A Free Life

1

IN THE SPRING of 1994, the Mitchells were preparing to leave for Nanjing to bring back their daughter, Hailee. "Hailee" was a name they had given her, though they'd kept her original first name, Fan, as her middle name. Her family name was Zhang, which had actually been assigned to her by the orphanage. Dave arranged to take a ten-day leave from work; Janet's jewelry store would remain open when she was away. She told Susie, the salesgirl, to contact the Wus if anything turned up that she couldn't handle by herself.

The Mitchells had originally thought of stopping in Hong Kong for a day or two as a transition, because Dave had been to that city before and liked it very much. But they decided to go directly to mainland China together with two other couples living in Atlanta who were also adopting Chinese babies. Janet called them "our group," and indeed they often met to compare notes and share their anxiety, frustrations, and happiness. All of them would have to go to the U.S. embassy in Beijing to get visas for their babies, so the Mitchells decided to use the capital instead of Hong Kong as their base in China. Janet had bought a Mandarin phrase book, and both she and Dave had been learning to speak some words and simple sentences. She often went to ask Pingping how to say pleasantries and order things in Chinese. Despite her good memory, she had trouble with the four tones, speaking some words as if she had a blocked nose.

The Mitchells had recently decorated Hailee's nursery on the second floor of their home with a band of wallpaper, two feet wide and just high enough for a toddler to reach. The paper had frolicsome animals on it-dancing bulls, bears playing the violin, wobbling penguins, elephants rearing up, dogs blowing the saxophone. On the ceiling of the room were numerous phosphorescent stars that would shine in the darkness but were almost invisible when it was light. A new crib sat by the window that overlooked the back garden, fenced in by white palings. On the floor were stacks of baby clothing, some of which the Mitchells would take to Nanjing and donate to the orphanage. They'd also bring formula and diapers for their daughter to use. Pingping had seen the stuff they planned to take along. There were so many things that she wondered if the Mitchells could possibly carry them all. They were going to pack in two lap robes, a bunch of baseballs, a stack of hats with the Braves logo on them, granola bars, water crackers, fruit candies, laundry soap, clotheslines and clothespins, fanny packs, billfolds, batteries, painkillers, tubes of sunscreen and insect repellent, a shortwave radio, not to mention a luggage trolley and a dozen boxes of Polaroid film. They'd shoot a lot of photos as mementos of Hailee's native place. Pingping told them to take pictures of the people they wanted to thank and give them the photos on the spot, which would be a small present, appreciated by most Chinese.

The Wus talked between themselves about the Mitchells' preparations. In the past they had noticed that Dave was very frugal, almost stingy, and would always ask for a doggie bag after he dined at the Gold Wok, even if the leftovers were just a morsel. In the early days of their friendship, whenever Nan had offered him a beer or soft drink, Dave would beam but wouldn't indicate that he planned on paying for it. Nan and Pingping never minded that, amused to see Dave was easy to please. But now he and Janet must have spent thousands for the trip and would donate an extra $5,000 to the orphanage that had kept Hailee.

Four days before the Mitchells' scheduled departure, out of the blue the Chinese side informed them that they had to postpone their trip for two months. Why such a delay all of a sudden? The Mitchells called around and couldn't find a definitive answer. Their agent told them that the Chinese side wanted to ascertain that the girl was really an orphan. This threw the Mitchells into turmoil. What upset them more was that the other two adopting couples would leave for China as planned. Confused, Janet and Dave went to the Gold Wok and talked with the Wus, who couldn't figure out a reason either. Janet kept saying, "We've already bonded with Hailee. Now we feel like someone has snatched our child away from us. This is more than we can bear."

"It's awful!" Dave shook his head and blew his large nose into a tissue, his eyes moist and glistening.

Pingping said, "Officials in China don't care about your feeling, so you should make yourself happy. Maybe you can use this time to study Chinese or learn how to be parent."

"That's an interesting thought," said Janet. "Maybe I can attend a parenting class in the evenings. But we're afraid that if Hailee is not an orphan, we might lose her."

"Don't worry too much," Pingping said. "The delay is just excuse for officials. If she's not orphan, how can she stay in orphanage? Officials never care who is the girl. They just want to create trouble for you. Don't let them torture you. Remember, in China, officials' job is to make people suffer."

"Our agent didn't think this had anything to do with our baby's identity either. She said it was just bureaucracy."

"Zere will be a lawt of heartaches once you become parents," Nan put in, "so don't get distressed too easily."

"Well," Dave said, "I guess this is just the beginning."

They all smiled. Dave lifted the teapot in front of him and refilled his cup. A black woman holding a toddler stepped in and ordered two panfried noodles, so Nan went back into the kitchen after giving a lollipop to the baby girl, who clutched a nub of carrot.

A few days later, Janet enrolled in a parenting class and went to Atlanta to take the lessons two evenings a week. Whenever there was news about Hailee, she'd share it with Pingping.

₂

"TURN your heel toward me," Pingping told Nan, holding a pair of large scissors in her hand, which was sheathed in a latex glove. She was scraping his feet for him. Both of them were sitting on low stools, a stainless-steel bowl between them. His left foot was steeped in the warm water while his right one rested on her lap covered with a khaki apron. It was early morning and their son had just left for school. A cuckoo cried from the depths of the woods across the lake and set the air throbbing. Between the pulsing calls surged a scatter of birdsong. A flock of mallards was quacking in the backyard, waddling around, and some flapped their wings so vigorously that they sent out a faint whistle. Two ducks had been hatching eggs in the monkey grass along the lakeside, so these days the Wus didn't go there for fear of disturbing them. On the dogwood tree near their deck two squirrels were chasing each other, shaking dewdrops off the branches in full flower.

"Your athlete's foot looks better than last time," Pingping said. "Be careful. It can easily get worse in the spring."

Nan nodded, still immersed in a volume of selected poems by Auden, whose photo appeared on both the front cover and the spine of the book. He loved Auden and had learned some of his lines by heart when he was in China. Yesterday morning he had chanced on this copy of poetry at the Goodwill store on his way to work and had bought it for a quarter. To his delight, he found the poem "September 1, 1939" within, a poem Auden himself had excluded from most of his collections. Nan was still happy about the bargain. In Gwinnett County, the public libraries would discard all the books that hadn't been checked out for more than a year and would sell them dirt cheap, so Nan, now that he had his own house, had started collecting books again. He'd rummage through the book sections in thrift stores and go to libraries' book sales whenever he could. Sometimes Pingping complained that the house would soon be cluttered up with books, but he simply couldn't stop.

Since they had married, Pingping had scraped Nan 's feet five or six times a year, because he couldn't do it thoroughly by himself. In the beginning she had been frightened by his feet, the heels and the skin between the toes gnawed by fungi, and she had wanted to have them cured so that she and their baby wouldn't catch the ringworm. She'd soaked his feet in warm water, then cut the calluses with scissors, rubbed away the dead skin with a chunk of emery wheel, and applied antifungal cream to them. This gradually developed into a habit, and Nan enjoyed being treated by her. Although his athlete's foot was never cured, she had managed to keep it under control. Still, Nan wore socks all the time, even in bed. He liked taking a hot bath, which she urged him not to do, afraid the fungi might be spread to the other parts of his body. But a bath was so relaxing that he couldn't help running one every few days. To date, his body had never been affected by fungi. Ever since moving to Georgia, the Wus had noticed that many people here suffered from skin diseases, probably on account of the humid climate. Sometimes at supermarkets they came upon cashiers whose hands and forearms were scaly with scabs and running sores.

"Ouch!" Nan cried.

"Did I hurt you?" Pingping stopped the scissors. "Don't scrape too hard."

"All right, but I won't be able to scrub your feet again this spring. We'll be weak until summer."

Indeed, pollen had already set in and had begun to torment them. From now on they had to conserve their energy and keep all the doors and windows shut. These days they each carried a bottle of nasal spray in a pocket to prevent their allergies from becoming fullblown. The miserable season enervated and even pacified them-they became more gentle to each other, as if too tired to raise their voices.

