Lifestyle / Hot Pot Column

Thrill of being a fugitive - of sorts

By Erik Nilsson ( China Daily ) Updated: 2007-07-11 10:12:58

Thrill of being a fugitive - of sorts They really were on a manhunt.

I hadn't realized the gusto of their pursuit of me until the day my friend Jon called me at work to tell me: "They're really looking for you, man".

But how did Jon find out that the bank was hot on my heels?

"When I went to the bank, they took me to the back room with some security guards and guys in suits, and held up security-camera pictures of you and your girlfriend, and asked me: 'Do you know these foreigners?'"

A nervous Jon said his first response to this interrogation was something to the effect of, "C'mon; just because I'm a foreigner doesn't mean I know every foreigner in Beijing."

His second response was something to the effect of: "Oh, wait. Yeah, I guess I do actually know these two."

China might be a colossal country, but it's a small world after all.

It all started a few weeks before, when my friend Jenny visited Beijing with no more than $50 of American currency and - as she discovered - misplaced hopes of using her credit card here.

So, we had to change her US dollars into yuan, until we could figure out how to get cash from her credit card.

I provided translation assistance for the exchange and, at the bank's insistence, my mobile number in case the bank would need to reach us for any reason. After we'd spent three more days at ATMs and in banks searching for one with the alchemic capability to turn Jenny's plastic into banknotes, the bank found a reason to call. And call. And call. And call.

It was Jenny's last day in China when the bank first called claiming they'd given her 1,000 yuan ($132) too many - a contention of which we were more than skeptical - and insisting we come down immediately to settle the matter. I politely refused, because it was Jenny's last day and I was 20 minutes from picking up my parents, whom I hadn't seen in nine months, from the airport.

I agreed to instead meet with the bank people after my parents returned home. But whichever date I set didn't work out for one reason or another - work commitments, group outings, necessary shopping - and eventually, I wondered why I should give them any more of my precious free time. I mean, they weren't getting any money from me; I certainly never got any from them. I was just a translator.

But when I finally told them of my decision, they continued calling to ask when I was coming down. And the more I insisted I wasn't coming, the more they called - morning, noon and night.

This went on for months, until one day, the calls unexpectedly stopped.

Strangely enough, I found I missed the constant hounding to which I'd become accustomed. Perhaps it was the thrill of being a fugitive; I had never felt as much like Harrison Ford than I had during this period of my life.

But at the same time, I still hide my face any time I walk past that bank.

When I lived in the United States, I was always chasing the bank. But as I've learned, sometimes in China, the bank chases back.

(China Daily 07/11/2007 page20)