In Memories
He had come to associate China – no it's the People's Republic of China, came the admonishing whispers – with smoking.
He sat now in a state where he was not quite himself, tracing the air before his lips with fingers seeking the familiar heft of a cigarette. He had not smoked, not so much as taken a drag since… oh, since much too long ago.
He needed a smoke now, and badly.
Beside him, China was playing with a young panda bear, the panda lying on its back and swiping playfully at China's tickling hands.
"The German Democratic Republic… ah, but that is not your name anymore, is it?"
"No. No, it's not." He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Once it had been a different sort of bear altogether lying in China's lap, one with a little less fur and a bright violet-eyed smile, demanding love China would give in a shower of petal-soft kisses. They had eyes only for one another in those heady, turbulent years, and he never deluded himself into thinking he was ever wanted between them.
The panda rolled over, tired of playing, and took to gnawing on a piece of bamboo it had discarded earlier. China let it go, and with a slight cock of his head he turned to ask, "But what should I call you now?"
His eyes were just as sharp and golden bright as he remembered them so many years ago. He had always liked China's bluntness on matters other would tread with simpering caution.
"Whatever you want." And after a beat, "You got a smoke?"