On top of that, Pingping was no longer worried about Nan 's obsession with his first love. Seldom did she see the woeful clouds that used to darken his face. She was right: Nan had indeed mellowed a lot. He hadn't often thought of Beina in the past two years, although she'd appear in his dreams now and then. The numb pain still lingered in his chest, but it was no longer as acute as before. Every day he was too occupied to indulge in fantasies. When he got home at night, he'd go to sleep within an hour after taking a shower and reading a few poems. He felt that physically he was strong now, but his mind was empty. He simply didn't have the energy to think of ideas, much less write anything.

To some extent he was pleased by this state of affairs. In his mind would rise the lines by the ancient poet Tao Chien: "Human life runs the same course, / Whose end is to secure shelter and food." Nan was peaceful, determined to stand on his own ground and willing to be a devoted family man.

₃

SHUBO GAO had received his Ph.D. from the University of Georgia the previous fall. He was still looking for a teaching position in sociology, but so far without success. He often talked with Nan about job hunting and would joke that he was ready to "turn a new leaf," meaning to abandon his sociology specialty. The past winter he had gone to six interviews at a convention held in San Francisco, but the interviewers had all found that he spoke English with a grating accent, so despite his impressive resume that boasted a book published in Chinese, none of the schools invited him over for a campus visit. Afterward, Shubo mailed out more than a hundred applications. He would receive a batch of refusal letters every week, which didn't bother him much, though Niyan couldn't stand it anymore. During the day she would not check the mail for fear of spoiling her appetite.

Despite his bad English, Shubo was fond of cliches. He'd use all kinds of sayings, some of which were Chinese expressions he translated into English, such as "one hill cannot be inhabited by two tigers," "search for a needle in the ocean," "pour oil on fire," "kill two eagles with one arrow." He had a little notebook in which he'd collected more than a thousand English idiomatic expressions. Nan would tease him, calling him a social linguist. He also told Shubo, "If you really want to master English idioms, get a good dictionary, a Longman or Collins, and learn the real thing." He explained that unlike the Chinese, who respected a person knowing a great many sayings and proverbs, a good English speaker wouldn't repeat cliches, but Shubo continued filling his notebook with hackneyed expressions and tossing them out right and left.

Though a Ph.D., Shubo respected Nan and often bantered with him, saying that Nan was a sad case and shouldn't waste his talent by running a small restaurant. He once read Nan 's palms and said with a straight face, "You were born to be an official, deciding the fates of thousands. You know, you should've risen to prominence long ago. But now you're a phoenix grounded and stripped of its wings, inferior to a chicken."

Nan rejoined, "Why don't you go back to Szechuan? With your Ph.D. from UGA, I'm sure you can get a professorship at a Party school or a police academy."

"I'd prefer to be my own boss." Shubo's face fell.

In fact, Shubo often said he'd never return to China, because when he was applying for his passport so that he could go to the University of Georgia to do graduate work, all the officials had treated him like a semicriminal and wouldn't issue the papers to him until a whole year had passed, after the school had withdrawn its financial aid. He told Nan that not a single Chinese had ever said a good word to him when he went to their offices, and that only a young American woman of Indian descent at the U.S. embassy in Beijing, noted for her record of turning down most visa applications, had beamed at him, saying, "Congratulations!" when she handed him his visa.

Although Shubo could joke about his situation, his wife had lost her peace of mind. Now that it was unlikely that he would find a teaching position, what should he do? Niyan often spoke to Pingping and Nan about him. Recently his cousin, Yafang Gao, had promised that if he went to New York, she could help him find a job at Ding's Dumplings; but he'd have to work there at least a whole year because her former boss, Howard, wouldn't hire a temporary hand. Niyan told the Wus that Yafang herself had left Ding's Dumplings a few months earlier to attend business school at NYU.

Shubo talked with Nan about the restaurant work in New York; he wasn't sure if he should go, reluctant to be away from his wife. Nan was uncertain whether Shubo still meant to remain in academia, but his friend assured him that he wouldn't think twice about leaving his field if he could find a full-time job. Shubo hated teaching and had once taught an introduction to sociology course to more than thirty students, some of whom wouldn't turn in their homework on time and would frown at his accent, a few even pretending they couldn't understand him. During the first few weeks of teaching, he felt sick and often knelt on the floor of the bathroom at home and vomited into the toilet, his guts twinging while his wife slapped his back to ease his pain. Later, he attempted to make a joke or tell an amusing story from time to time in class. Once he even compared Americans to turkeys (fat) and the Chinese to cranes (thin), but only one big black woman laughed besides himself. The whole course was sheer torture to him, yet he had to get the teaching experience so that he could find employment in the future. In the course evaluations one student wrote "Bathetic amp; pathetic!" Now, still haunted by that class, Shubo wouldn't hesitate to leave academia. On hearing that he really wouldn't mind abandoning his field, Nan suggested he go to a bartending school. Once Shubo knew how to mix drinks, he could always find work at a Chinese restaurant. Niyan and Shubo thought this was a good idea, so Shubo paid $3,000 and enrolled in a bartending class in downtown Atlanta.

Different from the Wus, Niyan and Shubo were still like newly-weds, seeking each other's company whenever they could. They loved Georgia for its low cost of living and warm climate, which resembled that of their home province, and they didn't think about moving elsewhere. Yet they had been so busy struggling to survive ever since they landed here that they wouldn't dare to have children. Some of their friends had given birth to babies and then sent them back to China, to farm them out to the grandparents. But both Niyan's and Shubo's parents were in poor health and couldn't look after a child, and neither could they come here to help them if Niyan had a baby. As a result, she was still wearing an intrauterine ring. "Look, I'm already thirty," she said to Pingping one afternoon. "How many years do you think I can wait?"

"I know how you feel. Back in China I was never worried about bringing a child into the world."

"Maybe Shubo and I will end up adopting a baby like the Mitchells," quipped Niyan with a grimace.

"You're too young to think like that."

Since it was impossible to have their own child now, Shubo and Niyan had grown very fond of Taotao. They'd tell Pingping and Nan that they envied them their fine son. Whenever Taotao's report card arrived, they'd look at it and sing his praises. Many times Shubo said Nan was a lucky man who had everything-a devoted wife, a smart son, a lakeside house, and a business of his own. His words would put Nan in a reflective mood and make him wonder why he himself didn't feel as content as he should.

₄

IN LATE SPRING Taotao, with the help of his friend Zach, who was an eighth grader, assembled a large computer. The machine was so powerful, he told his parents, it worked like a small station. With the new computer, he spent a lot of time surfing the Internet and chatting with his friends-they mainly let off steam by bad-mouthing their teachers. He also played games with some children in Europe and Asia. Because his parents were always busy working at the restaurant, they couldn't supervise him. Once he was online, he'd enter cyberspace unknown to his parents, who would accept whatever he told them about it.

Both Pingping and Nan tried to curb him from surfing the Internet, warning him over and over again not to waste too much time. The boy promised not to use the computer very often when his parents weren't home. At work, every evening Pingping would call back at least twice to check on him, but most times the line was busy. Evidently Taotao was using the Internet. Whenever this happened, Nan and Pingping would get angry and take their son to task when they came back at night.

Taotao had never been really close to Nan, perhaps because Nan hadn't spent enough time with him and had left for America when the boy was merely two. In recent years Nan had worked constantly and tended to confine himself to his business and books. As a result, father and son didn't talk much. If Nan spoke to him harshly, Taotao would ignore him or mutter "Shut up," at which Nan would lose his temper, calling his son a heartless ingrate. Yet the boy always listened to his mother, who knew how to make him behave. Sometimes she called him "Little Donkey," meaning that as long as she coaxed him, he'd be obedient.

One evening in late May, Nan phoned home. At the busy signal he got enraged, telling his wife he was going back to catch Taotao red-handed. She was angry too and couldn't stop fulminating against their son under her breath. Nan set out for home along the dimly lighted street. The air was very humid, and his hurried pace made him pant a little while the cries of insects cascaded from the trees. He wondered whether they were chirring to attract mates or were maddened by the heat. As he passed Mrs. Lodge's, the old woman, lounging in a cane rocker on her porch, waved at him. "Closed early today?" she asked cheerfully, flapping the palm fan Pingping had bought for her from a Korean grocery store.

"No," Nan shouted. "I'm going back to get somesing."

