she would be willing to give up for even a mention of the possibility that one might be able to sponsor her emigration to the good old U.S.A. Many would have considered this a vile game to play with an unsuspecting young thing; however, Hanna was always able to marvel to himself at how easy it was to do this, once you got beyond the moral issues involved.

Hanna picked up a digital camera he always carried in his briefcase and walked back over to the window. The company they were negotiating with was one of the larger ones in town, a pillar within the community so to speak, supplying good-paying jobs to thousands and therefore justifying its office location at one of the prime central areas of city, where the peons teemed below and the views of the mighty Yangtze were spectacular.

He took several pictures of the plaza and the thousands milling around looking as though that was all they had to do. No one seemed to be going anywhere or doing anything. It was a bit like the chaos that ensued when one kicked the top of an anthill. He then took several more shots of the river. All this behind him, he sat back down in his chair at the negotiating table. They’d been at it for an hour, Hanna thought.

Just as he sat down in his chair, the conversation died around the room, and the Chinese delegation team all took their seats. They all smiled and lit up cigarettes. Sheu turned to him. She was still standing.

“Hannasan,” she said, “the answer to your question is no.”

Hanna sat quietly for a moment. He then arose without speaking and walked over to the window to look out one more time at the teeming masses below. He then returned to his chair, picked up his Mont Blanc, and wrote the epiphany of the ages: “POPULATION: The reason China is overrun with people is simple. By the time the woman has had a chance to say ‘no’ the act of copulation has already occurred.”

It was better than Einstein’s theory of relativity. Hanna began to work on his acceptance speech after being awarded a Nobel Prize.

The author can be reached at his website at "williambhanna.com"