Late night hunger. Noodles and I walk the wobbly sidewalk tiles, eyeing a restaurant next door to my apartment complex. It’s called the Rabbit God. I’ve always noticed it but never been inside. We step in and the first thing I see is a group of men sitting on the floor, tending to a drunk friend. We order the signature rabbit dish and the place quickly turns into an orchestra of yelling and vomiting while one remains passed out on the floor. Meanwhile a lady is on the phone, kicking and yelling at the drunk men.
Noodles offers to change tables so there is a column blocking them from view. She is talking to me but I’m frozen in disgust and confusion. “why are we here,” is my thinking. The natural thing to do may have been to just leave, but somehow my thought did not stretch that far. Noodles seemed to acknowledge the sewage scene but was more amused by it than me. The place reeks of vomit and zombie adults. On the column next to our table is a poster of the pixar animation film, Madagascar, with the lion and friends, in cartoon color and smiles. There is group sitting at a table not far from us. They seem to not even notice the madness before them, quietly talking among themselves.
In any case, our appetizer arrives and she says, “It’s snake.” My disgust level increases and illuminates a recent dream I had where a snake had bit me. I tell her about the dream: a middle-aged woman had gifted me a box with a snake inside. In the dream I was unafraid and poked at the snake with my finger and finally it bites me and leaves a crater-like wound on my hand. I zoomed in to its teeth clawing my skin. The strange thing was that I was not shocked or panicked. I was just noticing.
It’s as if I’m in a dream inside of a dream.
Finally, I realize she meant snack. Chinese people tend to pronounce snack as snake. She humors her poor English and I feel an inch of relief and take a bite. Our rabbit dish arrives. The puke party is still on and escalating with the sound of emptying bellies, yells, smells and all else. While eating, she says to me, “I hope you don’t mind.” I told her, “Oh, I hate it.” Relaxed with a lost appetite, I put my arm around her chair, mixed with confusion, acceptance, and disappointment. She laughs.
Paramedics arrive with the stretcher in a slow casual walk and carry out the slumbered body. I look over at Noodles, with her eyes closes, chin tucked, she gently wipes her mouth with a napkin and says, “I love it,” as if in a state of prayer. I’m still disgusted. We pay and leave, feeling distanced from her.
Next day I ask her, why didn’t we just leave?!” She says, “China is a land of monsters, don’t try to put it in logic.”
“what do the monsters want?”
“To be monsters. You learn to love a thing unconditionally, without the outer appearances that surround it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this in the restaurant?!”