America 1982-Chapter 443 - 67: Boiler Room Tucker_3
"Tommy, you should learn how to appreciate this cup of tea in front of you, like I do," Wolfe said, as if he was making his final preparations before a ceremonial disembowelment, his hands on his hips and head slightly bowed, eyes locked on the tea cup before him. Only after a long while did he raise his head, smiling at Tommy, "It’s very relaxing, which just goes to show that even though America hates Japan right now, Japan still has something good to offer."
"That’s Chinese art, okay? Sure, drinking tea is a worldwide habit, but as an art form, I think it’s fair to say it’s Chinese. The Chinese were savoring their tea when the Japanese were still debating whether their forebears were Chinese Taoist exiles, or a pint-sized man who’d bedded a nine-headed serpent," Tommy said, without subjecting his knees to the same pain as Wolfe’s, sitting cross-legged opposite him and laughing:
"Nobody knows tea ceremony better than me."
The Japanese tea master nearby frowned slightly at Tommy’s rude remarks, but eventually suppressed the urge to explain. Instead, he took a few deep breaths, trying hard to ignore this boorish fellow, and continued with his slightly awkward and strange English accent to Wolfe Tuck:
"Mr. Tuck, hold it with both hands, close your eyes before tasting it, and feel its fragrance. The moment you close your eyes and smell it, you’ll forget..."
"Sss... Sss..." Tommy interrupted the tea master’s speech with a hissing sound as he drew in hot water, a sound that could rival a Japanese slurping noodles in a library, ruining all artistic aesthetic.
Wolfe opened his eyes, the tea master turned his head, only to see Tommy holding the tea cup to his lips, sipping the hot tea.
"Tommy, show some respect for the artist," Wolfe said, smiling helplessly at Tommy.
Tommy glanced at the tea master: "Respect what? I’ve told you, he doesn’t understand tea ceremony better than I do. What are you ’observing’ in your tea ceremony?"
"The trajectory of the tea leaves in the water, the beauty of the steam rising?" Wolfe, seeing the confident look on Tommy’s face, began to doubt whether the guy was bluffing or truly understood. He turned to the tea master, somewhat sheepishly:
Thankfully, the tea master gave him a very affirmative look: "Mr. Tuck, you are absolutely right."
"If steam has aesthetic value, why do black workers in boiler rooms protest against whites making them do a job so close to art? Hey, Japanese guy." Tommy lit a cigarette, and looking disdainfully at the Japanese tea master, said:
"Get someone to find me a cushion to sit on, my balls under this robe are nearly frozen solid, catching a nasty cold— and I don’t want them running a snotty nose at Wolfe, a big black guy!"
"Sir, it is art..."
"Of course it’s art, I’m not denying that. Let me tell you what you should appreciate. You’re admiring either oneself or everyone’s journey through life. The tea leaves in the cup are like us, and this boiling water is our world. We dance in the boiling water, unfurl, and showcase our existence to the world. Sometimes we float to the surface, sometimes we fall to the bottom—each rise and fall signifies a remarkable experience in life. The leaves drift up and down in the boiling water, just like life’s ups and downs, full of twists and hardships. When the water calms, the leaves settle at the bottom, everything quiets down, just as we ultimately lose our lives and become food for maggots." Tommy picked up the empty tea cup, looking at Wolfe:
"That’s what you call observing tea. You’ve spent a bunch of money just to have a Japanese teach you to appreciate steam? Why not just boil water with the lid off at home if you’ve got a kettle, Wolfe?"
"Or maybe you really think stoking boilers relieves stress. I’ve got a boiler room at my estate in Long Island, New York. If you want, you can moonlight there as a stoker and appreciate the beauty all you like. Since you’re my friend, I won’t charge you admission — just bring your own coal. Plus, you’d meet a friend called Miller Martin. Boiler room Tuck, Miller Martin—keep this up, and my estate will thrive once more."
"After hearing that, I feel like Japanese tea ceremony will no longer help me relax. Thanks, Tommy. If it’s not too much trouble, could you head back to California for me?" Wolfe said to Tommy, after noticing the tea master beside him had become speechlessly dejected.
Tommy flicked ash into the empty tea cup, using it as an ashtray: "You don’t need to worry about all that stress. Those people have no clue what you’ve gained, but you know exactly."
"Let’s talk business, Tommy. Don’t ruin all my perceptions of the world. And you, Japanese master, thank you. It’s regrettable you won’t be earning my tips anymore. Don’t hate me—blame Tommy Hawk here," Wolfe said, mimicking Tommy’s sitting pose, rubbing his knees and addressing the tea master, "By the way, if I... catch a cold too, I’ll have my lawyer file a complaint against you. You can go now."
After the forlorn tea master had left, Tommy turned to Wolfe Tuck with a smile, "Have a finance journalist you trust investigate KeyBank for illegal business practices."
"That’s not your... I don’t quite understand," Wolfe Tuck said, somewhat perplexed.
Tommy pointed at the cup of hot tea in front of Wolfe: "If you don’t want the tea leaves to sink, you need to keep the water boiling."