"Tell Pingping I have some geraniums for her."

"Sure, sanks."

He continued homeward, wondering how come mosquitoes didn't bother Mrs. Lodge at all. The old woman was so hale and hearty that, already past ninety, she still took care of her yard and garden. Over the crown of a giant oak in Alan's backyard, the North Star, slightly obscured by the smog, glowed with orange light, while traffic whirred from a distant main road. Fireflies pulsed here and there, drawing short arcs. As Nan entered his own front yard, a young maple suddenly rustled as if startled by his approaching. Then the air conditioner kicked on, humming at the side of the house. Taotao's room was dark, but Nan saw the light of his computer through the half-closed slats of the venetian blind. He unlocked the door stealthily and tiptoed in.

At the creaking of the floorboards in the corridor, Taotao lurched up from his swivel chair. He gulped as if to say something, but no word escaped from him. Nan flicked on the light, which made his son's eyes smart. The boy's mouth dropped open. A spasm of rage seized Nan, who rushed up to Taotao, grabbed his shoulders, and threw him down on the bed. "Why are you playing with the computer again?" he demanded. "Damn you! You promised Mom and me to do your homework and read when we were not home. Why did you break your word?"

"I just turned it on. I did my homework already."

"Liar! The phone line has been busy for two hours. I'm going to smash this damned machine now." Nan picked up a large magnet from a corner shelf, about to throw it at the monitor.

"Please, Daddy, don't! I won't do it again!" Taotao was holding Nan 's arm with both hands and begging him tearfully, but his father wouldn't let go of the magnet. Nan raised it above his head, struggling to pitch. As father and son were tussling, Nan caught sight of some words on the monitor's screen. He dropped the magnet on the chair and leaned forward to read the message, which said:

Hi, Taotao,

I miss you. You're my best boyfriend. I often tell my friends here what a great guy you are. They don't believe we are sweethearts and say I just brag. Write me some sweet, sweet words, so I can show them.

A thousand kisses,

Livia

Again anger overtook Nan, who grabbed his son's chest and began slapping him across the face. "You little beast! No wonder you always turn on the computer. You've been carrying on with Livia."

As Nan went on striking him, Taotao stopped resisting. He wailed, "I didn't write the message. Ow, don't hit me! You're hurting me,

Dad!"

But his father's merciless slaps kept landing on his face and head. In a flash his cheeks turned puffy, streaked with handprints. When Nan 's temper had subsided some, he saw his son's face, which horrified him. He released Taotao, who was still gasping for air. For a moment Nan stood there motionless as if dazed. Suddenly he remembered his promise to Pingping long ago that he'd never resort to violence in his life. How shocked he was by his own use of brute force on the boy, who couldn't defend himself. He averted his head, too ashamed to face his son.

Then he rushed off into the kitchen, picked up the cordless phone, and came back. "All right, stop crying," he said, panting, and gave Taotao the phone. "Call the police and tell them I beat you up."

"No, I won't call." The boy put both hands behind him, his mouth twisting.

"Call them!" Nan thrust the phone to him. "Let them come arrest me. Tell them I'm a violent man and should be sentenced to life." "No, I won't."

"Damn it, call them! Help me-I have had enough of this miserable life. Let them come and take me away. That will spare me all the worries and hopelessness. Let the police slam me into jail so that you can play with your computer day and night and have as many girlfriends as you want. Here, dial the number." He pointed at one of the emergency numbers on the sticker stuck to the handset.

"I won't call."

"Why? I just beat you up. Why not have me arrested? I'm an abusive parent and should be sentenced to prison. Now call!" "No, I won't."

Nan began punching the police's number madly. Taotao lunged forward and snatched the phone from his father's hands. Nan wrapped one arm around the boy as his other hand tried to loosen Taotao's grip on the phone. Father and son scuffled, and then both fell on the bed, but the boy still held the phone with both hands. Hard as Nan tried, he couldn't pry it free.

"Let go!" Nan huffed.

"No!"

Gradually Nan eased off some, then stopped to sit up. He peered at his son, who got up and moved away. The boy, still snuffling and panting, thrust both hands behind him so that his father couldn't see the phone. He stood in the corner with his back firmly against the walls. Seeing Taotao's tears and terror-stricken face, Nan froze, at a loss. In a flash he realized that his son desperately wanted to keep him home. Look at his face, so scared. Wouldn't surrender the phone even if you smashed his hands. Awash in contrition, Nan stood up and went out of the house without another word. He headed back to the Gold Wok, continually wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, weeping all the way.

₅

WHEN Nan told Pingping of what he had discovered at home and what he'd done, her first response was a punch on his shoulder. Then she warned him, "Don't ever whale Taotao again, or I'll give you endless trouble."

Nan promised he would never hit the boy again.

Though Pingping smacked their son once or twice a year, she wouldn't allow anyone else to touch him. Yet in her heart of hearts she believed Taotao deserved his beating, so she couldn't help but grumble about him and even said she too would whack him. Niyan overheard her and protested, "Please go easy on him. He should have some fun."

"Fun?" Pingping retorted. "He was flirting with a girl while we work ourselves half to death here."

"He's almost eleven and should be interested in girls."

"I don't want him to have a girlfriend until he graduates from college. It's a waste of time."

"Heavens, you're such a fuddy-duddy. We're not living in China anymore. Here kids reach puberty earlier. By any standard Taotao is a fine boy. You should feel lucky to have a son like him. I have a friend whose teenage boy often visited porn sites on the Internet. He even called some women. At the end of a month his father received a phone bill for more than nine hundred dollars."

" My goodness, when did this happen?"

"Two years ago when that boy had just turned thirteen."

"What did his parents do about him?"

" His father strapped him, but the boy kept visiting porn sites, addicted to cybersex. He even threatened to sue his parents for child abuse. "

"There's no way to straighten him out?"

"His parents sent him back to Beijing the summer before last, but last year they took him back because he couldn't survive middle school there. He didn't know enough Chinese to understand his lessons. If you had a son like that, how would you feel?"

Pingping said no more, though deep down she was still fuming at Taotao for carrying on with Livia. The greatest regret in her life was that before she met Nan she'd had a boyfriend who had wasted five years of her life. She had gone to the young man's home on weekends, hand-laundering and cooking for his family. Because of serving them, she couldn't concentrate on her schoolwork, though she always got good grades. Without the boyfriend she could have gone to graduate school and achieved much more in her life. Those years spent with the man who later jilted her were the most miserable and empty period of her life. At any cost she wouldn't let her son repeat the same mistake.

After returning home from work that night, she said to Taotao, "You must stop writing to Livia."

Nan added, "She must have a dozen boyfriends, and you're just one of them, like a toy."

" How do you know?" asked Taotao.

His mother put in, "I took care of her for several years, and I know what she's like. She's not a serious girl. She's boy crazy and just playing games with you."

"She's my friend."

"You must never take a girlfriend like her."

"Why?"

"Why? Our family is not their kind and we're poor. We don't have eight fireplaces in our house, do we?" "No. But that doesn't mean she's bad."

"Stop arguing. I served the Masefields long enough. Do you want me to be a servant of my daughter-in-law?" " What are you talking about, Mom?"

Nan also felt that Pingping had stretched this too far, but he didn't say another word. He didn't want Taotao and Livia to be close friends either. He'd feel uncomfortable to see the Masefields again and was afraid they might not treat Taotao well.

" Do you want to be a servant boy all your life? " Pingping asked their son.

"No."

"Then drop Livia. You're a poor boy, and a rich girl like her will treat you like a piece of trash. Do you remember Phil?" Phil was Heidi's brother-in-law, a Spaniard without a penny of his own, and the Masefields would frown at him even in the presence of Heidi's sister, Rosalind, the one Phil had married.

"Yes, he's a good guy," Taotao said.

"Do the Masefields respect him?" asked his mother.

"Not really."

"Do you want to be like him?"

"Damn it, Mom! I'm not going to marry Livia, okay? You're crazy and imagined the whole thing."

"Then why do you carry on with her?" "We just have a good time."

"Stop this American 'fun' crap! I don't want you to learn how to toy with girls. You must be a serious and responsible man."

