A mysterious mask abandoned in a Hong Kong coffee shop eavesdrops on the lives of those who enter, asking, who are we beneath our masks?
Mario is at a crossroads in his life, and after encountering a strange man who refers to himself as Monkey, he is ready to finally make a change.Chris learns that the words in a personal ad may not mean the same thing to the writer as to the reader. Lucy, on the other hand, is too distracted by her terror of germs to enjoy the various coffees that Andrew offers her during a chance meeting. The Barista, Patrick, can barely pronounce the word, but hopes that Kimberley can see his interest with the free cups of coffee he offers.
Much to her surprise, when Grace agrees to meet John - her husbandâs boss, for a coffee, she discovers that she has to make a much bigger choice than whether to have her latte hot or iced, with milk or soy.
As the enigmatic forces inspired by the Tao Te Ching loom over them, choices must be made, secrets revealed, and unexpected bonds forgedâall under the watchful gaze of a mysterious mask.
A mysterious mask abandoned in a Hong Kong coffee shop eavesdrops on the lives of those who enter, asking, who are we beneath our masks?
Mario is at a crossroads in his life, and after encountering a strange man who refers to himself as Monkey, he is ready to finally make a change.Chris learns that the words in a personal ad may not mean the same thing to the writer as to the reader. Lucy, on the other hand, is too distracted by her terror of germs to enjoy the various coffees that Andrew offers her during a chance meeting. The Barista, Patrick, can barely pronounce the word, but hopes that Kimberley can see his interest with the free cups of coffee he offers.
Much to her surprise, when Grace agrees to meet John - her husbandâs boss, for a coffee, she discovers that she has to make a much bigger choice than whether to have her latte hot or iced, with milk or soy.
As the enigmatic forces inspired by the Tao Te Ching loom over them, choices must be made, secrets revealed, and unexpected bonds forgedâall under the watchful gaze of a mysterious mask.
The further you travel, the less you know.
âTao Te Ching
The first question was how did the mask end up here, sitting on a shelf behind the counter in a franchised coffee shop in Hong Kong?
Marioâs Nonna, well, she would have said it was providence, godâs order, his guidance. However, there were other unseen forces at workâit was destiny.
Mario was always receptive to her stories, and even if she did embellish from time to time, most of what she told Mario and his sister Veronica was true.
A man did leave the mask outside of a church one day in her hometown just south of Padua in Italy. Sheâd found it a week before she was married. Whether she spoke to the man who left it was irrelevant, in her mind anyway.
The mask came to live with her and her new husband. It was placed carefully on the wall in their large dining roomâa sign of good luck, she had told him, like a horseshoe, but better. The mask hung on the wall and watched people come and go in daily life. It was a peaceful existence until Nonna had died a few months ago. 2
Mario, now in his early 30s, was filled with grief. He decided to fulfill his promise to Nonna and took it back to what he had been told was its true home. Somewhere over there, Nonna had said, pointing, in the East, where their language was different, difficult, and filled with riddles.
Mario, now sitting in the Hong Kong coffee shop, was angry. He had just burned the tip of his tongue on the most awful cappuccino heâd ever had. He thought to himself, we have better coffee at the Auto Grills (service stations that dot Italian motorways). Why is it so hard to get decent coffee here? Itâs a major city, so surely there should be somewhere that doesnât sell this artificial junk.
He then groaned and felt the tip of his tongue with his finger, detecting a small bump. Ugh, just what I need.
He looked down at his watchâ10 oâclock. It was another six hours until his first flight home departed, then another twenty until he would be physically home via Qatar and Rome to his small cramped one-bedroom flat in Padua.
He sighedâonly a couple more hours left to hang around in this city that he had not enjoyed as much as he thought he would.
Yesterday, he told Veronica over the phone, âItâs dirty, like Rome.â
She tut-tutted. âDonât be ridiculous. Hong Kong is nothing like Rome. Whatâs wrong with you?â
He then stared out of his hotel window. âI donât know. Itâs not like I thought it was going to be.â
âIt canât be all sunshine and butterflies,â she replied playfully.
