matched outfit. Her top was in between a blouse and a dress and she wore it with a pair of jeans splattered with brightly colored paint. The pattern of the fabric reminded me of
One Thousand and One Nights
—Arab themed.
As a sculpture major, Stella worked with metals and found objects. Power saws, hammers, and electric drills were her tools. She described her place as “ideal for artists.” I didn’t interrupt. Rent would be my only concern. I almost walked away when she said that the total rent was $1,000. I let her know that I could not afford $500. “I am from China,” I said.
“China? Red China? Communist China? Cool!” Stella said she would give me a good deal. She’d let me pay whatever I liked. “You don’t have to pay a penny if you really can’t afford it. I’d love to have you as my roommate. All you have to do is share with me your experiencegrowing up in China.” She told me that she was extremely interested in Communism, socialism, and revolutions.
“One hundred dollars per month is my budget,” I said.
“Deal,” she said.
I left a note on Kate’s door saying good-bye and checked out of the dormitory at University of Illinois Circle Campus. Sharing housing with Stella would save two thirds of my expenses. I was glad and relieved. I moved into Stella’s storefront studio unit in Wicker Park. There were no windows and no separate rooms except a tiny makeshift bathroom. There was an old stove by the rear door and an old refrigerator standing next to the stove. There was no kitchen.
The room smelled of animal stink. It was dark inside. The space was cluttered with metal wear, machine parts, auto tires, used fabrics, wood blocks, tools, open paint cans, and wet brushes. On the wall was a large artwork in progress. There were also half-painted canvases and paper drawings. Hanging from the ceiling from a rope was an assembled metal sculpture with a wheel.
As I stared at the sculpture, two ratlike creatures jumped on me from the air.
“Rats!” I screamed.
“They’re not rats!” Stella laughed. “They’re ferrets, my pets. Sweet and friendly weasels.” Stella proudly showed me the home she had built for the ferrets. It was a weblike overhead series of tunnels connecting from ceiling to floor and corner to corner. Stella took me behind her pile of things to a large cage she had built out of wire. She treated the ferrets as if they were her babies. “Touch them,” she encouraged.
Carefully I touched the ferrets. They looked too much like the rats that had frightened me at the labor camp in China. I couldn’t help but associate them with disease and filth. To demonstrate her affection for the ferrets, Stella let them crawl through her clothes, in through her collar and out from her sleeve. “You’ll like them,” she said.
I asked where Stella slept. She pointed at a bare mattress on the floor in the middle of the room under the ferret tunnels. She said she had an extra mattress I could use.
I thanked her. I pulled the mattress over and laid it next to Stella’s. I put down my things and then visited the bathroom. It was difficult to enter. After I squeezed inside, the door wouldn’t close. As I sat on the toilet, I noticed that the sink was full of dirty dishes. A roll of toilet paper hung from the ceiling. Stella explained that it was to prevent the ferrets from tearing up the toilet paper. She warned me not to put food where the ferrets could reach.
In the middle of the night the ferrets came through my blanket. They entered by my feet and came up to my chest. I was horrified. I pulled open my blanket. The two ferrets popped out. They jumped into the tunnel above and disappeared.
Stella laughed and told me that the ferrets didn’t bite. “Stop thinking of them as rats,” she advised.
After dinner I prepared to share with Stella my former life as a Communist. Stella didn’t tell me when I should start. So I waited. Days passed. She was so busy that we barely saw each
One Thousand and One Nights
—Arab themed.
As a sculpture major, Stella worked with metals and found objects. Power saws, hammers, and electric drills were her tools. She described her place as “ideal for artists.” I didn’t interrupt. Rent would be my only concern. I almost walked away when she said that the total rent was $1,000. I let her know that I could not afford $500. “I am from China,” I said.
“China? Red China? Communist China? Cool!” Stella said she would give me a good deal. She’d let me pay whatever I liked. “You don’t have to pay a penny if you really can’t afford it. I’d love to have you as my roommate. All you have to do is share with me your experiencegrowing up in China.” She told me that she was extremely interested in Communism, socialism, and revolutions.
“One hundred dollars per month is my budget,” I said.
“Deal,” she said.
I left a note on Kate’s door saying good-bye and checked out of the dormitory at University of Illinois Circle Campus. Sharing housing with Stella would save two thirds of my expenses. I was glad and relieved. I moved into Stella’s storefront studio unit in Wicker Park. There were no windows and no separate rooms except a tiny makeshift bathroom. There was an old stove by the rear door and an old refrigerator standing next to the stove. There was no kitchen.
The room smelled of animal stink. It was dark inside. The space was cluttered with metal wear, machine parts, auto tires, used fabrics, wood blocks, tools, open paint cans, and wet brushes. On the wall was a large artwork in progress. There were also half-painted canvases and paper drawings. Hanging from the ceiling from a rope was an assembled metal sculpture with a wheel.
As I stared at the sculpture, two ratlike creatures jumped on me from the air.
“Rats!” I screamed.
“They’re not rats!” Stella laughed. “They’re ferrets, my pets. Sweet and friendly weasels.” Stella proudly showed me the home she had built for the ferrets. It was a weblike overhead series of tunnels connecting from ceiling to floor and corner to corner. Stella took me behind her pile of things to a large cage she had built out of wire. She treated the ferrets as if they were her babies. “Touch them,” she encouraged.
Carefully I touched the ferrets. They looked too much like the rats that had frightened me at the labor camp in China. I couldn’t help but associate them with disease and filth. To demonstrate her affection for the ferrets, Stella let them crawl through her clothes, in through her collar and out from her sleeve. “You’ll like them,” she said.
I asked where Stella slept. She pointed at a bare mattress on the floor in the middle of the room under the ferret tunnels. She said she had an extra mattress I could use.
I thanked her. I pulled the mattress over and laid it next to Stella’s. I put down my things and then visited the bathroom. It was difficult to enter. After I squeezed inside, the door wouldn’t close. As I sat on the toilet, I noticed that the sink was full of dirty dishes. A roll of toilet paper hung from the ceiling. Stella explained that it was to prevent the ferrets from tearing up the toilet paper. She warned me not to put food where the ferrets could reach.
In the middle of the night the ferrets came through my blanket. They entered by my feet and came up to my chest. I was horrified. I pulled open my blanket. The two ferrets popped out. They jumped into the tunnel above and disappeared.
Stella laughed and told me that the ferrets didn’t bite. “Stop thinking of them as rats,” she advised.
After dinner I prepared to share with Stella my former life as a Communist. Stella didn’t tell me when I should start. So I waited. Days passed. She was so busy that we barely saw each
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