Taotao turned pensive, but looked unconvinced. His mother went on, "It just wastes your life to have a girlfriend so early. I want you to concentrate on your schoolwork. As for a girlfriend, you can wait until you graduate from college."

The boy made no reply and turned to his father, gazing at him beseechingly. Nan sympathized with his son, yet he felt the boy shouldn't be so close to that girl or he might get hurt. On the other hand, it would be better for Taotao to know some girls before he grew up and entered into any serious relationship. If Nan could have restarted his life, he'd have dated many girls casually before losing his heart to a woman. "All right," he said to both his wife and son, "time for bed."

" I want him to promise us to break with Livia," insisted Pingping.

"I'll take her just as a regular friend, okay?"

Pingping said no more, knowing Taotao was too stubborn to make a full promise right now. She went into her room and picked up a towel for a shower, still grumbling about what a weakling her son had become.

The next day Mrs. Spiller, the geography teacher, asked Taotao in class, "What happened to your face? Somebody hit you?"

"No, I bumped into a wall when I was going to the bathroom last night." Though a little flustered, the boy forced a smile.

"You look awful."

"It hurt like hell, but I'm all right now." "Uh-uh, language."

"Sorry." He lowered his head and resumed working on his map. The teacher had assigned the class to create a country of one's own, and each student was to draw a map of an imagined territory containing different time zones, several cities, forests, plains, highways, harbors, sea routes. Taotao loved the project.

₆

THE MITCHELLS left for Nanjing in early June. The two-month delay had been prolonged for another month, and as a result, they'd had to rebuy some clothes for Hailee, who wore larger sizes now. Even so, the Mitchells were elated by the final approval of the Chinese side. At long last they could bring their daughter home, they kept telling others. When Janet and Dave were away in China, Ping-ping would stop by at the jewelry store from time to time, chatting with the tall Susie, who kept everything in good order, as if she owned the business. Since the previous spring Susie had been working full-time for Janet. She told Pingping that her boss was a cheapskate and wouldn't give her a paid vacation. Pingping defended her friend, saying, "Look, you have health insurance, right?"

"Yes, but it's not that good. Every time I go see the doctor, I have to spend twenty bucks for the co-pay." Susie made a pout, then licked her upper lip.

"We have a child, but we don't have any real insurance. You're lucky. It cost Janet a lotta money to cover you."

Susie looked annoyed and kept flexing her henna-nailed fingers. She was wearing so much rouge that she looked sunburned. "I know you two are close," she muttered. "Don't tell Janet I bad-mouthed her."

"Of course I don't do that."

Susie often went to the Gold Wok for lunch, mainly because it was convenient. She didn't have a car, and her boyfriend, a young carpenter who had a centipede tattooed on each bicep, would drive her to work and pick her up when she closed up in the evenings.

Today there were few customers at the restaurant after two o'clock, so everybody could take a breather. Pingping and Niyan settled at a table drinking tea and paring apples to eat. Nan was reading Time magazine, to which he had subscribed for business use. Usually they didn't have lunch; whoever was hungry could take a bite from the kitchen. But they'd eat a meal together late in the evening before they called it a day. Nan often cooked light, homely food for their dinner, such as fish-head soup, sauteed watercress, and tofu with peas and pickled mustard greens.

As Nan lifted his coffee mug absentmindedly to his lips, the phone rang. Pingping picked it up. "Where are you calling from, Janet?" she asked excitedly.

"Where can it be? I'm in Nanjing!" Janet said.

"Do you have Hailee already?"

"Not yet. We have to wait another day."

"It's very hot there, right?"

"Yes, it makes me miss Atlanta. I've never been in such weather. It's scorching outside during the day, but that doesn't seem to bother the locals."

"That's why Nanjing is called 'Furnace.' "

"We went to see the other baby yesterday."

"What baby?"

"The one whose photo came together with Hailee's, remember?" "Yes, how she's like?"

"She's a lovely girl too, a bit taller than Hailee. My heart went out to her. The good news is that a single woman in Philadelphia is going to adopt her. That makes Dave and me feel better."

"So no more guilty, okay? Did you go to other place? I mean, look around and buy things?"

"We went to the Yangtze River and a park. Nanjing is a fascinating city. There's a lot of good food here."

"Did you walk on Yangtze Bridge?"

"Yes, it was kind of scary."

"How come?"

"It trembled whenever a train passed beneath us. Dave and I were afraid it might collapse. You know he can't swim."

Pingping laughed. "You're so funny, Janet. Everything is all right so far?"

"Yes. I'm calling to see how things are at home."

"Everything is fine. Your house and yard is safe and clean. I went there yesterday morning. Your grass is cut, and everything look nice. Don't worry. Susie keep your store good too. She's very careful about everything."

"Thanks a lot, Pingping. After we get our daughter, we'll have to go to Beijing to get her papers. Then we'll go see the Great Wall before we fly back."

"Why you do that? Isn't hard to go there with baby?"

"We figure we won't be able to travel for a long time once we have Hailee. Also, we want to take some photos, to show them to her in the future."

"I see. Travel safely then. Don't worry about anything here."

Having hung up, Pingping said to Nan, "They're going to see the Great Wall with the baby. Isn't that crazy?"

"Hailee is really a lucky girl," Nan said poker-faced. "If some American family had adopted me when I was an infant, I could have become a movie star, or at least a CEO."

That cracked everybody up.

Late that afternoon Nan read an article in a week-old Overseas Daily, reporting that Mr. Manping Liu had gone back to Beijing to get cancer treatment. The old exile had suddenly collapsed one day as he was patching the muffler of his jalopy with duct tape, and had been rushed to a local clinic for poor people. The diagnosis was liver cancer, and the doctor said his days would be numbered if the treatment wasn't effective. It was rumored that the old dissident had written to a member of the Political Bureau, begging for permission to go back to China. "Please let me die in our motherland," he wrote. Out of pity or political expediency, they let him return and even assigned him a hospital bed in Beijing, provided he'd remain silent about sensitive issues and would inform the police beforehand if he was to meet with any foreigner. He could resume receiving the same salary as before he had fled China. Mr. Liu accepted the provisos and went back quietly, together with his wife.

His case evoked mixed feelings in Nan, and for days he'd been thinking about the implications of Mr. Liu's return. Why did the old man stoop to the authorities so easily? True, he was nostalgic and might get better medical treatment and live longer in Beijing. But wouldn't his return compromise his principles and impair his integrity? Nan couldn't answer definitively. His mind couldn't help but turn to Mr. Liu even when he was busy cooking.

Gradually he figured out the essential difference between himself and the old scholar. Mr. Liu was an exile, whose life had been shaped by the past and who could exist only with reference to the central power that had banished him from China. Here lay Mr. Liu's tragedy-he couldn't possibly separate himself from the state's apparatus that could always control and torment him. Without the frame of reference already formed in his homeland, his life would have lost its meaning and bearings. That must be why so many exiles, wrecked with nostalgia, would eulogize suffering and patriotism. Physically they were here, but because of the yoke of their significant past, they couldn't adapt to the life in the new land. In contrast, Nan was an immigrant without a noteworthy and burdensome past. To the authorities, he was nobody, nonexistent. He didn't even have a Chinese official to beg. Who would listen to a man like him, a mere immigrant or refugee? People of his kind, "the weed people," survived or perished like insects and grass and wouldn't matter at all to those living in their native land. To the people in China, they were already counted as a loss. Small wonder that a senior official had recently declared to a group of overseas Chinese, "You must be qualified to become a real patriot," implying that China needed only those who could make substantial contributions to its economic and technological development. The more Nan thought about these issues, the more upset he became. On the other hand, he was willing to accept the immigrant life as the condition of his existence so as to become a self-sufficient man. He felt grateful to the American land that had taken in his family and given them an opportunity for a new beginning.

