Bam Boo Rising: A Young Man in Macau

Chapter 2 

“The Sino-Portuguese Declaration” Brandon whispered to himself as he scrolled through Macau’s Wikipedia entry. “’da fuuuuck is that yo?”

After the team had touched down in Macau from Shanghai, Robert had instructed everyone to go immediately to the hotel for rest. Brandon pleaded with him to allow an hour for a brief reconnoiter. After the stupefying scale of Shanghai, the young fighter was anxious to see the resplendent neon pomp of Macau. “Don’t you fuckers want to look around?” But the trainer held firm. “No Brandon. Rest. No buts.”

The flight had been a mere two hours but Robert had good reason to call for repose. The Asian media had been tirelessly sticking microphone tipped jabs into Brandon’s face from the moment they had arrived in the East and he was concerned. Every time Brandon stepped into public, it was an all-out assault, with hoards of journalists straining to hear from the man who was here to face their hero, Manny Pacquiao. Even through their foreign accents and idiomatic misfires, Brandon understood that he was being viewed crassly as a lamb being led to the slaughter. 

There was also word from back home that the American announcers, who wanted endless access, selfies, retweets and whose children Brandon had signed gloves for, had publicly derided his chances of victory. In professional prize fighting, the brutality inside and outside of the ring compete readily for top billing. And yet, Brandon seemed unperturbed.  “Fuck Max Kellermen and his herpes, man. I don’t give a shit!”

Whether Brandon had been effected or not, Robert thought rest after a day’s travelling couldn’t hurt despite Brandon’s bright-eyed supplications for exploration of this historic city. Still, after the trainer bid goodnight to the young man, he saw the dull glow of Brandon’s tablet illuminate under his covers. Robert retreated down the hall of the hotel apartment with his now customary wry roll of the eyes. “The boy is incorrigible.”

“The Sino-Portuguese Declaration…..Fuuuuuck..that’s like that Hong Kong shit the Chinese did with the British”. Brandon was reading about Macau’s ancestry and the treaty that was signed between the Portuguese and Chinese over the transfer of power from the former colonialists to the colonials. He peeled back the bed sheets and looked out his window. What he saw made a savage mockery of Las Vegas. The spectacular lights of the Grand Lisboa Casino flickering against the seventeenth century façade of the ruins of St Paul’s Cathedral, he could resist no longer. He slipped on his training gear, at least if Robert caught him he could claim he was venturing out for a moonlit jog, and padded down the hall and silently left the apartment. The night was his.