“Talk about hardship! I used to live in a place so small and dirty even the rats had hunchbacks....” Standup comedian
By Jay Scott Kanes
JERRY Wong remembered the exact moment when he decided to leave Hong Kong for Canada.
Three weeks out of accounting school, he’d landed a job. The boss, a loud, sneering Cambodian spinster, had lectured him on how her business struggled.
“We publish the world’s top snippets-industry magazine,” this dragon lady told him from behind her massive desk on the 25th floor of the Modern Dynasty Building. “But my clients don’t advertise much. You’ll see from the accounts. The best starting salary I can offer is HK$8,500 per month.”
“Agreed,” Jerry said. Any income beat none.
Next, he needed a new home. For all of Jerry’s 22 years, his belongings had filled a 64-square-foot bedroom in a modest Kowloon flat shared with his parents and three brothers. He ached for his own digs.
Despite Hong Kong’s third-world problems of crowding, pollution and noise, living there meant facing world-class costs. At best, Jerry could muster HK$5,000 for rent, barely enough for a tiny flat in a working-class district.
He found a 220-square-foot place with a cramped living room, bedroom, kitchen and washroom. “I’ll take it,” he told the landlord, a short Chinese man with bad teeth and a flabby belly.
The next Sunday, Jerry moved in, lugging his belongings box-by-box on the Mass Transit Railway. Even before unpacking, he felt thrilled. True, grime and litter defiled the building’s halls and stairways, but he’d keep his own flat pristine.
Jerry’s kitchen overlooked a central courtyard. When cooking a meal that first night, he noticed the clutter outside. Within minutes, he spotted falling objects -- tissue, tampons, orange peels and bits of food -- raining down from higher apartments. So his neighbors behaved like typical Hong Kong people whose idea of convenience meant tossing garbage out their windows.
As his rice finished steaming, Jerry saw a newspaper move in the debris below. He leaned toward the security bars across the window. Suspiciously, he stared out.
An enormous rat, rummaging for food, emerged from under the pages. Even from the second floor, Jerry observed the fat critter’s jaw move, munching.
From across the courtyard, two smaller rats scampered into view. A third emerged from a discarded grocery bag.
Jerry felt annoyed, but not surprised. Rats and cockroaches roamed everywhere in Hong Kong, although usually not until after dark. These bold rodents must reckon they ruled the neighborhood.
With peripheral vision, Jerry sensed something closer. Twisting, he encountered a large rat perched on a concrete ledge near the window. Shrieking, he tugged the glass closed.
Reacting, the rat moved closer, sniffing at the window. Did it smell Jerry’s food? Was it fearless enough to invade his apartment? Despite closed windows, these rodents might enter by ventilation-fan openings in the kitchen and bathroom.
In bed, Jerry tossed and turned all night. The next day at work, he swilled coffee, constantly refilling his mug in a pantry near the dragon lady’s office. “You disappoint me, Jerry,” the serpent scolded when he stumbled into her. “I don’t pay you to party late in sleazy bars and then muck up my accounts when you’re exhausted. Comprendez?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
At 5 p.m. sharp, Jerry raced off to a street-side pet shop, little more than a cubicle full of cages. An old proprietor stood by his abacus.
“I need a cat,” Jerry said. “Show me the biggest, meanest rat-buster here.”
“You got rat troubles?” the storekeeper smiled. “I stock cats and always keep a special one for emergencies. There.” He pointed to a cage. “That scarred, black brute enjoys fighting rats. I call him Rattler. Get it? Rat-ler.”
“How much?”
“Good rat-ridders ain’t cheap,” the pet-shop man said.
But Jerry gladly dipped into his food budget. As he walked home, Rattler flexed sharp claws into his chest. The cat felt heavy. Good! Big problems need weighty solutions.
More relaxed that night, Jerry slept soundly with the cat curled at his feet. Suddenly, he jolted awake. His bedside clock glowed 3:48 a.m. What had disturbed him? Movement on the bed? Remembering the cat, he sighed in relief.
Jerry felt more movement -- from the edge of the bed onto his chest. Did the cat take him for furniture? Rattler seemed lighter. There was additional movement near his left knee, then his right foot, then squeaking noises. Hell’s bells! This was no cat!
Frantically, Jerry groped for a lamp, nearly toppling it. Clicking on the light, he faced a nightmarish scene. Three rats shared his bed. The largest, red eyes glowing, stood on his chest. Squeaks came from elsewhere in the apartment. Horrible seconds passed as Jerry stared at the king rat so near his face.
Screaming, he yanked at the bedding, trying to toss off the invaders. The lead rodent lunged, biting and holding fast to Jerry’s nose. A kiss from hell!
Still screaming, Jerry leaped to his feet, but the animal bit harder. Its furry body dangled as the young man danced in pain and horror. Clutching at the squirming attacker, he hurled it away, losing a hunk of nose flesh.
The rat thumped against a closet door, fell and scampered under the bed where the other rodents also took shelter.
That’s when Jerry knew he no longer wanted to live in Hong Kong. He never reconsidered. Not when he opened the apartment door, allowing seven rats to flee. Not when the closet door opened and a timid Rattler emerged to rub against his legs. Not later when he phoned the dragon lady to say he’d miss work that day.
After consulting a doctor, Jerry headed to the Canadian consulate. There, a blonde woman handed him applications: “Fill these in, eh? Then the immigration procedure starts.”
Politely, she ignored a bloody bandage pasted to the applicant’s nose.
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