He smiled. âYou sound like Nonna.â
âWell, she had a point. You need more balance, Mario. You always have. You get too involved, and it takes over your whole life. You need to take a step back.â
âIâm taking a step back coming here, doing this crazy thing.â 3
He looked down at the mask sitting on the bed. He lifted it up, turned it around, and squinted, trying to decipher the small, scribbled writing on the back of it. You canât read that, Nonnaâs voice sounded in his head.
He placed it back on the bed. âVeronica, do you think Iâm stupid?â
âNo, I donât.â She then paused. âWhat youâre doing is strange, but it has a purpose, right? A purpose for you to get out, get away. Youâve been much too sadâit isnât right.â
âI just wish, well, I wish you were here.â He then started to cry.
Veronica replied softly, âI know, but Mario, you must do this for yourself. You always said that mask would take you places.â
He laughed. âThis stupid mask.â
âI blame Nonna. She filled us with too many stories about it. She said that she found this mysterious mask one day outside of a church, like it was waiting for her. Then a strange gentleman came up to her and told her that it was a magical mask, made in the East, very valuable and smuggled to Italy on a boatâa death mask of a young maiden killed by her jealous lover. An artist found it and painted over the original markings in white and gold so that it resembled a Venetian carnival mask, its true worth now hidden. The artist tried to sell it, but nobody wanted it, and he died penniless and starving. The strange man then found it years later and kept it until an angry spirit emerged from the maskâthe dead maiden didnât like the garish colored paint. The spirit filled all his dreams with nightmares, she wanted to return home. The spirit told him that only a young girl could help her. One day, sheâll need to go home to the East. And how did our Nonna help her? She hung it on the dining room wall to watch over us as we ate.â Veronica laughed.
Mario smirked, then replied softly, âDo you remember when she told us about it?â4
âRight after papa died.â
âStrange sort of story to tell two children who had just lost their father.â
âWell, she was a strange sort of woman, wasnât she? Do you remember when she told us that the neighborâs cat was a reincarnation of Da Vinci, and she was convinced he was trying to communicate with us by always being on the roof?â
Mario laughed. âThe cat that wanted to fly like Da Vinciâhe collected feathers. She said he was trying to make wings.â
âAnd the way she said he dug holes in her garden, like an artist. She said that he was Da Vinci himself! She was crazy, Mario!â
They both smiled, then there was a pause.
Veronica sighed. âYou can always come home, Mario.â
He stood up and stared out of the hotel window toward the Peak, which was covered in fog. âThis place is oddâitâs filled with old and new, but it feels weird, like there are ghosts everywhere, and theyâre reaching out to us.â
âWell, like here then?â
âNo, different, like the line between us and the dead is thinner here. Yesterday, when I went to the office to talk to that appraiser about the mask, it was like something out of a horror film. I thought it was an abandoned building, but there was a doorman who directed me toward the service elevator. I went up in this slow, old, rickety elevator, and the lightbulb kept flickering off and on. It was as if the whole place was about to be demolished. I came out of the elevator on the 10th floor, and it was empty, the paint peeling off the walls. I was about to go back into the elevator when I saw an old lady sitting beside the stairs. I smiled at her, and she nodded, pointing down the hallway. I said, âFor the appraiser?â She nodded. I walked past her to the end of the hallway and saw a gold-plated sign outside this thin wooden 5
door. I knocked and entered, expecting it to be like the rest of the buildingâyou know, in pretty bad shapeâbut it wasnât. Everything looked brand new. Glossy surfaces, mood lighting, wooden floors, glass doors to meeting rooms, and expensive minimalist furniture. So strange. This man comes out and bows; heâs expecting me and leads me into a room that has no windows and is sealed. He locks the door, and the lights go off, then on again.
âYou have the item?â he asked. I took out the mask and handed it to him. He placed it on a large table and examined it with a flashlight that beamed lights with different colors, I guess to verify the age or something. He moved it up and down and held the mask as if it was a newborn. He sighed a lot. I wanted to ask him about why he was in this sort of building, but I didnât want to disturb him. Twenty seconds later, he looked up, then handed me the mask.
