Dead Stones [manxman] [boyxboy]

A strange date Part 1

If you gain more territory than your opponent, you win, whether by fifty points or one point or half a point. As such, the good go players know to discern the ebb and flow of the stones, the hot and the cold, the aggression and the passivity, the rampage and the surrender. Go is a game of give and take, not of boisterous annihilation. 

And this Friday evening, confetti of cheers, lights, and jeers dazzled around Hao, who was seated at the bar.  Next to him the smallish David Wang ghosted with an effete air, holding his thin arms so close to his glossy torso as if they were children in need of solace. Hao found his guilty silences surprising for the man who had been boisterously political about Chinese issues during their chat sessions.  His candor had been almost enough for him to turn down his invitation for drinks, but he reconsidered, thinking the Mandarin Asshole should be able to put up with all kinds of men.

Smiling at him, Hao was glad he had accepted.  David blushed daintily about his gills, tickling Hao with an expectation for other hidden presents.  Hao did not mind his effeminate air, refreshing actually. Ricardo had styled himself the hammer in the relationship, despite Hao’s preferences to less domination.  And this hammer would not say those three words of devotion, perhaps as a reply or a retort or the obvious ironic remark, but not of his own volition. Even when Ricardo had suggested they move in together, his stated reason was because he, Hao, loved him even though Hao had said no such thing. But David would scream of his love, wouldn’t he?

David would not punch and kick for his way, certainly would wilt pleasantly in his arms and beg him, so unlike Ricardo’s needy glowers. David would be simple and soft and gentle and soothe him with pink words. And the relationship would be peaceful and good, perhaps not inspiring or instilling of pride, but a palliative for his soul all the same.  Safe and secure had to be better than an exciting relationship steeped in doubt and insecurity.

Then again he did not date David for a relationship. Really David was the right guy at the wrong moment—a pity, thought the Mandarin Asshole.

The bartender, like a monkey on the xylophones, dispensed with orders from the serried line of beer taps. Despite Ricardo’s goading growls, Hao never acquired Ricardo’s affinity for the imbibing and the howling, the out-of-phase conversations in the dank places overbearing with decibels.  Even now, the blare from the wall array of big screens and the teeming murmur of the clientele, dragged on Hao, chewed through his ears, with that insistence for gaiety. He whittled down on his natural distaste and concentrated on the shaded outlines of David’s face in the dull light.

“I hadn’t noticed the dimple on your left cheek,” Hao yelled over the noise.

David’s eyes flickered, rested on the black rim of his gin-and-tonic tumbler. “My drinking isn’t bothering you?”

“I don’t mind.  Better for me in some ways.”

“How so?”

“I get to see you blush and smile more.”

David teased him with a warning look. “You’re too cheeky for someone who plays weiqi.”

“What should weiqi players look like?”

“Like my grandfather… I remember him and his old friends yammering over a board. It was such a racket.”

“It’s a great game that has taught me a lot, like give and take, how to look at the big picture and still maintain a gritty view.  Knowing when to sacrifice is very important.  Very easy to lose control of board because you’re too concentrated about saving a couple stones…” Hao shifted at David’s dull stares at the crystal lake in his tumbler.  He could hear Ricardo sniggering in the far corners of his mind and eye rolling at his supposed go insights. He picked at the tessellated bowl of popcorn shrimp. “You want some fried calamari?  I’ll order so—”

“I see that side of weiqi, but in the end, I think it’s just a game.  And games are played to be won, and that rubs me the wrong way.”

Hao said numbly, “I’ll let you win, if that makes you happy.”

David lurched, a wide look eclipsing his face. “But would it make you happy?”

David’s short tone coaxed Hao to bitter reflection. The twenty years of games he had let his Uncle Wong win, all in the name of filial piety, spun an uneasy feeling in him.  Letting him win seemed the good way after his impregnating his daughter at age eighteen.  

Hao popped a shrimp then smiled. “I don’t mind losing as long as I enjoy myself. And there are good puzzles to be had in losing.”

For too long, David stared at the glittering wall of bottles, making Hao pickle in vague need for certainty.  Then with a rush of smiles, David leaned into Hao, gave a private view of his flushed cheeks, and whispered into his ear, “You’re too good at this.”

“At what?” Hao felt wildly afraid.

“How does this happen? I’m feeling pretty good with you already. I have a thing later tonight. You should come along, if you don’t mind all the drinking and then some.” 

 “Some what—I get you.” Hao nodded knowingly even though he had no idea. Half an hour later, ensconced at a private party on a skyscraper’s roof, surrounded by men in various glistening states of dishabille, he would know.