chinese chess

I usually see the same guards every time I return home, usually because it’s later at night and only a few of them must have those shifts.  By that time they are often not in the guard house attached to the gate, but have pulled a school desk and chair into the courtyard further away from the gate and play with their cell phones as they wait for people to wave at them to open the gate.  It seems like a pretty boring job, and I’m not sure from whom I first learned the Chinese word for “boring” (wuliao, 无聊)- them or my students (my lessons are sometimes unappreciated, alas).

But they are always very friendly to me, in particular one older man who I often see when I’m returning home.  I sometimes chat with him after I enter, and he is very patient with my poor Chinese speaking.  But lately I feel like I’ve run out of things to talk about (difficult to expand when your vocabulary is so limited), which has made things a bit more awkward when I come home these days.  I never had this problem with taxi drivers since you could always have the same conversation over and over…but then, taxi drivers don’t return wallets.

Anyway, I saw the older guard again tonight and started chatting with him.  This quickly led to the expected conversational roadblock.  To hedge around it I stammered something about maybe one day learning how to play that game I often saw people playing, and to practice with him to alleviate his boredom.  He kindly figured out what the heck I was talking about and supplied the necessary noun: Xiangqi (象棋)!

Digression:

I have never figured out exactly what Chinese chess is. I suspect that there are multiple versions of it that are in fact all completely separate games, and often misconstrued by Westerners as all being the same thing. There is a version that I’ve seen all with only white pieces (its name is still a mystery to me). There is xiangqi, this aforementioned version that I always had in my closet at home but never mustered the courage to interpret because of the necessity to first be able to READ the pieces (they are labeled in traditional script). There is also that version that you all know made by Hasbro, with the six-pointed star and the marbles. I have a feeling that, as usual with Western misconceptions, this last version is like food from Panda Express: it bears absolutely no resemblance to nor does it originate from the real thing, but Westerners don’t know any better. (Except, confounding this is the fact that my mother used to play it, but evidently by a different set of rules than my elementary school librarians were used to, who called me out on my “incorrect” application of such. Bother.)

End of digression.

The older guard led me into the guardhouse to show me a xiangqi set that he and the other guards kept around to battle off the wuliao with. He explained to me the meanings of each labelled piece, sometimes referring to pictures in his military-interest magazine (at least I think that’s what it was; a tank was on the cover and a few generals’ portraits inside). Then he sent me off with a laugh and an extra xiangqi set to learn with!

This is kind of exciting; if I learn how to play it, I might be able to one day intersperse myself into a street gathering of old men and play with them. Or, barring that adventurousness, I could always play with the friendly guards.