It was not until much, much later that I finally realized that when Hoop said “good-for-nothing,” what she meant wasn’t just something that was of no use. The true meaning of a “good-for-nothing” is something that “is already of no use, yet continues to be used and taken advantage of by other people.” But in order to get into this, I’ll have to go back and start from the beginning.
Little Horse and Little Xinjiang rescued Annie, Hoop, and two gamblers they didn’t even know from the mountain valley casino. After we got off the highway and were back in Taipei, Little Horse pulled over and had those two gamblers get out. As it happened, they coincidentally blurted out “thank you” at exactly the same moment. Just as Little Horse released the emergency brake and stepped on the gas, Hoop suddenly stuck her head out the window and yelled to those two guys: “Don’t ever go back there! Next time you won’t be so damn lucky!”
“Humph. Don’t tell me it wasn’t luck.” Hoop let out as snort as she continued to those of us inside the van, “Bursting in and rushing out with only a toy gun and an ice pick—if you don’t call that luck, then what is it?”
Little Xinjiang picked up the gun from the floor and said, “Then what do you have to say about this real gun?”
“Save it till we get home,” Little Horse glanced at his rearview mirror. I could sense that he was looking at me.
As soon as we got “home,” I began to feel a bit on edge—“home” was a junkyard not far from Xizhi; Old Bull had told me that the junkyard was where they took people they wanted out of the way. But Little Horse appeared so very amiable, I couldn’t imagine him wanting to get rid of me. He asked me if I was still sore, and I told him not at all. He put his hand on my shoulder and led me into a wheel-less, double-decker tour bus, where he handed me a bottle of mineral water and a package of soda crackers. He then told Annie and Hoop to “go upstairs and hit the sack.” Annie went right up. Hoop said she had to go to the bathroom first, otherwise her intestines would burst. Little Horse removed a first-aid kit with MA JIANREN HOSPITAL printed on the lid from the glove compartment next to the driver’s seat and handed it to Hoop. She held it for a second and then set it right down, saying, “What do I need this for? I’ve always had terrible luck but I’m not about to die,” before she limped off. After that, Little Xinjiang wanted me to have something to eat. I had two sips of water but for some reason had absolutely no appetite for any soda crackers, so I just said no thanks. Then the three of us just sat around staring at each other in silence, you look at me—for quite some time no one uttered a word.
During that time I started drifting back into my wild daydreams. The first thing I began to ponder was whether Ma Jianren’s name was written with the characters for “Ma the Healthy and Benevolent” or “Ma the Despicable Man.” If Old Bull was correct, this was Little Horse’s father’s name. I wonder if Little Horse knew that everyone referred to his father as “Ma the Despicable Man.” He probably already knew. But I’d be pretty pissed if my friends all called my father “Hou the Despicable Man”—even though he truly is quite despicable. Then I started to wonder if Ma Jianren had any idea just what his son was up to. Didn’t he know how to discipline Little Horse? Or maybe Little Horse didn’t even give Ma Jianren the time of day. Otherwise, why would he say that the junkyard was his “home”? Did all of them sleep in this tour bus? Were Annie and Hoop girlfriends of Little Horse and Little Xinjiang? It didn’t look like it because both Annie and Hoop seemed a bit too old. But if they all lived here together, wasn’t that a bit strange? If they didn’t “shoot their cannons” at night, then what the hell did they do? Just as I was thinking about “shooting cannons,” Little Horse suddenly said:
“My name’s Little Horse. This is Little Xinjiang.”
“I know, you already told me.”
Little Xinjiang, with his American mug, picked up that handgun again and tried to spin it around his finger like they do in the movies, but because the gun was so heavy it only made it halfway around. Little Xinjiang hastily used his other hand to stop it from spinning and asked, “What’s wrong with this gun?”
Little Horse waved his hand, seemingly motioning for Little Xinjiang to stop talking. “Weren’t we playing a little game just a little while ago?” As I nodded I saw Little Xinjiang put the barrel of the gun under his nose and take a whiff.
“Did you have your eyes closed the whole time?”
I quickly thought back to the events earlier in the day, but for some reason I felt I couldn’t articulate what actually happened. Moreover, I had already begun to feel as if I was in a bit of danger, so I just nodded slightly.
“Then, did you hear anything?”
“I thought I heard someone firing a gun.”
Little Horse nodded. “What else?”
“Did you know someone threw a gun in the van?” Little Xinjiang began to raise his voice.
“It was probably there to begin with,” Little Horse offered.
“That’s impossible! This gun was just fired, take a whiff and you’ll see.”
It was at that moment that Annie called down from “upstairs”: “What the hell are you bugging him about? Bring him up here, big sister wants to get to know him.”
