Providence
The further you travel, the less you know.
–Tao 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?
Mario’s Nonna, well, she would have said it was providence, god’s order, his guidance. However, there were other unseen forces at work—it 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. She’d 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 room—a 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 he’d 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? It’s a major city, so surely there should be somewhere that doesn’t 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 watch—10 o’clock. 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 sighed—only 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, ‘It’s dirty, like Rome.’
She tut-tutted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Hong Kong is nothing like Rome. What’s wrong with you?’
He then stared out of his hotel window. ‘I don’t know. It’s not like I thought it was going to be.’
‘It can’t be all sunshine and butterflies,’ she replied playfully.
He smiled. ‘You sound like Nonna.’
‘Well, 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.’
‘I’m taking a step back coming here, doing this crazy thing.’ 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 can’t read that, Nonna’s voice sounded in his head.
He placed it back on the bed. ‘Veronica, do you think I’m stupid?’
‘No, I don’t.’ She then paused. ‘What you’re doing is strange, but it has a purpose, right? A purpose for you to get out, get away. You’ve been much too sad—it isn’t right.’
‘I just wish, well, I wish you were here.’ He then started to cry.
Veronica replied softly, ‘I know, but Mario, you must do this for yourself. You always said that mask would take you places.’
He laughed. ‘This stupid mask.’
‘I 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 boat—a 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 mask—the dead maiden didn’t 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, she’ll 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.’ Veronica laughed.
Mario smirked, then replied softly, ‘Do you remember when she told us about it?’4
‘Right after papa died.’
‘Strange sort of story to tell two children who had just lost their father.’
‘Well, she was a strange sort of woman, wasn’t she? Do you remember when she told us that the neighbor’s cat was a reincarnation of Da Vinci, and she was convinced he was trying to communicate with us by always being on the roof?’
Mario laughed. ‘The cat that wanted to fly like Da Vinci—he collected feathers. She said he was trying to make wings.’
‘And 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!’
They both smiled, then there was a pause.
Veronica sighed. ‘You can always come home, Mario.’
He stood up and stared out of the hotel window toward the Peak, which was covered in fog. ‘This place is odd—it’s filled with old and new, but it feels weird, like there are ghosts everywhere, and they’re reaching out to us.’
‘Well, like here then?’
‘No, 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, ‘For the appraiser?’ 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 building—you know, in pretty bad shape—but it wasn’t. 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; he’s 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.
‘You have the item?’ 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 didn’t want to disturb him. Twenty seconds later, he looked up, then handed me the mask.
‘I’m sorry, but it isn’t what you think.’
‘Oh, it’s not a Chinese death mask?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
I asked, ‘Is it from here?’
‘No, from the mainland. It’s old, but not very valuable.’ He stared at me and said, “You can pay on your way out.” And, well, that was it.’
‘Incredible story, Mario, but why didn’t you ask him more about it?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t know what to ask, and he just seemed so sure it wasn’t anything.’
‘So, you flew 8,000 miles and paid 3,000 euros to find out that Nonna’s mask was worth nothing? Mario, you have too much money and have too much imagination.’
‘You 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 don’t realize what’s 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 system—you know, in case there was a fire—and sometimes he heard strange voices coming through it or laughter. At night, there are a lot of sightings— 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.’
‘So, it’s haunted? Like most of Italy?’ Veronica laughed.
‘I suppose so.’
‘What will you do with the mask now?’
‘I don’t know—take it home, I guess.’
‘I’m sorry that it wasn’t what you hoped, any of it, the city or the appraisal, Mario.’
‘It’s okay. I’m just glad I finally found out.’
Suddenly, there was a knock at his hotel door. ‘I better go—I’ll text you from the airport.’
‘Ciao.’
Then there was another knock, and Mario rushed over. ‘Yes, yes, I’m here.’
He opened the door to find a young man with a paper bag. ‘Mario Risso?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is for you.’ He handed over the bag.
‘Thank you,’ 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 didn’t realize that.
He placed the book on the bed and looked at the mask.
