The short guy has no borders. He is as round as he is tall. He rolls like a ball along the smooth corridors of international business, slipping easily into myriad cultures between day and night, taking the red-eye east, cutting deals in silver and chairing blusterous conferences in five star hotels with his eager, sweaty-handed Latin American sidekick who is shorter and poorer than him and whom he calls his friend. He is affable with the menial, and flirtatious with the dull, and secretly vicious with anyone who threatens, with intelligence or high-mindedness, to disturb the easy flow of personal success that sticks to him like static as he jets around the corporate universe.
Stone Woman
I live in Guangxi where the mountains look like giants’ fingertips sticking up out of their graves, where there is always a fine watery mist feeding our crops and rotting the walls of our houses, where I am lucky not to be working the fields. I am a modern girl and have learnt to type and use the internet which I use to chat to people who will never see the material me. It’s quite a comfort at times. I work in one of the Western bars in the town and cycle seven kilometres to work in the morning and back again in the blanket of the night. My parents think I am being corrupted by mixing with the tourists and they have started to worry about my future. I tell the foreign men I am a Catholic. They understand my message and they always back off.