Chapter 17: Master Wang

We were lying next to each other after arguably the worst sex we'd ever had.

Granted, that wasn't saying much, considering that we were two fifteen year old kids, who'd barely started their active sex lives, but we'd been so perfectly matched in every way that a bout of love-making that others may have found perfectly acceptable, would be registered in our history as an utter failure.

"It's getting too much for you, isn't it?"

Although posed as a question, I knew Jenny wasn't merely offering a theory. She was stating a fact. I heaved a heavy sigh.

"I came here to become a racing driver," I lamented. "Well, I am one and I found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with in the process. But the rest of it all is just utterly unreal. I've been having sex with our mothers for Christ's sake! And not only that. I made them both pregnant, too."

"Well, Hasi, it's a bit late to bemoan that, don't you think?"

Jenny's reply was short and brutally honest. Of course there was no point in pretending it didn't happen. Her next statement took me by surprise.

"You need to get away from us for a bit."

I must have looked at her like the village idiot, because Jenny actually giggled upon seeing my stunned reaction. But she became serious again in an instant.

"Hasi, don't think we didn't discuss all that between us girls. You might be one of the more liberal types in America, but over here you're still considered a conservative. Add to that that my mom and I are, let's say, unusual, even by German standards."

I couldn't help but chuckle about that line.

"Of course it isn't the easiest decision to get involved with your own mother," she continued. "Most people would probably think you're a wierdo. But then most would think you're a wierdo for having sex with me."

I gasped and prepared to protest, but Jenny cut me off.

"I'm nearly sixteen, but I don't look sixteen. Most girls in our class have asses as big as those of brewery horses and tits the size of Belgium. If I told anyone I'm thirteen, they'd believe me, no questions asked. Do you really think I don't know why mom and you didn't let me take part in that press conference?"

"I wouldn't have wanted anyone to see you naked anyway," I said, trying to avoid a straight answer. But I soon noticed that it was the wrong one anyway.

"You didn't quite think about if I want to have my boyfriend's stuff paraded around in public."

We were both sitting by now and I could see the hurt in her eyes. I had become so used to Jenny's permission to fuck our mom's, I had sort of forgotten how fiercely possessive she could be. I had taken her for granted and that was just adding to my feeling of being an utter jerk. Frustration boiled up inside me when I felt the unwanted sensation of hot tears running down my cheek. They could just as well have been pure acid if the burning sensation was anything to go by. Jenny wiped them away.

"I didn't want it to sound like an accusation," she apologized and then let out a little giggle. "If anything, Cyndie got to admire what she's not getting any of."

I shook my head. Yet another woman in that unholy mix of problems I was in, was the least I needed. Jenny looked at me seriously.

"Mark, this was bound to happen at some point. You've seen what happened when your mom got involved with other guys. Yes, you've agreed a bit too easily to have sex with her and you definitely didn't think enough about it before you offered to put a baby into both our moms. But we can't change that anymore. What you need is time to find yourself. So far you've only gone with the flow and it has swept you away."

"Well, you're definitely not thirteen Dr. Freud."

Jenny didn't laugh. The fact that she had addressed me by name, instead of her favorite Hasi, which means 'little bunny' in German, had made it clear that she was dead serious.

"Mark, we should call PM tomorrow. He's got his hands in so many pies, he surely can help us find somewhere where you can ride out the season. With all that has happened, the media would be all over you and that wouldn't help. You're confused enough as it is. And you need to think – about us, our mothers, how we go on from here."

"Why should I need to think about us?" I asked and put my hand on my bare torso, just where the heart was. "I love you Jenny."

"And I love you, Hasi, but you also love your mom and mine for that matter, you love them both enough that you fulfilled their dream of having another kid. I understand that, as do they. They know in the end you'll always be mine, but you are confused by it. You need to find out what you want.

"You will never make any of us change. You've opened a can of worms when you slept with your mom and mine. They love you as much as I do. You can't go back. If you want to stop doing it with them, you'll have to stop doing it with me, because I would never be able to live with myself, knowing that Cathy and mom are hurting every time I'm with you."

With that final statement, tears running down her face, Jenny left, probably to sleep in her old room in the house. I did not find any sleep worth the name that night.

Jenny was not someone who made empty promises. Just after lunch time Peter Mücke parked his huge, brand spanking new VW Phaeton in our driveway.

"So it finally happened," he analyzed drily as mom and I sat in the dining room with him. Jenny and Regina had gone to the track to work with the team. I just looked at him blankly.

"Mark, I've been working with young people for a long time. For everyone who bothers to look closely, it is sort of obvious that you and Cathy aren't the garden-variety mother-and-son pairing."

We both gasped, but PM raised his hands to calm us.

"I'm not here to make an assessment. It's none of my business. What is my business though, is making sure that we don't lose one of the biggest talents I've ever seen. That young lady of yours is wise beyond her years. She's right, you need a breather. If nothing else, that press conference of yours has put you on the list of every paper. They'll run you ragged if you return to Formula BMW and you're not prepared for that."

"What should I do, Mr. Mücke?"

He smiled. "Just call me PM. I know you guys call me that to not confuse me with Peter Maassen."

I felt a massive blush on my face.

"What I want to propose is that you go and drive for a very good friend of mine, Winston Hiroa from New Zealand. He runs a team in the Australian Formula Ford. Since judging by the setup you've run most of the year, you don't believe much in rear wings, you should feel right at home."

"Australia?" mom gasped and started crying.