₇

A THUNDERSTORM warning was broadcast the following day, and many people went to supermarkets to buy nonperishable foods, bottled water, and other supplies. No customers showed up at the Gold Wok after four o'clock, so the Wus closed early and went home to prepare for the severe storm due to hit the area in the evening. They were worried about the massive oak near the east end of their house. If it fell, it might crush the roofs of their carport and living room. The tree belonged to both the Wus and Gerald, the property line going right through its trunk. Several times Nan and Pingping had talked to Gerald about bringing the oak down, since it could fall on his roof as well, but he wouldn't share the cost of six hundred dollars, saying he had no money. However, Alan had told Nan that oaks had deep roots and wouldn't fall easily. It was pines that were more likely to cause damage; that was why Alan had taken down nineteen of his pine trees two years ago and had kept the oaks in his yard. Now all the Wus could do was cross their fingers and watch the television showing destroyed houses and overturned vehicles in the wake of the storm. A newsman said, "Besides the thunderstorm, it's reported that some places in the northern suburbs got hammered by a tornado. We'll bring you more on that once we have the details."

The Wus moved a couch into the dining room, where they could stay to avoid being crushed by the oak if it fell. Around nine o'clock, after a series of thunderclaps, the night suddenly turned whitish- all the trees and lights beyond the lake vanished at once. Then came the ghostly rustle that sounded like a harvester cutting crops, though at a much faster speed. Taotao wanted to look out the window, whose panes kept up a steady rattling, but Nan stopped him for fear that the storm might crash into the room. In no time the power went out. The Wus realized this was a tornado, and wordlessly they cowered on the couch, set in a corner. Try as he might, Nan couldn't hear the earth-shaking booms made by trees hitting the ground, and somehow all the noises were muffled, though their roof creaked and echoed with objects pelting it. He wondered if it was hailing as well.

Three minutes later the tornado passed, but the night was darker than before as all the lights were gone. The Wus looked out the broad window of the dining room and saw some boughs and branches on the grass. To their relief, all the trees were still standing in the backyard. In the north a fire engine or ambulance was howling. Because electricity might not come back on soon, they went to bed early.

After Taotao left for school the next morning, Nan took a walk in the neighborhood to see the havoc. Several houses had been damaged by fallen pines, and on the streets electric wires were mangled here and there. Fortunately the tornado hadn't touched Beaver Hill Plaza, and there was still electricity at the Gold Wok. Nan was pleased to find his freezer and refrigerators all droning as before. He realized there might be a lot of business today since many households in the area had no power. Hurriedly he went back and told Pingping to stop cleaning the front yard. Together they set out for work.

Indeed, for a whole day people came in nonstop. The Wus and Niyan had a hectic time, though all were happy about the business. Owing to the power outage, Taotao stayed at the restaurant after school, doing his homework. Toward dark, electricity finally came back to the neighborhood, where the smell of barbecued meat and fried chicken from cookouts still hovered.

Shortly after the Wus returned home that night, Gerald knocked on their door. Nan answered it. Gerald had been ill lately and out of work. He looked gaunt and aged, in jean overalls smudged with grease; the stubble on his chin was grizzled, and his eyes shone with a stiff light like a crazed man's. He had lost his dog, Goby, a week earlier. It was Taotao who had found the dog dead the other morning- a pair of crows were standing on Goby's belly, shrieking like mad, so the boy called to his parents, who went out but couldn't rouse the animal. Goby had died of heartworm. According to Gerald, the collie had carried the disease since it was a puppy. In a way, the Wus were pleased by Goby's disappearance, because now no dog would bark in the dead of night and wake them up.

"Kin-kin I borra some juice from ya?" Gerald asked Nan, apparently embarrassed.

"Orange juice?"

"No. I mean 'lectricity."

"Oh, what happened to your house? Your power isn't back yet?"

"No. I called 'em. They said they gonna come work on it tomorra."

"How can you borrow electricity?" Nan was puzzled, though he knew Georgia Power must have cut off Gerald's supply because of unpaid bills.

"I kin connec' a cord to your carpo't."

"I see." Indeed, there was a wall outlet near the side door of the house. "Two days. You don't have to borrow it from us. I can let you use zer line for two days."

"Two days're plenty. I'll git my powa back by then."

Gerald looked hungry and probably had not cooked that day. As a matter of fact the Wus hadn't seen him for a long time. He wouldn't come out of his house nowadays, as if in hibernation, though their neighbor Alan would bang on Gerald's door to remind him that his lawn needed mowing or that he should trim his trees. Gerald would rejoin, "I'll take care of that when I feel like. I won't be push' around by nobody." But he never did anything to put his property in order, except that once in a while he cut his grass with a tractor mower. When he drove that thing in his front yard, he'd kick up a thundering din and clouds of dust. To show his gratitude to the Wus, he once mowed their lawn with his machine as well, but its blades had been set so low that after the mowing, the grass turned yellow and shriveled for many days. So Pingping begged him to leave their lawn alone.

By nature Gerald was a kind fellow and a sort of craftsman, always ready to give a hand to someone. He'd get on Mrs. Lodge's roof and blow down leaves for her. He had laid drainage pipes for the Utleys, a retired couple living a few houses down the street, so that rainwater could flow directly into the lake instead of sluicing and furrowing the roadside and their yard. Also, he had helped two families set their hardwood floors. People in the neighborhood went to those houses to look at the superb work, and everyone agreed that Gerald had done "a beautiful job." Yet he simply wouldn't bother about his own property, perhaps because no one would pay him for working on it.

"The other day I saw his ex-wife and daughter in his front yard," Pingping told Nan after Gerald left.

"What's she like?"

"She looks very young, with permed hair. She waits tables at the Waffle House near Berkmar High School."

"But I remember Gerald once said his ex was older than he was."

" I guess she is, but she really looks young and pretty. She said she couldn't stand Gerald because he always collected too much junk. She called him a 'pack rat.' "

"That can't be the reason for the divorce."

" She also said he used to drink a lot. "

"But he isn't an alcoholic anymore."

"She seemed happy without him. Maybe she has another man now, I don't know. His daughter looked happy too."

Nan turned the tap and let warm water fall into a plastic bucket, in which he was going to bathe his feet. Tonight he was too tired to take a shower, which he'd do tomorrow morning. He thought about Gerald's situation and realized that if his life were like that fellow's, he might have killed himself by now. In a way, Gerald was tough. Nan felt fortunate that he could hold his family together.

₈

THE MITCHELLS came back with their daughter, and the Wus went to see them the next morning. Dave and Janet lived in a mansion secluded away in a cul-de-sac. A private driveway crossed a wooden bridge and led to their front yard, where a thin pine tree was lying beside a marble birdbath, felled by the storm a few days before. A beige portico supported a balustered balcony at the main entrance to their Victorian house, which boasted a sloping turret and arched windows. Their home was one of the most expensive in Breezewood Park, a subdivision off Five Forks Road.

With delight the Mitchells received Pingping and Nan. Despite exhaustion, Janet and Dave were in high spirits and both seemed to have shrunk a little, probably withered by the heat in Nanjing. The floor of the nursery was strewn with stuffed animals, among which was a puppy, lying on its stomach, its long ears touching the rug. There was also a miniature toy elephant sitting on its ass with its trunk raised above its head, and beside it was a bassinet, maybe already too small for the baby. Hailee was lying in the crib, half wrapped in a red blanket. Now and again she prattled and put out a hand, which reminded Pingping of a tiny fresh bun. The baby was happy and comfortable, as if eager to talk to the grown-ups bending over her. In every way she was an ordinary Chinese infant, with slightly chafed cheeks and almond-shaped eyes, at the corners of which gathered a bit of crust. Despite her strong bone structure and energetic voice, Hailee didn't look healthy. Janet said that the child had suffered from pneumonia in the past spring, which was the actual reason their trip had been postponed, and that she was going to take her to the doctor early the next week.

Dave's face was flushed with happiness, his large forehead shinier than before. When he held the baby, Pingping thought his big hands might squash her, but he was careful and let Janet hold Hailee most of the time. He often followed his wife around when the baby was in her arms. The two couples returned to coffee in the living room. The Mitchells said their trip to China had been an eye-opener. The country wasn't as backward as they'd thought and most people seemed to live comfortably there, and everywhere there was construction under way. Among the American visitors there was a joke that said China 's national bird was the building crane. Obviously the country was developing rapidly. Janet asked Pingping and Nan why the Chinese in Nanjing looked different from those in American Chinatowns. In Nanjing and Shanghai they had seen a lot of handsome men and women. Girls were slim and had smooth skin, often dressed to the nines, and many young men were well built, some athletic. The Mitchells couldn't figure out why the Chinese here seemed like a different race. Pingping told them that if they'd gone to the countryside, they'd have met many people who bore more resemblance to the residents in Chinatowns. The truth was that nowadays young people in the big cities had better nutrition, so they grew taller than their parents.