âIâm sorry, but it isnât what you think.â
âOh, itâs not a Chinese death mask?â
He shook his head. âNo.â
I asked, âIs it from here?â
âNo, from the mainland. Itâs old, but not very valuable.â He stared at me and said, âYou can pay on your way out.â And, well, that was it.â
âIncredible story, Mario, but why didnât you ask him more about it?â
âI donât know. I didnât know what to ask, and he just seemed so sure it wasnât anything.â
âSo, you flew 8,000 miles and paid 3,000 euros to find out that Nonnaâs mask was worth nothing? Mario, you have too much money and have too much imagination.â
âYou know what was strange, though? When I was leaving, I spoke to the doorman downstairs. I asked whether this place 6
was being renovated. He said no and that the tenant businesses liked it like that because people donât realize whatâs inside. He then looked around and whispered to me that the whole place is haunted. He hated doing the night shift and said weird things happen. He said they had an intercom systemâyou know, in case there was a fireâand sometimes he heard strange voices coming through it or laughter. At night, there are a lot of sightingsâ people who are seen, but not really here. The elevator sometimes randomly starts and goes to different floors, but nobody gets out or gets in.â
âSo, itâs haunted? Like most of Italy?â Veronica laughed.
âI suppose so.â
âWhat will you do with the mask now?â
âI donât knowâtake it home, I guess.â
âIâm sorry that it wasnât what you hoped, any of it, the city or the appraisal, Mario.â
âItâs okay. Iâm just glad I finally found out.â
Suddenly, there was a knock at his hotel door. âI better goâIâll text you from the airport.â
âCiao.â
Then there was another knock, and Mario rushed over. âYes, yes, Iâm here.â
He opened the door to find a young man with a paper bag. âMario Risso?â
âYes.â
âThis is for you.â He handed over the bag.
âThank you,â Mario replied.
The young man then walked away quickly before Mario could tip him.
Inside the bag was a heavy coffee-table book on Chinese masks. It contained large, full-page glossy prints of several masks, but no writing. He turned to the front page and read the 7
badly scribbled inscription:
Masks look both in and out, Mr. Risso.
Thank you for using our service.
Both in and out? What does that mean? He went through each page carefully, examining each mask to find something similar to his, but there was nothing like it. Maybe they painted over the old drawings, he thought, or maybe there was no painting at all, and they didnât realize that.
He placed the book on the bed and looked at the mask.
He remembered asking, as a child, âBut Nonna, how can her spirit be trapped inside a mask?â
âWell, sheâs invisible, you see. She hides underneath the painting, but she likes it here in our home. She likes living with us, but one day, you must take her home.â Nonna said, sitting at the table while Mario tried to do his homework.
âWhereâs her home?â
âThe East, as I told you before. China.â
âCan I see it, Nonna, the mask, up close?â
âAh no. We must respect her. We donât want to upset her, do we? Or else weâll get no sleep. Now come on, Mario, how do we spell âhouseâ?â
Suddenly, the hotel roomâs phone rang, causing Mario to jump. He picked it up. âHello?â
âCheckout tomorrow, Mr. Risso, 10 a.m. We cannot offer you an extension, as weâre fully booked. Thank you for understanding. Goodbye.â
He hung up the phone and sat down on the bed again. He should go out; it was his last night. But he didnât want to. He lay down.
Nonnaâs voice summoned him: Come on, Mario. You didnât 8
come all this way for nothing. Take her out and show her a good time.
He sat up and smiled. Okay, Nonna, I will.
After showering, he placed the mask into his backpack and decided to go to Wan Chai, which he passed by yesterday in a taxi and regretted not stopping to check it out. It seemed alive.
He took the elevator down to Pacific Place and walked through the crowded mall toward Hennessy Road. It was busy as people scurried about, leaving work. He meandered through them and crossed the road. He started to walk through the streets and quickly located a small bar on Lockhart Road with a tiny outdoor seating area. It was empty, and he decided to sit down. An oversize fan was blowing on him.
