A FI S H E RM AN O N T H E S HANG HAI M E TRO By Michael Gray, Editors’ Choice Author He rides from Jinshajiang Rd in search of home. Far west, the dammed river submerged his life, and he floated east to this city above the sea. Like deep-sea anglers, sweaty motorcycle men wait, as passengers alight. The men block the roadway, and shout, “We will give you a ride,” patting back seats. But pedestrians dart like skates and slide with bags along the concrete wall. The men’s fingers waggle like ominous lights. Gold rings hot in the city night remind him of nets cast and pulled and glinting with blunt scales. Doors snap, sealed firm as jaws. The Metro glides to Hongkou Football Stadium, where Shanghai policemen suck fragrant cigarettes above the natatorium. Yet, he sees no policemen, but a pod of paddlefish, identical, wearing blue shirts with epaulettes notched like gills. They emerge from the shadow of the north stand. Quiet, like 62
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