"Don't Chinese kids eat nutritious food here?" asked Dave. "Still they look so different from the people in China."

"Maybe zeir genes have been Americanized," said Nan with a straight face.

"Then they should be bigger and taller," Dave went on.

They all laughed. Pingping explained that most people in Chinatown originally came from the southern coastal provinces, where people ate rice and didn't grow as tall as a result of the hot climate and the diet. Generally speaking, northerners are taller than southerners, but weren't Shanghai and Nanjing in the south, where people should be shorter? Hard as they tried, neither Nan nor Pingping could come up with a convincing explanation, though they believed the Mitchells' observation must be right. They too had noticed some physical differences between the Chinatown Chinese and those in mainland China.

The Mitchells showed them a lot of photos they'd taken on the trip, of temples, parks, English corners, the staff at the orphanage, banquets, and also of the girl baby they'd had to give up. Janet brought out another album, with plastic sleeves containing memorabilia for Hailee, among which, in addition to small artwork like colorful feather bookmarks and cut-paper creatures wrapped in onionskin, there were even the stubs of their plane tickets, taxi receipts, and a small map of Nanjing City. Pingping was so touched that she couldn't stop thinking what a lucky girl Hailee was, and her eyes filmed over with tears for a good minute.

Then she unwrapped the onionskin and scrutinized the set of paper cuttings, composed of six creatures-a hog, a buffalo, a chow chow, a deer, a magpie, and a rooster. Janet told the Wus, "We bought these from a peddler. Aren't they exquisite?"

"Not very good," said Pingping. "Look at this pig. His nose is too long, like elephant nose slashed half."

"Pingping can do better," Nan put in. "Her mozzer won prizes for paper cuttings."

"This is art." Janet sounded incredulous.

"Sure, that's why I married zer girl with zer deftest hands." Nan laughed, scratching his crown.

"Don't believe him," said Pingping.

Janet looked her in the eye. "Can you really make artwork like these?"

"Yes, I can cut these things."

"Then you should make some for me."

"It take a lotta time." Pingping smiled blithely.

As the conversation went on, the Mitchells brought up the topic of Hailee's biological parents, but husband and wife couldn't see eye to eye on this subject. Janet had asked the leaders of the orphanage to send her information on Hailee's biological parents, ideally some pictures as well; although they didn't promise to provide anything more, the head of the orphanage, a good-looking young man with a chipped tooth, had assured her that he'd try to gather the information for her.

"I don't think you will hear from zem," Nan said to Janet, and put down his coffee cup on the glass end table.

"What use to know her ex-parents?" asked Pingping. "You and Dave are her parents."

"That's right," Dave chimed in.

But Janet couldn't be persuaded. "I want to see what her biological parents look like and also to know the medical history of the family."

"They don't have medical history," said Pingping.

"What do you mean?" Janet looked puzzled, her eyes blinking.

"People in Chinese countryside don't write down their disease," Pingping explained.

"They don't have a medical record," added Nan.

"But certainly they know who died of what disease in the family," said Janet.

Nan answered, "You shouldn't bozzer to look for her biological parents. Even if you find zem, they might give you a lawt of trouble down zer road."

"That's what I think too," said Dave. "Hailee is our daughter, period. No matter what happens, she's ours and we'll take care of her. I don't have to know the medical history of her biological family."

"I don't mean we might give her up if anything bad happens," Janet said. "You'll have to kill me before you can take her away from me."

They kept talking about parenthood. To the Wus' surprise, the Mitchells asked them to be their daughter's godparents. Pingping said, "I don't go to church, how can I be godmother? I can be her stepmother."

The Mitchells were astonished, while Nan laughed. He told them, "Pingping means she can be a nominal mozzer. That's zer Chinese way and has nothing to do wiz religion. A child can have nominal parents in China."

Janet said, "I heard of nominal parents in Nanjing."

So Pingping agreed to be Hailee's nominal mother, but Nan was reluctant, saying he couldn't be a good father. Both Janet and Dave looked dismayed. Indeed, they had promised to be Taotao's legal guardians if his parents died. Why wouldn't Nan reciprocate the favor? Pingping explained, " Nan can never be good father. You see, Taotao and he is not close."

"That's because I didn't spend a lawt of time wiz him when he was little," said Nan.

Ignoring his words, Pingping went on, "After Taotao was born, he doesn't sleep with us for three month. He sleep in his father's office every night."

Nan kept silent, awash in shame. Pingping had often dredged that up and he'd defend himself by insisting that he'd have to attend seminars in the mornings and must sleep well at night. Now, in front of their friends, he felt it futile to argue with her. He told the Mitchells about the nominal fatherhood, "Let me think about zat, okay?"

"Sure, no rush," said Janet. "We thought it would be wonderful if Hailee has Chinese godparents or nominal parents."

"I'm not sure eef I can bring her up like my own child," admitted Nan, as if mumbling to himself.

"You wouldn't have to do anything for Hailee if Dave and I were both gone."

"All right, I will let you know my answer soon."

After the Wus left, Janet carried Hailee upstairs to the nursery, Dave following her. Dave liked Nan but sometimes found it hard to communicate with him. Undoubtedly Nan was a decent man, but he was too introverted and often as aloof as if he were in a kind of trance. It was impossible to talk with him about fishing, sports, dogs, cars-not to speak of women and girls. He'd call an SUV "a big jeep" and wouldn't listen carefully when Dave explained to him the rules of football, though he bragged that he used to play soccer in college, a halfback. By nature Nan was a bookish man who could have thrived in an academic environment, yet somehow the restaurant business suited him as well-he was an excellent cook and knew how to please customers. What Dave didn't like about him was that at times Nan acted like a spoilsport. Dave had once heard him telling Janet, Pingping, and Niyan that all soap operas were trash. That was really embarrassing.

" Nan 's such a flake," Dave said to Janet, who placed their baby in the crib.

"I was surprised too that he didn't want to have anything to do with Hailee."

"He doesn't like kids, I guess."

"Then why did he get married and start a family in the first place? Wasn't that unfair to Pingping and Taotao?"

"A guy like him thinks too much." Dave tucked in an edge of the baby's red blanket.

"I hope he'll change his mind about Hailee."

"It doesn't matter. We have lots of others willing to be her godfather."

"I'm glad Pingping agreed, though."

"Me too. She's always been more helpful than Nan."

₉

NAN truly felt he couldn't be a good nominal father. He wasn't sure if he'd be capable of assuming all the parental responsibilities if Dave and Janet really died. If that happened, by the Chinese custom, he'd be obligated to raise Hailee as his own. Different from Dave, he wasn't very fond of children and felt that in his heart he was unwilling to make the sacrifices needed for raising another child. His friend Dick Harrison often went to New York to see his godson, attending the boy's birthday parties, cello performances, soccer tournaments, bar mitzvah. Nan wouldn't want to be like Dick. He already had his hands full with Taotao.

Another problem bothering him was that if Pingping and he were supposed to raise Hailee in the event that her parents died, the Mitchells had never mentioned whether Nan and Pingping would inherit their property, whereas the Wus had entrusted them with everything they owned. Dave had a lot of family and relatives in the South, and perhaps he and Janet didn't intend to leave Hailee in the Wus' care, not wanting their property transferred to them. That must have been why Janet said, "You wouldn't have to do anything for Hailee if Dave and I were gone." Nan, making little distinction between a nominal parent and a legal guardian, gathered that Dave and Janet would want them to be only a lesser kind of nominal parents, probably because the Mitchells were rich, unwilling to share their property with them. Pingping hadn't considered the matter in this light and now could see Nan 's point. She wouldn't reproach him for refusing to be Hailee's nominal father right away. It was unfair for the Mitchells not to reciprocate the kind of absolute trust the Wus had placed in them. "Is it because we're yellow and they're white?" Pingping asked Nan.

"Their daughter is Asian too. I think it's more likely because they're rich and have more family, not loners like us."