Just one drink, he said to himself. I deserve at least one drink. Itâs been a while.
He considered taking the mask out and placing it on the table, but he didnât want to appear crazy.
âYou arenât crazy,â Nonna had told him as a child after he came home crying because he couldnât read well. âYou just think differently, Mario. No one should understand everything. Where would the fun be in that?â
He ordered a draft beer from the young waitress with crooked teeth.
âDifferent,â âweird,â âcrazy,â âlazy,â âstupid.â How strange to be labelled all these things when no one is the same; no one is normal. Everyone has something.
He opened his bag and looked at the mask. So, what if heâs different, even eccentric? Whatâs wrong with that? He was about to take it out when he heard a man yawn loudly. Mario turned and stared at him. He was a peculiar-looking manâdark and very hairy, wearing a gray suit that was too small for him. Mario 9
looked him up and down and noticed that he was wearing two different-colored shoes, one brown loafer and one black brogue with no laces. He wasnât wearing any socks, and Mario glanced at his thick, hairy ankles.
The man noticed him. âHey, what you looking at?â
Mario turned away, embarrassed.
The man continued. âHey, you, with the mask.â
Mario turned to him, confused. âMask? What mask?â
âThe one in your bag.â The strange man stood up and headed over to his table. He was average height, but his stomach poked out. He walked oddlyâslumped over, his arms swinging. He sat on the empty chair opposite Mario.
Mario grabbed his backpack for protection and considered getting up, then the man said, âI see your mask. Why you carrying around a mask like that?â
âWhat do you mean?â
âThe mask. I know it. Doesnât belong to you.â The man frowned at him.
âWho does it belong to?â Mario asked.
âNot you.â The strange man grinned, and Mario noticed that his teeth were a sickly yellow and appeared deformed. He had large canines, almost like an animal, he thought.
The waitress arrived with the beer and placed it in front of Mario.
âHey, girl, bring me another beer,â the man ordered.
She nodded, and as she walked away, the man slapped her on the bottom.
He giggled. âNot much to look at in the face, but she would do.â He winked.
Mario stared at him, horrified. âDonât you think youâve had enough to drink?â
âWho me? No! I havenât even started.â The man sat back and 10
scratched his head, then rubbed underneath his armpits. âSo, whereâd you get the mask?â
âMy grandmother. She found it in Italy.â
The man then burst out laughing. âItaly?â
âYes,â Mario replied. He thought that this man belonged in some sort of freak show, like they had in the pastâinappropriate exhibitions of people with exceptional biological differences. He was extraordinarily hairy, and his mannerisms, the way he scratched himself, almost like an animal.
âWell, well, thatâs where itâs been.â The man stared at Mario.
âDo you know the owner? Who is it?â
âNo one you know,â said the man, sticking out his tongue like a child.
Mario shook his head. âYouâre crazy.â
He was about to get up when the strange man leaned forward and said softly, âHey, donât go, stay. Weâll drink, and Iâll tell you who owns it.â
Mario looked at him. As Nonna said, âEveryone is different. It wouldnât be any fun if we were all the same.â
âOkay,â Mario replied.
The strange man grinned.
âSo, who owns it?â Mario asked.
âNot yet, and from what I see, it isnât about who owns it. It seems to own you, carrying it around as if itâs your girlfriend.â The man laughed loudly in short rhythmic bursts. Mario watched as he opened his jaw wide, and he could see all the way into his throat. He really is like some sort of animal. Darwinâs missing link? In Hong Kong?
Mario cleared his throat. âWhat do you know about the mask?â
The man looked away from him. âNothing muchâonly, well, you canât get much money for it now. No one has any interest in that sort of thing here. Too busy on their screens to realize the 11
importance of other things. People always looking down, never up and forward. I saw one man get killed last week âcause he was looking down. Silly boy.â
Mario watched as the man started to twirl the long hair on the side of his face. âWhatâs your name?â he asked him.
âPeople call me Monkeyâwell, they used to. Monkey, the great sage equaling heaven.â
Mario laughed, but Monkey looked down as if he was hurt.
