When I went to his place to pick them up, he served me tea. He showed me his recent attempts at a “faceless self-portrait.” In the photos Lion Head’s face looked like the worn sole of a shoe. I thought they were very good. He began to talk about how he was able to see through the skin to people’s hidden natures, like Katherine’s, for example. A phony American who was good with her mouth but came from a culture devoid of history was therefore doomed to be shallow. “I saw how infatuated you were with her in the beginning. How do you explain that?” I asked. He replied that it was only a way to conquer her, and by conquering her he was conquering imperialism. “It was almost a political action.” I reminded Lion Head that Katherine was my good friend. “But we are Chinese,” he said. “We are the better people. We invented the rockets, not them. We are the ones with genius genes.” He waved his arms in the air and spoke in a high-pitched voice. I looked at his small eyes filled with bitter rage.