Then husband and wife wondered if they should cancel the agreement on Taotao's guardianship they'd signed with the Mitchells. They decided not to, because they were uncertain who, beside Janet and Dave, could treat Taotao better if both of them died. They had best let the matter stay as it was. This wasn't equal, they both agreed, a little mortified, but they had no choice. To make the whole thing worse, Mr. Shang, the attorney who had prepared the papers for them, had left Chinatown and nobody knew his whereabouts. The Wus had thought of informing the Mitchells of Mr. Shang's disappearance, but now they changed their minds and preferred to put the matter on the back burner for the time being. They only hoped that nothing fatal would happen to them before their son reached eighteen.

At the restaurant two weeks later, when Nan told Janet that he couldn't be Hailee's nominal father, she said, "Don't worry. Hailee has three godfathers already." Janet had been so happy these days that her eyes couldn't stop smiling, making them less round than before.

The mention of the triple godfatherhood surprised the Wus. Pingping asked her friend, "How many godmothers she has?" "Four, yourself included." "My goodness, why so many?" "We want to share Hailee with friends."

A lull ensued. Both Pingping and Nan were perplexed, as the idea of sharing one's child with other people was utterly alien to them. This multiple godparenthood also indicated that the Mitchells hadn't been serious about the nominal parents they wanted the Wus to be, because, by definition, a nominal father or mother was almost like a child's other parents and at least should be treated as a family member. That's why a child mustn't have more than one nominal mother or father. Pingping was glad Nan had declined the Mitchells' request.

A young mestizo, a temporary roofer, came up to the counter, and Nan turned to take his order.

"I want to show you something," Pingping said to Janet.

"What?"

Pingping went behind the counter, pulled open a drawer, and took out a thin notebook. She came back to Janet and opened the first page, proudly displaying a red cut-paper duck. "I made this for you. It's my mother's type."

"My, this is gorgeous! Is it really for me?"

"Yes."

Janet touched the duck gently with her forefinger as if afraid to break it. Indeed, the duck was not only delicate and lifelike but also in motion, with its feathers ruffled by a breeze and with waves of water beneath it. More striking, it carried a pair of tiny ducklings under its wing. Anyone could see that the scissor-work in this piece was clean and elegant, much superior to that in the paper cuttings the Mitchells had. Janet enthused, "Look at the duck's eye! Even with exquisite lids. You're a true artist, Pingping."

"I wish I can make more. My sister can do better than me because my mother like to teach her more often. I'm oldest daughter, so I always work."

"Here's an idea, you should open a studio."

"For what?"

"Teaching people how to create art with paper and scissors."

"I don't like to teach, you know that. Before I leave China, I swear I will never be teacher again."

When Nan returned, he put a carton of roast pork rice into a plastic bag, placed it on the counter, and threw in a few napkins and a spork for the customer. Instead of rejoining his wife, he sat down and resumed looking through Consumer Reports while listening in on the ladies. After they talked awhile about the art of paper cuttings, Janet told Pingping, "I've enrolled in the Chinese class at Emory. God, the language is so hard to learn. No wonder you Chinese are so patient and industrious."

"Why you want to study it?"

"I want to teach my daughter. She should know her mother tongue."

"Why? She will grow up speak English like American."

"But Chinese is her heritage. We ought to help her keep it."

"I have idea. Why don't you hire Chinese babysitter? Hailee can learn the language with her easily?"

"No. According to the experience of some adoptive parents, that's the last thing you should do."

"Why? It's good way to learn Chinese, I'm sure."

"You know, the adoption of a child is actually mutual. Hailee has also adopted us, so Dave and I must also try to adjust. Dave wants to learn some Chinese too. From now on we'll celebrate the Moon Day and the Spring Festival."

Pingping didn't know how to respond to that. Later the Wus talked between themselves about the idea of "mutual adoption," and Nan believed that the Mitchells were right, though he doubted if they could ever speak Chinese, not to mention read and write the ideograms, which were almost impossible for non-native speakers to master.

₁₀

ON THE NIGHT of July Fourth the Gold Wok was closed. Some people in the neighborhood went downtown to watch fireworks in spite of the overcast sky. The Wus stayed home, glad to have a break. Nan was lying in bed reading Frost's poetry. He was moved by the wise ending of the poem "Provide, Provide" and was contemplating how truthful the phrase "boughten friendship" was. Suddenly Ping-ping burst in and threw a sheet of brittle paper on his face. He sat up with a start and asked, "What's this about?"

"About you and your sweetheart. Disgusting!" Her mouth twisted as she was speaking. Then she spun around, marched out, and slammed the door shut.

Nan glanced at the paper and recognized it was a letter from Beina. He had kept it in the unabridged Webster's and had almost forgotten it. What must have maddened Pingping was that the letter was dated on November 12 without a year, as if it had been written recently. In it Beina asked him to help her with the application fees at three American graduate schools. He had paid $140 for her but hadn't heard a word from her afterward.

He went into the living room, where his wife, lying on a sofa, had been singing in English repeatedly, "I love you. You love me. We're a happy family!" Though she covered her face with a towel that had just come out of the dryer, her voice was sharp and crazed. Nan stepped over and touched her upper arm, shaded by downy hair that he always liked to caress. He said, "Come now, don't be so paranoid. That's an old letter. I haven't heard from her for almost eight years."

She paused to stare at him. He kept on, "I really have no contact with her."

"But you tried to bring her to America!" Pingping raged, dropping the towel to the floor. "Who knows? You're a big liar. Maybe you're still thick with her like before. You always do things behind my back."

"Honestly, I'm not in touch with her and have no idea where she is."

"Leave me alone! You spent our sweat money on that heartless woman. If she were good to you, I wouldn't complain. You're just bewitched by that fox spirit."

"Like I said, this was before you came to America."

"I see, you really meant to bring her here. If I hadn't come and joined you, you would've lived with her instead."

"This is crazy. She just used me."

"But you like being used by her and always miss her. You're so cheap that the worse she treats you, the nicer you'll be to her."

Their son stepped into the living room and listened to them. Nan told Taotao to go away, but the boy wouldn't leave. Nan begged Ping-ping, "Don't be so nasty. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kept the letter."

"Why not? That's your receipt for the favor she owes you. She'll do something in return one of these days. But why didn't you hide it in a secret place? I don't care what you do on the sly as long as you don't let me know."

"Honestly, I'm not carrying on with her."

"Go away! I don't want to see your face."

Wordlessly Nan flounced toward the door while Pingping resumed singing behind him, "I love you. You love me. We're a happy family!… "

Nan wandered away from their house, alone with his numb heart. On occasion when he and Pingping quarreled, he'd get away awhile. His absence from home often enraged her more, but today she had chased him out. If only there were a place where he could stay a few days when his house got too raucous and too maddening. If only there were a friend to whom he could unburden himself. Dick Harrison lived fifteen miles away in Buckhead, but Nan felt Dick might be bored and look down on him if he went to him for consolation, which was the last thing he'd do. Every time after he and Pingping fought, he'd go either to the town library or to a bookstore for an hour, or just work off his anger in the kitchen of the Gold Wok. But this evening he had nowhere to go, so he walked along the lakeside alone. In the air hovered the effluvium of skunks, which had grown more intense as the summer deepened. Insects were shrieking explosively as if a large battle were in full swing, and time and again some waterfowl let out a sleepy cry from the dark woods of the other shore. Fortunately, the air was damp and few mosquitoes were flying about. In the southern sky a helicopter was ticking faintly, now buried in the clouds and now flickering like a drifting lantern.

Nan 's mind was teeming with thoughts. Deep inside he knew he was at fault. Pingping had lashed out at him not so much because of the money he had spent on Beina as because he had kept her letter as a kind of memento. Before they married, she had let him read all the love letters the naval officer, her former boyfriend, had written her, and then she burned them all in his presence. Oddly enough, he didn't have any letter from Beina at that time and couldn't convince his bride-to-be that there had been no correspondence between him and his former girlfriend since they had lived in the same city. To make her believe him, he showed her a photo of that woman, then dropped it into a stove. Now his wife must have thought he had been in touch with Beina all these years and that from the very beginning he hadn't leveled with her. To her, he was a double-faced man.

