Ricky and I jumped in a cab at Lido and followed the fourth ring road around to the North until we reached the Beijing Normal Primary School campus. When we walked though the gate we were met by a uniformed guard and Ricky took over exchanging Chinese dialogue much faster than I could keep up with. The guard held his palm out to us indicating that we were not permitted to pass. I looked to Ricky wondering if he had any clue if we were in the right place or not. He nodded to the guard while whipping his phone out of his pocket. He punched some numbers. Ricky grunted into the phone until it appeared that he confirmed we were in the right place and pointed across the busy playground. A smiling man waved above the heads of a group of Chinese boys playing basketball.
We crossed the playground navigating pockets of smiling children busy at Ping Pong, climbing on playground equipment, kicking soccer balls; some were studying. No matter what recess activity they engaged, they all paused to look in my direction. I got the sense that they didn't see people who look like me very often on their campus. We met the waving man. I offered a nod and a "ni hao", then he directed us into a shed along the baseline of the active basketball court. Inside, Ricky and I were introduced to others, and I nodded and ni hao'd each in turn, extending a hand to shake. Ricky had in fact led me to the right place - Mizuno turf shoes, sweatsuits, MLB logo'd jackets and clipboards. All I knew was that we were coming to talk about a baseball league, and there was no doubt that this was a coaches meeting.
The smiling-waving man barked a few words that I could not catch, except for the "ba" at the end of the phrase, indicating that he was making a suggestion. Nods of agreement all around and we walked back out onto the basketball court - the game continued on around us - and we headed off across campus.
Winding our way between dust-grey stone buildings, the smiling man spoke with Ricky. As they talked, smiling-man would occasionally break out into loud bouts of laughter; the others would laugh as well. His laugh was a heavy one, smoky, contagious, and I am sure most of the time it was pointed in my direction. But it was a fun laugh, and I couldn't help smiling when he shared it. He was certainly the alpha in this group - the big guy.
Today, when I saw his waving hand beckoning us across the playground, I didn't put it together, but when I heard him laughing with Ricky as we walked, it clicked; the big guy was laughing like he knew me.
We walked outside and everyone in the group, except for the woman, fired up a #5 and smoked. Big guy offered me one, but I waved my open hand and laughed.
--
We arrived at a large building that resembled a stone house. I followed the group up a wooden staircase to the upstairs foyer. I stood by as the big guy looked into two rooms that were graciously marked in English, "Conference Room". Aside from remembering my connection to the big guy a few moments earlier, this was the first time since our arrival that I felt like I knew something. The big guy wasn't satisfied with these rooms, so we all followed his lead and filed back down the stairs to the first floor. Another Chinese discussion. Then he pushed his was through a third door, again marked "Conference Room".
The room resembled a formal living room. A giant chandelier hung centered over a huge empty rug. Along the walls was a ring of low-sitting leather chairs. The big guy, jovially loud, peeled off his jacket revealing a White Sox throwback sweatshirt, powered up his laptop and placed a pack of #5 cigarettes on the arm of his chair. He tapped his fingers on the pack of cigarettes throughout the meeting. I assume it was every time he had an urge to smoke one.
The woman to the right of big guy was a bit older than the rest of us, but apparently was speaking on behalf of a school she represented. Her eyes changed throughout the meeting. First she looked at me with a skeptical smirk when conversation was directed to me through Ricky. Maybe this was her first meeting with an interpreter also. As the baseball talk progressed, however, she warmed up. I think it may have been my antics that softened her on me. Despite the months of 1-on-1s with Li Laoshi, and the fact she has taught me to speak my way through many situations that arise in my daily life here, this meeting exposed the vast inadequacy of my Chinese "ear". I caught every fifth or sixth word, and by the time I processed one word, well, you can imagine, they were long gone. I turned to Ricky and feebly said, "what are they saying?" His response exposed another flaw in our communication. Just like most other Chinese, present company excluded, Ricky doesn't know baseball. Thankfully, he had Google translated parts of the rule book so I could somewhat follow along. I would read, "If the ground ball out of barrier, second base bingle". Hmm? I listened to the sounds of their discussion, then asked Ricky for interpretation, which wasn't much. I jumped up from my chair, stood as if waiting on a pitch with my air-bat. The swing, accompanied by a ball-off-bat sound made by sucking my tongue off the roof of my mouth. The pointer finger of my right hand traced the arc of the ball's flight in the air and came to rest on the ornate rug. I dropped to my knees and karate chopped my left hand - the outfield fence - about 6 inches in front of my finger - the bouncing ball. My finger-ball bounced over my hand-fence as laughter and head nods started with the big guy and spread the room. Throughout the meeting I charaded wild pitch, home run, force out, tag play, overthrow, dead ball, pitcher, catcher, mound visit, safe, out and error. Each was met with a laughing, "dui, dui, dui," from the big guy. We were on the same page, we were speaking baseball.