PM just nodded. "If Mark is to come to grips with his situation, it wouldn't help if you could visit him every two weeks, would it? I know your divorced husband would send you a plane the moment you ask, but Mark needs to sort this out on his own. He's got talent by the bucket load, but his life is interfering."

"Tell your friend he's got himself a new driver," I replied, ignoring mom's crying. For all the confusion I felt, there was still the desire burning within me to become a Formula 1 driver and one thing that I realized in that very moment was, that I would never make it if I didn't sort out my life immediately.

"Ang Xei Wang?" I asked PM as I escorted him to his car. He'd given me a piece of paper with an address in China of all places.

"A Shaolin monk," PM replied calmly. "These guys are great listeners and in case you want to improve your fitness, trust me, they know a thing or two."

"You know some mighty interesting people," I noted. PM stopped and faced me.

"As will you once you've sorted yourself out. I wasn't exaggerating, Mark. You are one of the biggest talents I've ever seen, but right now you're confused and side-tracked. A lot of people will give me shit for having convinced you to leave the championship. They will say that I did so because you were beating my drivers. But I don't care, because I think making sure that you get back on your feet is more important, and besides, I expect you to drive one of my DTM cars in 2007. For that, I need you to be at your best. As you can see, my help is not entirely unselfish."

"I'll sort it out, PM, I promise."

He gave me one of his little smiles, patted me on the shoulder and then he drove off.

The next two days were spent in a strained atmosphere at best. Mom was hurting, I could tell, as was Jenny despite the fact that she had suggested and organized this in the first place. Once the idea sank in that I was going to leave for the other friggin' end of the world, Jenny had been hit by reality hard. But PM's words rang in my head – I needed to sort myself out.

Dad, being the dad I'd known all my life, didn't even need a second thought. The private plane was already waiting at Dresden airport. Jenny bade me a very tearful farewell, as did mom. In fact, Regina was remarkably calm and she promised to take good care of mom, which soothed me a lot. A few minutes later we took off – next stop: Zhenghzou Xinzheng International airport.

China was like nothing I'd ever imagined. I knew it was the state with the most inhabitants in the world, but it seemed like they were all in the same place at the same time. It was almost unreal sitting in the taxi and being alone except for the driver. Just minutes before when I'd walked out of the airport I'd felt like being crowded by all of Earth's population.

Somehow I had won the jackpot and happened upon one of the three people in China, who had a basic understanding of English. The driver was in really good spirits, knowing that he was going to make a months worth of income by taking me to a remote outpost of the Shaolin temple in the mountains.

We didn't really converse much though, and it made the drive to Dengfeng seem like an eternity. Finally we arrived and I was dropped off in front of the Shaolin monastery, paying a healthy sum of Yuans to a very happy driver. There was a wooden door with an old-style knocker and I used it. Jeez, it sounded like I was trying to bash the door in.

The door opened and a bald Chinese guy looked at me.

"You Malk," he said in the worst attempt at English I'd ever heard. Not really knowing how to react, I answered 'Yes' and bowed, like I'd seen in "Shogun". Granted, that flick had been playing in Japan, but ignorant ol' me thought, what works for one Asian people should work for the other. The monk chuckled, but did not comment on my antics.

"Blother Wang al-leady waiting," he sing-sanged in that weird Chinese accent, even confirming that the Chinese indeed seemed to have no clue about the letter R. I had always thought that Chinese substituting L for R had been some sort of comedy, but well...

"Sit, young man," an elderly monk ordered once the other one had brought me to a spacious room. Unlike his equally bald brother, he seemed to have a fairly good grasp of the language. Seeing that he was sitting in a lotus position, I manhandled my legs into place to mirror his stance.

"It will become easier with time," he said, seeing my discomfort.

"I am very honored that you offer your hospitality," I answered, bowing again.

"Ah, young man watched too many movies," the monk answered and grinned widely. "That, only Japanese do. We bow like that."

I nearly fainted when the monk leaned forward and put his entire upper body face-down to the ground – mind you, he was still sitting in a Lotus position. That was anatomically impossible!

"Don't worry, young Mark. You will learn," he sing-sanged, still obviously amused.

"You want me to do that?" I asked.

"Friend Peter thinks your problem up here," the Monk said, tipping his finger against his temple. "But problem there always problem with body, too. Must learn to master body, then learn to master mind."

This monk was a mystery. Unlike his 'brother' he at least tried to get the letters right, although he still pronounced 'problem' like 'pwoblem'. It somehow reminded me of Elmar Fudd, probably because he looked the part, being short and bald.

"I shall follow your guidance, master," I said, still in the mindset of having walked into one of those movies.

"Correct term is lǎoshī, he corrected me. "We will begin training tomorrow. Weekend you will go race. Now you must rest."

Breakfast was a communal affair. I had observed the ritual carefully, so I mimicked the other monks and folded my hands in front of me and bowed before Master Wang the next morning to greet him.

"You good observer, young Mark. Sit and eat," he said and before I knew what was happening, two younger monks had already collected several items and served them to me. I felt a bit self-conscious. Bald Yoda seemed to have noticed.

"It's tradition," he explained. "Young monks serve guests."

"I'm already imposing on your hospitality, Master Wang."

He brushed my statement aside.

"We not hotel, young Mark, only guests we want. Now eat. You need strength because next days will be hard."

That had to be the understatement of the century. Saying the day was hard was like saying that being stabbed might be mildly uncomfortable. The things I was asked to do with my body were simply outrageous. Yoda had just dropped me into one of his practice groups and I was suffering big time. I loved Bruce Lee movies, but if that was how he had acquired the practice – fuckin' hell!