âDo you like being called Monkey?â
Monkey looked at him curiously. âI donât know. I never thought about it. Everyone has always called me MonkeyâI never disputed it. What do they call you?â
âMario.â
âMario with the mask.â Monkey smiled.
Mario nodded.
Monkey finished his beer and looked at Marioâs full glass. âShall we have another one?â
Mario called the waitress over.
They sat there together for three hours drinking beer quickly. Mario started to slur his words. He told Monkey everything about his Nonna, the mask, his obsessions with things. âOnce I start with something, I canât stop. Itâs not good. My sister says I need balance. I thought coming here and trying to find out about the mask would help, but it hasnât. It has made things more confusing.â
âLife is like that,â Monkey replied. âThe more you try and understand things, the less you know. You know, you should leave the mask with me. I can give it back to the owner.â
âWhoâs the owner? I want to meet him.â
âHow you know it is a man, maybe it is a woman? And well, she isnât here now, but I can give it to her, weaver girl. Let you get rid of that thing. Help you get your balance back by no longer 12
carrying it with you.â
Mario drunkenly agreed. âThatâs exactly what I need. Balanceâno more silliness.â
So, it was agreed.
Monkey said he would walk Mario back to the hotel. Intoxicated, they stumbled through Hennessy Road and up Justice Road. They sniggered like children at the smallest things, and Mario thought he never wanted this night to end. He realized he hadnât laughed like this in years.
Once they reached the hotelâs grand lobby, Monkey stopped and looked fearfully at the hotelâs entrance.
âCome on, Monkey, letâs get a drink,â Mario said, waving him in.
âI canât. They donât allow me in here.â
âCome on, youâre with me. Itâll be fine.â
Monkey replied earnestly, âNo, Iâll get in trouble again.â
Mario frowned. He was about to drag him by the arm, but stopped when he saw that Monkey was shaking. âDonât worry, Monkey. Itâs okay,â he said.
He removed his backpack, but his footing faltered, and he nearly fell over.
Monkey remained in the shadows, away from the lights.
A doorman saw Mario fall out of the corner of his eye and ran toward him. âSir, sir, are you okay?â
âYes,â Mario replied, annoyed, and stood up, âI just needed to give this to my friend.â He glanced up, and Monkey has gone. âHuh? Where is he?â
âWho, sir?â
âMy friend. He was just here.â
âThereâs no one.â
âYes, I can see that, but there was someone. Ugh, you scared him away.â13
âShall I take you inside Sir?â
âMonkey?!â Mario shouted âMonkey?! You there? You want the mask?â
Mario staggered around, shouting. He halted when he saw an audience of well-dressed people staring at him.
âMy friend, heâs gone,â he said to them.
Some of them smirked back, but most looked down, fearful of acknowledging him.
âMaybe he will come back tomorrow, sir,â The doorman said, hopeful.
âMaybe.â
Mario entered the hotel quietly, went to his room, lied on the bed fully clothed, and fell asleep quickly.
In the morning, when he awakened, he felt oddly fine. He sat up and checked his bag. The mask was still there. He took a shower and considered that perhaps he had imagined it all, but he couldnât have. Wan Chai, Monkey, the waitress with the crooked teeth. After breakfast and checkout, he left his bag at the hotel and walked the same route through Pacific Place, crossed Hennessy Road, then on to Lockhart Road. He located the small bar where they had sat. It was closed, and all the furniture was piled up. Mario stood close to where they sat the previous night. He looked around, but there was no sign of anyone. He stared at the floor and noticed that it recently had been washed. He called out, âHello? Anyone there?â
But there was no reply.
He decided to take a taxi to Soho, after he read about it online. Listed as number 12 in the top 12 things to do in Hong Kong, it was an area filled with independent coffee shops, pop ups, bars and the famous outdoor escalator. Mario had wanted to see it and jumped in a taxi all the while keeping an eye out for Monkey.
