Post Script: The Man in the Black Mask

I learned a lot from my encounter with the ninja. Not only about myself, but about China. First about China…it’s always easier to write about things for which I have no control.

Once Robby finished looking for the ninja who was nowhere to be found, he called three people: Driver Jerry, his corporate driver and former Shanghai cop/detective, his friend/colleague (who is actually now his boss here in the states) and his boss at the time (who is now retired back to Singapore). Driver Jerry arrived very quickly, like he was oncall around the corner. The other two arrived by about 3 AM.

Jerry entered the house like he was investigating a crime. He immediately started telling me what happened, instead of asking me what happened.

Q: He didn’t have any shoes on, right?

A: Right. He had black socks on.

Q: He was Chinese, right?

A: I’d assume so. His face and body were fully covered. I only saw his eyes and they were Asian eyes.

Q: He didn’t take anything of value, right?

A: Right, the only thing that’s missing is an old ipod nano and a new pack of Double Happiness cigarettes.

At some point, Rob interrupted and asked him when we were going to call the police. Jerry laughed and said, “We’re not going to call the police. Nothing of value was stolen so they will not investigate.”

Rob and I were obviously both very confused by this at the time. There was no human factor to the crime at all. Breaking and entering? Assault? Who cares?

After the shock wore off, though, it made sense. In a city of 17 million (documented) people, the proverbial needle in a hay stack would have been easier to find than a ninja in the night.

He went on to explain how the police work in Shanghai. They will only open a case if they know they can solve it. That is why, when I researched “crime” before I’d moved to Shanghai, I’d discovered that the police have 100% success rate. Makes sense…if you don’t open a case unless you know you can solve it. I’d also discovered in my research that “petty” theft was the predominant concern. This incident was considered “petty” in the police handbook, though was not considered “petty” by me.

Unbeknownst to me at the time of our incident, there had been a string of robberies earlier in the fall in the compound across the street from us. There were a total of 8 break-ins before the compound security team would call the police. After the 9th break-in, the residents rioted and the crimes were solved. Turns out the compound security and compound ayis were tipping off a criminal ring of thieves when no one was going to be home.

We never found out if ours was officially an inside job. However, when the security team came to our house to check the security system (which had not been armed), every window alarm was working except one: the one that the ninja came through. They fixed it and we armed it from then on.

Aside: Four months later (the first time Rob was on travel since the ninja) some jackass scaled the wall to my second story master bedroom balcony and tried to pick the lock. Another story for another time.

In the days and months that followed my encounter with the ninja I’d slipped into a deep depression. The combination of PTSD and twin hormones were almost too much for me to manage. I was angry. Not at the ninja. Not at the fucked up Chinese law enforcement, or lack thereof. I was angry at myself. Worse. I was ashamed. If you’d have asked me anytime leading up to this event if I was a fight or flight kind of girl, I’d have said with 100% certainty that I was a fight kind of girl.

Turns out, I was a flight kind of girl.

I was not a strong woman. I was a fraud.

I’d also started profiling Chinese people. I mistrusted everyone. My ayi. My driver. Shit, I even thought Driver Jerry may have been the person who broke into my house. How did he get there so fast? How did he know the ninja wasn’t wearing any socks? How did he know he didn’t steal anything of value?

I remember one day I was walking to the Carrefour (the French version of Super Walmart) and a little old toothless man with a pitchfork slung over his shoulder was headed my way. The pre-ninja me would have established eye contact, smiled and said, “ni hao”. The post-ninja me put her head down until he passed. As soon as he passed I turned around expecting him to have his pitchfork aimed at my throat. He didn’t, but I crossed to the other side of the street just in case he was going to try something.

Time wore on, I buried myself in yoga and writing and my babies (who by the grace of god were the best sleepers ever…another story for another time).

In April 2009…6 months after my encounter with the ninja, we’d got word that we’d be moving to Beijing after the summer holiday. I was elated. It was just the news I needed to put the past two years in the past and to start focusing on the future. We could now re-start our Chinese adventure.

Little did I know.