He remembered asking, as a child, ‘But Nonna, how can her spirit be trapped inside a mask?’
‘Well, she’s 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.’ Nonna said, sitting at the table while Mario tried to do his homework.
‘Where’s her home?’
‘The East, as I told you before. China.’
‘Can I see it, Nonna, the mask, up close?’
‘Ah no. We must respect her. We don’t want to upset her, do we? Or else we’ll get no sleep. Now come on, Mario, how do we spell ‘house’?’
Suddenly, the hotel room’s phone rang, causing Mario to jump. He picked it up. ‘Hello?’
‘Checkout tomorrow, Mr. Risso, 10 a.m. We cannot offer you an extension, as we’re fully booked. Thank you for understanding. Goodbye.’
He hung up the phone and sat down on the bed again. He should go out; it was his last night. But he didn’t want to. He lay down.
Nonna’s voice summoned him: Come on, Mario. You didn’t 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. It’s been a while.
He considered taking the mask out and placing it on the table, but he didn’t want to appear crazy.
‘You aren’t crazy,’ Nonna had told him as a child after he came home crying because he couldn’t read well. ‘You just think differently, Mario. No one should understand everything. Where would the fun be in that?’
He ordered a draft beer from the young waitress with crooked teeth.
‘Different,’ ‘weird,’ ‘crazy,’ ‘lazy,’ ‘stupid.’ 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 he’s different, even eccentric? What’s 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 man—dark 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 wasn’t wearing any socks, and Mario glanced at his thick, hairy ankles.
The man noticed him. ‘Hey, what you looking at?’
Mario turned away, embarrassed.
The man continued. ‘Hey, you, with the mask.’
Mario turned to him, confused. ‘Mask? What mask?’
‘The one in your bag.’ The strange man stood up and headed over to his table. He was average height, but his stomach poked out. He walked oddly—slumped 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, ‘I see your mask. Why you carrying around a mask like that?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The mask. I know it. Doesn’t belong to you.’ The man frowned at him.
‘Who does it belong to?’ Mario asked.
‘Not you.’ 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.
‘Hey, girl, bring me another beer,’ the man ordered.
She nodded, and as she walked away, the man slapped her on the bottom.
He giggled. ‘Not much to look at in the face, but she would do.’ He winked.
Mario stared at him, horrified. ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?’
‘Who me? No! I haven’t even started.’ The man sat back and 10
scratched his head, then rubbed underneath his armpits. ‘So, where’d you get the mask?’
‘My grandmother. She found it in Italy.’
The man then burst out laughing. ‘Italy?’
‘Yes,’ Mario replied. He thought that this man belonged in some sort of freak show, like they had in the past—inappropriate exhibitions of people with exceptional biological differences. He was extraordinarily hairy, and his mannerisms, the way he scratched himself, almost like an animal.
‘Well, well, that’s where it’s been.’ The man stared at Mario.
‘Do you know the owner? Who is it?’
‘No one you know,’ said the man, sticking out his tongue like a child.
Mario shook his head. ‘You’re crazy.’
He was about to get up when the strange man leaned forward and said softly, ‘Hey, don’t go, stay. We’ll drink, and I’ll tell you who owns it.’
Mario looked at him. As Nonna said, ‘Everyone is different. It wouldn’t be any fun if we were all the same.’
‘Okay,’ Mario replied.
The strange man grinned.
‘So, who owns it?’ Mario asked.
‘Not yet, and from what I see, it isn’t about who owns it. It seems to own you, carrying it around as if it’s your girlfriend.’ 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. Darwin’s missing link? In Hong Kong?
Mario cleared his throat. ‘What do you know about the mask?’
The man looked away from him. ‘Nothing much—only, well, you can’t 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 ’cause he was looking down. Silly boy.’
Mario watched as the man started to twirl the long hair on the side of his face. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked him.
‘People call me Monkey—well, they used to. Monkey, the great sage equaling heaven.’
Mario laughed, but Monkey looked down as if he was hurt.
