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Chapters (37)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. The Truth of Thom Jones
  5. Selected Stories
  6. The Pugilist at Rest
  7. The Black Lights
  8. I Want to Live!
  9. Silhouettes
  10. Mosquitoes
  11. A White Horse
  12. Cold Snap
  13. Superman, My Son
  14. Way Down Deep in the Jungle
  15. Pickpocket
  16. Pot Shack
  17. I Need a Man to Love Me
  18. Sonny Liston Wasa Friend of Mine
  19. The Roadrunner
  20. A Run Through the Jungle
  21. 40, Still at Home
  22. Tarantula
  23. Mouses
  24. Daddy’s Girl
  25. New Stories
  26. Night Train
  27. Volcanoes from Hell
  28. A Merry Little Christmas
  29. All Along the Watchtower
  30. Diary of My Health
  31. The Junkman of Chengdu
  32. Bomb Shelter Noel
  33. Acknowledgments
  34. Credits
  35. About the Author
  36. Also by Thom Jones
  37. Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.

My father sent me a Mariners ballcap and I gave it to the junkman, who wears it with tremendous pride. Or so it seems. Once I gave him what was left of a phoned-in pizza. The deliveries of pizzas, incidentally, are made by bicycle with little hot boxes on the rear fender. Rather than thank me for the pizza, the junkman sneered and tossed it into a garbage can. He didn’t smile at me for a week after this incident. I wondered what unfathomable line I had crossed to offend him, but beyond that I didn’t really care.

My father says that if I’m making a hundred a pop teaching English to junior high school kids, just think what kind of windfall it would be if I gave the junkman five bucks now and then? Wouldn’t it be similar to giving the character Pip in Great Expectations an ersatz trust fund? Wouldn’t it confer unto me a sense of power, grace, and entitlement? This was something that never really crossed my mind and when the junkman disappeared overnight, I had to confabulate more junkman anecdotes for my father, who often seemed more interested in the junkman than in me.

I was curious about his fate as well. He just vanished into thin air. People get sick and die overnight in China. Sometimes you see them lying dead in the streets. I wondered if maybe the junkman had crawled off somewhere and died in a gutter. It seemed likely.

At the university my research project is water pollution. And as I said, Chinese tap water is most definitely not Ice Dew. The rivers are polluted by sewage, factory runoff, human and animal wastes. People like to commit suicide in the rivers and think it highly romantic. So the rivers contain poison in many guises and the surface is covered with a white sudsy foam that looks like washing detergent. The chemical oxygen demand in most rivers is high. What’s weird is the fact you can always see people fishing along the riverside. They catch fish with tumors, extra fins, or faces like Jay Leno. The lantern-jaw thing.

The cheapest, most rudimentary form of pollution control is both simple and practical. You round up a little manpower in a city where labor is almost free. You get them to dig cisterns in the channels that lead to the rivers. The cisterns temporarily contain the water, where the force of gravity allows the fecal sediment to settle on the bottom. Then you permit the relatively clean top water to enter the river systems. It’s affordable and very much a step in the right direction. Another pollution fix-up in coal-powered China, with its bad air, is the Three Gorges River Dam Project. The dam will soon replace countless coal-burning generators, supplying pollution-free electricity. In this regard China is on the verge of a legendary historical event. The world’s largest hydroelectric dam!