The woman to the right of big guy was a bit older than the rest of us, but apparently was speaking on behalf of a school she represented. Her eyes changed throughout the meeting. First she looked at me with a skeptical smirk when conversation was directed to me through Ricky. Maybe this was her first meeting with an interpreter also. As the baseball talk progressed, however, she warmed up. I think it may have been my antics that softened her on me. Despite the months of 1-on-1s with Li Laoshi, and the fact she has taught me to speak my way through many situations that arise in my daily life here, this meeting exposed the vast inadequacy of my Chinese "ear". I caught every fifth or sixth word, and by the time I processed one word, well, you can imagine, they were long gone. I turned to Ricky and feebly said, "what are they saying?" His response exposed another flaw in our communication. Just like most other Chinese, present company excluded, Ricky doesn't know baseball. Thankfully, he had Google translated parts of the rule book so I could somewhat follow along. I would read, "If the ground ball out of barrier, second base bingle". Hmm? I listened to the sounds of their discussion, then asked Ricky for interpretation, which wasn't much. I jumped up from my chair, stood as if waiting on a pitch with my air-bat. The swing, accompanied by a ball-off-bat sound made by sucking my tongue off the roof of my mouth. The pointer finger of my right hand traced the arc of the ball's flight in the air and came to rest on the ornate rug. I dropped to my knees and karate chopped my left hand - the outfield fence - about 6 inches in front of my finger - the bouncing ball. My finger-ball bounced over my hand-fence as laughter and head nods started with the big guy and spread the room. Throughout the meeting I charaded wild pitch, home run, force out, tag play, overthrow, dead ball, pitcher, catcher, mound visit, safe, out and error. Each was met with a laughing, "dui, dui, dui," from the big guy. We were on the same page, we were speaking baseball.
Beside the now intrigued woman sat a polite looking man who never smiled. He stood up and sat down frequently throughout the meeting. His phone rang a lot. He left once and came back with a large box of water bottles. He pulled a business card out of his pocket, looked at his phone, and left again. He only spoke to the big guy and no one else. Despite getting a laugh from the group, he didn't crack a smile when Ricky translated his words to me. "Ah, this man thinks our team should have to play with the older kids based on the questions you ask and your knowledge of the rules." One time he left and came back with an over-sized orange foam baseball. Ricky told me they use it for T-Ball. The ball was passed around the room, and when I held it, they stared, awaiting feedback. I shook my head, "bu keye." I can't was just about the extent of the Chinese I had to convey my message on the subject, so I turned to Ricky. "Tell them our ball is the same size and weight as a baseball, but soft." I pinched my four fingers and thumb together repeatedly indicating that our ball was soft too. I even feigned hitting myself in the head with it and acting like it didn't hurt. They understood. I didn't want my players to use an oversized or underweight ball. My Chinese study paid off on the next exchange where I caught two words, "mai" and "zai" - "buy" and "at". I chuckled and said, "Meiguo." Laughter filled the room, as they shook their heads at my absurd presumption that they had the ability or desire to get their hands on an American Incrediball. All I could think was that without a doubt it must be made in China. Nonetheless, we agreed that we would use our ball when they came to play at our field.
The other coaches, younger guys, slouched, maybe dozed, as the discussion of baseball rules and regulations moved around the room - league fees, umpire costs, age groups, which ball we'd use, schedule. At 5 pm, while the Chinese national anthem blared from the loudspeaker around the campus, another man, stylishly dressed in a leather jacket and pants roughly tucked around the top of his Dr. Martens, entered the room; he was introduced as "caipan" - the umpire. Almost instantly the conversation turned to money. I looked at the clock on the face of my phone.
I sat at the big guy's 3 o'clock and could look past Ricky, who sat to my right, and make solid eye contact with him. And the big guy did share a lot of eye contact in my direction. He spoke to me as if he wanted my approval but continuously forgot that I had no idea what he was saying. By 6:00, three hours after this adventure began, he turned to me, looked me in the eyes and asked the final, "you wenti ma?"
I replied, "mei you wenti." I have no questions.
Everyone began to push themselves up from their chairs as big guy exclaimed, "fanguar" - restaurant. I should have known based on the stories I have heard that most meetings involve some component of a meal, but I had to get home to the boys, so I shook my head in decline. He was insistent, they all were. He held his fingers to mimic the holding a shot glass and tossed his head and hand back in the universal indication of drinking a shot. Bai jio shots at dinner, no doubt. I turned to Ricky, "next time." I think he shared my sentiment, but maybe some other, as the next few minutes of "ta" and laughter once again felt pointed in my direction.
We walked outside and everyone in the group, except for the woman, fired up a #5 and smoked. Big guy offered me one, but I waved my open hand and laughed.
He gave me a big laugh in return.
"Hey Ricky, what is coach's name again?" I asked.
"Oh, that man Mr. Wang."
I waved goodbye to Coach Wang and walked to the corner to find a cab.
Paul Koch (@pkoch9999)
Wow! You rock, Mr. Koch!! After reading your 1 year post + this (and many others since you all were China-bound), you need to publish a book on your experiences :) You are such a gifted writer. I'm so glad I'm on the adoptive plan with your family ;)
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