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Honor

Abdulrahman “Manny” Sembawah

    Feng enters the hotel room. Ugly shag carpeting covers the floor. There are two beds with comforters not matching the rest of the décor, like a snap shot from the 70s. Phil Collin’s “In the Air Tonight,” is playing on the radio, and overwhelming fumes of Pine-Sol fill the room. The patio is toward the back of the room. Out there sits a man with his back facing the sliding glass door, a cigarette in his left hand. A tea kettle, two cups, pack of cigarettes, and a light and ashtray, sit on the table in front of the man.
    Feng heads to out to the patio, approaches the table, bows to the seated man, and says, “Uncle Jing.”
    Jing points to the chair across from him. “Nephew, sit.”
    Feng sits at the table with his uncle.
    Jing places his cigarette on the lip of the ashtray and pours his nephew a cup of steaming tea. With two fingers, Jing pushes the cup across the table. “Drink, nephew,” Jing says, pouring himself a cup of tea. “It’s your mother’s recipe,” says Jing.
    Feng sips from the cup, while trying to not burn himself from the hot tea. He puts it back on the table.
    “Can I convince you to just leave here, Feng?” Jing asks. “Just let me be.”
    “You know I can’t do that,” Feng says. “You killed the boss. You aren’t leaving here alive.”
    Jing picks his cigarette up, slips it between his lips, and inhales. “So,” Jing says, then exhales the smoke, “they sent my nephew to kill me.” He flicks the ash of his cigarette. “Cowards.”
    Feng places his hand on his uncle’s. “No, the Xiang clan decided to not get involved, but also, not to get in the way of the Triad,” says Feng, just before he takes another drink from his tea.
    “Nephew, do you know why I did it?” asks Jing, as he puts out his cigarette.
    “For honor,” says Feng.
    “No, nephew” says Jing, putting a newly lit cigarette in his mouth. “I did it for family.” Jing pours himself a second cup of tea. “If I didn’t kill Suma Tzu, we would have gone to war with the Mexicans.” Jing drinks some tea. “If you’re not here to kill me, why are you here?” asks Jing.
    “Mother sent me,” says Feng, grabbing a cigarette from the pack sitting on the table. “She wanted me to thank you.”
    “Why didn’t she come herself?” asks Jing.
    “Because I have a message for you. One mother couldn’t deliver to her brother. I’m here to give you a choice,” says Feng.
    Jing laughs. “Choice? What choice do I have? I can wait here and they’ll come in and shoot me, or I can leave and they’ll shoot me. Either way, I’m dead. Those aren’t choices,” Jing says, leaning forward to pour more tea in Feng’s empty cup.
    Feng pulls a pistol out from his waist, a 9mm, and puts it on to the table with the barrel facing his uncle. “You can be a coward. You can waste their time and let them kill you.” Feng puts two fingers on the gun, and like his uncle, he slides it across the table and places it in front of him.“Or you can end it yourself, remove the shame you have brought the Xiang clan, and die with honor.”
    Jing stands and throws the cup on the ground. Ceramic shards and tea disperse through the air, like shrapnel from a grenade. “Honor, honor!” yells Jing, “everything we have done was to bring honor to the Triad. If we went to war, who do you think would have fought? The Suma clan? You think the boss would send his family to fight? His children? His grandchildren? No, he would have sent us, my family, my children, and my grandchildren, to fight and die for his honor, not ours, and now you sit here lecturing me of honor,” he says, with tears flowing from his eyes
    Feng’s eyes open wide, he grips the table, and swallows. “Uncle, you say you did this for the family, well then you know what you must do for the best interest of the family,” says Feng.
    Jing sits back down looks down to his cigarette, almost burnt down to the filter and says, “Just go, nephew, tell your mother not to worry.”
    Feng stands from the table and bows. He walks back into the hotel room and exits through the door into the hallway. As the door closes, a shot rings out. Feng leans his back against the door and slides down until he’s sitting with his knees up against his chest. His eyes swell and his cheeks turn red. Jing takes a deep breath then sobs as tears run down his face and begin to soak his arm.

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