‘Do you like being called Monkey?’
Monkey looked at him curiously. ‘I don’t know. I never thought about it. Everyone has always called me Monkey—I never disputed it. What do they call you?’
‘Mario.’
‘Mario with the mask.’ Monkey smiled.
Mario nodded.
Monkey finished his beer and looked at Mario’s full glass. ‘Shall we have another one?’
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. ‘Once I start with something, I can’t stop. It’s not good. My sister says I need balance. I thought coming here and trying to find out about the mask would help, but it hasn’t. It has made things more confusing.’
‘Life is like that,’ Monkey replied. ‘The 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.’
‘Who’s the owner? I want to meet him.’
‘How you know it is a man, maybe it is a woman? And well, she isn’t 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.’
Mario drunkenly agreed. ‘That’s exactly what I need. Balance—no more silliness.’
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 hadn’t laughed like this in years.
Once they reached the hotel’s grand lobby, Monkey stopped and looked fearfully at the hotel’s entrance.
‘Come on, Monkey, let’s get a drink,’ Mario said, waving him in.
‘I can’t. They don’t allow me in here.’
‘Come on, you’re with me. It’ll be fine.’
Monkey replied earnestly, ‘No, I’ll get in trouble again.’
Mario frowned. He was about to drag him by the arm, but stopped when he saw that Monkey was shaking. ‘Don’t worry, Monkey. It’s okay,’ 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. ‘Sir, sir, are you okay?’
‘Yes,’ Mario replied, annoyed, and stood up, ‘I just needed to give this to my friend.’ He glanced up, and Monkey has gone. ‘Huh? Where is he?’
‘Who, sir?’
‘My friend. He was just here.’
‘There’s no one.’
‘Yes, I can see that, but there was someone. Ugh, you scared him away.’13
‘Shall I take you inside Sir?’
‘Monkey?!’ Mario shouted ‘Monkey?! You there? You want the mask?’
Mario staggered around, shouting. He halted when he saw an audience of well-dressed people staring at him.
‘My friend, he’s gone,’ he said to them.
Some of them smirked back, but most looked down, fearful of acknowledging him.
‘Maybe he will come back tomorrow, sir,’ The doorman said, hopeful.
‘Maybe.’
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 couldn’t 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, ‘Hello? Anyone there?’
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.
‘Monkey,’ what an odd sort of nickname, grossly inappropriate. But how odd he was — the clothes, the shoes, the long hair — 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 Monkey—maybe he was known in the area.
‘Excuse me?’
She looked up at him; her name tag read ‘Ruth.’
‘I know this is going to sound strange, but have you heard of a man called Monkey who lives around here.’
She stared back at him, ‘Monkey?’
‘Yes, a strange-looking man, different-colored shoes, gray suit too tight for him. He has a lot of hair—well, a bit like fur.’
‘Fur?’
‘Yes. Do you know anyone like that?’
She shook her head and put down her book.
He looked at the title, Wu Ch’êng -ên, Monkey. Mario stared at her, surprised.
She followed his eyes to the book. ‘Oh, it’s an old myth about the Monkey King. He is a legend from the past.’
‘I see.’ Nonna’s voice sounded in his head: There are no coincidences, only providence.
‘Hey, listen, do you have a lost-and-found box? I just found this mask in the corner over there.’ He pointed at the red couch and pulled the mask out of his bag. 15
‘You found this over there?’ Ruth replied suspiciously.
He nodded and handed over the mask.
Ruth handled it carefully. ‘Is it valuable?’
‘I’m not sure, but maybe. Maybe the rightful owner will come back for it.’
She looked at Mario. He seemed normal, but this was odd, something about him was strange. ‘Hmm, are you sure you found this over there?’
‘Yes, I am. Why would I lie?’
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.
‘Ciao!’ Mario said loudly.
Chris stared at him, confused. ‘Ciao,’ he replied back.
Ruth ran her fingers over the back of the mask and squinted at the small writing,
玉皇
Yù huáng
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?