The taxi dropped him off by Hollywood Road and Mario 14
walked up towards the escalator. It was warm and he needed something to drink. He saw a small coffee shop on the corner next to the escalator and entered. He looked around, it was quiet. He could only see one member of staff, she was reading a book by the cash register. He went over and ordered an espresso and waited patiently as it was made. He sat close to the main door and looked outside at the passing traffic.
âMonkey,â what an odd sort of nickname, grossly inappropriate. But how odd he was â the clothes, the shoes, the long hair â not fur, but similar. Mario sipped his espresso and tutted, it was horrible, and he decided to try another coffee shop. . But before he left, he asked the girl behind the counter whether she knew anyone called Monkeyâmaybe he was known in the area.
âExcuse me?â
She looked up at him; her name tag read âRuth.â
âI know this is going to sound strange, but have you heard of a man called Monkey who lives around here.â
She stared back at him, âMonkey?â
âYes, a strange-looking man, different-colored shoes, gray suit too tight for him. He has a lot of hairâwell, a bit like fur.â
âFur?â
âYes. Do you know anyone like that?â
She shook her head and put down her book.
He looked at the title, Wu ChâĂȘng -ĂȘn, Monkey. Mario stared at her, surprised.
She followed his eyes to the book. âOh, itâs an old myth about the Monkey King. He is a legend from the past.â
âI see.â Nonnaâs voice sounded in his head: There are no coincidences, only providence.
âHey, listen, do you have a lost-and-found box? I just found this mask in the corner over there.â He pointed at the red couch and pulled the mask out of his bag. 15
âYou found this over there?â Ruth replied suspiciously.
He nodded and handed over the mask.
Ruth handled it carefully. âIs it valuable?â
âIâm not sure, but maybe. Maybe the rightful owner will come back for it.â
She looked at Mario. He seemed normal, but this was odd, something about him was strange. âHmm, are you sure you found this over there?â
âYes, I am. Why would I lie?â
Mario then smiled at her and walked toward the door. A young man named Chris was walking in, and Mario held the door open for him.
âCiao!â Mario said loudly.
Chris stared at him, confused. âCiao,â he replied back.
Ruth ran her fingers over the back of the mask and squinted at the small writing,
çç
YĂč huĂĄng
She thought, Jade Emperor? She shook her head and carried it to the lost-and-found box. She hid it under an umbrella and a set of keys that were left last month.
People are crazy. Why would someone leave a mask like this?
In Patrickâs coffee shop, customers drink their fill and share snippets of their lives. Staffers laugh, cry sometimes and some even call the manager âmamaâs boy.â And thereâs more to this shop. To begin with, it has a mask that observes from its vantage point. This mask is more like an invisible entity. Sometimes a cup goes missing, only to be found elsewhere. Sometimes the bathroom door eerily swings open. Sometimes a customer would swear the mask stares at them just as a living being would, as though thereâs a face behind it. But whatâs the maskâs story? Particularly, whatâs its origin, and how is it connected to Monkey, the fellow who dresses strangely? Better yet, how did it end up in the Coffee Shop?
First, let's begin with what T. A Mortonâs The Coffee Shop Masquerade isnât. The mask is situated where everyone entering or leaving the shop sees it, and much as its presence unsettles some, it doesnât cause any harm. Tears are spilled, yes, largely because of it, but not blood. Is the place haunted? Some customers think so. But not in a scary way. For the customers always come back.
Morton weaves an interesting story that mirrors peopleâs daily lives. She adds layers to her characters, engagingly blending their past and present. When the reader meets Lucy, they immediately get to know what makes her tick, and why a journalist would be interested in buying her coffee and helping her sample up the coffees. Charlotte insists there is a chip in her cup, and William, though doesnât share her observation, takes up the matter with Jasmine. Whatâs going on with Charlotte? Is the marriage taking a toll on her? As she and Willaims continue talking, it becomes apparent whatâs ailing their relationship. In a nutshell, Morton's use of backstories to flesh out the characters shines through, as it invigorates the plot and enables the reader to see the characters beyond their masks.
In conclusion, The Coffee Shop Masquerade is a perfect fit for readers who enjoy character-driven stories that explore relationships, workplaces, and the experience of living abroad.