It took him almost an hour to walk around the lake, which should have taken at most half the time. Approaching his house, he wondered if he should enter it now. All the lights were off in there, and the windowpanes kept reflecting the slashes of the lightning in the north, where the sky was beginning to jump a little. It threatened rain, the oak leaves fluttering in the gathering wind, so he decided to go in.

As he stepped into the living room, a pair of arms wrapped around him and Pingping's hot face came against his cheek. She whispered, " Nan, forgive me. I can see the letter is old, the edges of the paper already yellowed. I was nasty just now. Can you…?" Her words were muffled as he pressed his lips on her mouth. In response, she began kissing him as hard as if she wanted to breathe with his lungs. He could feel her heart knocking against his half-numbed chest. He touched her breasts, which were warm and heaving. A knot of feeling was quickly unfolding in him, and his hand slipped behind her to unbutton her dress.

"Don't. Taotao can hear us," she said.

He stopped and went into their son's room. The boy was dozing on his bed, his feet rested on the floor and his face toward the ceiling. Nan covered Taotao's stomach with a shirt, closed the door, and returned to Pingping. "He's sleeping. I'll be careful," he said, and his hands resumed caressing her.

She slid down to the floor, pulling him down with her. Then they started peeling off each other's clothes.

Soon she began panting and trembling a little. A few tears welled out of her eyes. Instead of being rough with her, he licked her wet cheeks, and her tears tasted a bit tangy, reminding him of the bitter-melon soup they'd eaten two days before. He adjusted her body to make her lie comfortably so that he could stay in her for a long time.

"Don't cry," he murmured. "Just relax and imagine we're on our honeymoon."

At those words she broke into smothered sobs, which startled him. He regretted having said that because never had they honeymooned anywhere and his words must have caused her to feel sad about their life. He said, "Forgive me for saying that."

"Make me happy."

He nuzzled her neck and nibbled her ear.

₁₁

DESPITE their reconciliation, Pingping's furious response to that letter brought the memories of Beina back to Nan. For two days he couldn't stop thinking about his ex-girlfriend. He tried to sidetrack his mind, yet somehow it couldn't help but stray to that woman, the fountainhead of his misery. Every remembered detail-a peculiar frown of hers or an indolent gesture or a petulant pout-seemed pregnant with meanings he hadn't thought of before, and whenever he was unoccupied he'd attempt to decipher those hidden messages as if they had really been there all along but he had overlooked them. One incident still stung his heart whenever he thought of it. Three months after Beina declared she'd washed her hands of him, Nan had run into her one morning in a park, where she and her new boyfriend were walking, her hand on his arm. It was windy and the ground was frozen, cobblestones glazed with ice on the path leading to a white building beyond a grove of trees. Nan turned away, pretending he hadn't seen them. But suddenly he slipped and his legs buckled; he stretched out his hand and grabbed a birch sapling to break his fall. Yet his copy of Friedrich Engels's The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State dropped on the ground, and the author's bushy beard on the front page kept fluttering, ruffled by the wind. From behind came that woman's ringing laughter, silvery and icy, which pierced his heart. He picked up the book and dashed away, sending flocks of crows and pigeons into explosive flight. He ran, ran, and ran until he could hardly breathe, until his heart was about to burst.

He was unsure whether she had laughed out loud to make him mad so as to bring him back to her or just to wound him. He'd prefer to believe it was just another wile of hers.

A few weeks before, he had burned the notebook containing the poetry he had written for her. He declared to her face that he had gotten rid of all the silly poems. Yet there still remained one piece that he had never shown her, known only to himself. He wrapped it into the jacket of his copy of Book of Songs, an ancient poetry anthology compiled by Confucius. He brought the book to America and had kept the poem in it all these years.

One night after his wife and son had gone to bed, he took out the poem and read it again. It went:

The Last Lesson

He smiled after reading the poem, which he couldn't say he still liked and which was probably sappy and unfinished. But it was something that had once been close to his heart, and he wanted to keep it. He wrapped it back into the jacket of the book and put it on the shelf beside his desk.

Lying on his bed, again he wondered whether he had been too impatient with Beina. For example, after she hadn't shown up at the beach, he had simply stopped offering her swimming lessons. Then came another breakup of theirs. Although tough in appearance, he couldn't really disentangle himself from her. One day he even went to the cafeteria near her dorm, just to look at her. She caught sight of him but pretended not to have seen him and kept talking loudly with the man in front of her in the mess line. Now and again she tossed a glance at Nan. When she had bought her lunch, she turned around and headed in his direction, but her eyes looked away. As she was drawing near, he spun around and rushed out of the dining hall.

If he had spoken to her, probably he could have resumed teaching her how to swim the next summer. That would have given him an opportunity for more physical contact with her. Sure, she wouldn't change much, but he could take her willfulness and caprice with aplomb to show he had a large heart. Eventually he might have gained the upper hand with her. Yet he was bitter and too proud of himself. It was his silly self-pride that gradually cemented the barrier between them. If only he'd had thicker skin; if only he had played fast and loose with her; if only he could have made her suffer.

"What sickness, sickness…" With those words on his lips, he drifted off to sleep. The fluorescent tube remained on until daybreak.

₁₂

HEIDI MASEFIELD called the Gold Wok and asked Pingping whether she had heard from Livia recently. The girl had run away from home, and for days her mother had been looking for her. Shocked, Pingping wondered if Taotao was still in touch with the girl despite his agreeing to stop e-mailing her. She told Heidi that she'd talk to her son and find out whether Taotao knew Livia's whereabouts. "I will call you tonight, Heidi," she said.

"Please do. I don't know why she did this to me."

"I hope she is not with someone."

"How do you mean?"

"Did you tell police?"

"Not yet. She disappeared three days ago. I thought she might have gone to her grandparents' or a friend's home." "Maybe you should let police know."

"If I still haven't heard from her by this evening, I'll do that."

Pingping didn't ask her why Livia had run away. Neither would she express her fear that Livia might have fallen into a molester's hands. From the brief conversation she guessed that the girl and her mother had quarreled over a boy who could be a bad influence. Livia was just thirteen and seemed already entangled with a number of boys. On the phone Heidi had revealed that recently Livia had often "played hooky." Pingping had almost gasped at that, not knowing the exact meaning of the idiom, and assumed it had something to do with "hookers." She went into the kitchen to tell Nan about the phone call. The radio was on in there, sitting on a shelf, and Nan was listening to Car Talk. He enjoyed the show, especially the hacking laugh of Tom, the older of the Magliozzi brothers. Tom's wild laughter was contagious and often made Nan chuckle or giggle when he was cooking. It was boring in the kitchen, so every Saturday he'd listen to Car Talk from beginning to end. He liked the seemingly casual way Tom and Ray treated their callers-teasing them a little so that everyone could have a good laugh. He often wished he could crack up like Tom, who would ha-ha-ha with total abandon and from the depths of his gut. Pingping, who liked Tom's laughter too but felt he cackled way too much, came in and turned down the radio, saying, "Heidi just called. Livia ran away from home."

Nan 's face stiffened. "I hope it hasn't implicated our son."

"She's a bad girl and 'played hooky.' "

"I 'played hooky' when I was in elementary school."

"What did you say?" She widened her eyes at him.

"We just fooled around in the mountains, doing kids' stuff."

"That's not what you would do with 'hookers.' "

Nan broke into laughter.

Discomfited, she went on, "This is not funny!"

" 'Play hooky' means to skip school. It doesn't pertain to prostitution."

"Oh, I see." She laughed, then went on, "Still, Livia is a bad girl." She removed the lid from a pot, as the broth in it was about to bubble over.

That afternoon they talked to their son about Livia. The boy had no idea about her disappearance but knew she didn't get along with Heidi. Recently Livia had often complained to him about her mother, who had a boyfriend named Joe. She disliked that man and thought he was just "a smarty-pants." Both she and Nathan tried to dissuade their mother from seeing Joe, but Heidi was obsessed, because, unlike the other men she had dated, Joe would always pick up the tab when they went out. Together they had traveled to Paris and London. Joe was a banker, but in her e-mail to Taotao, Livia had called him "a little jerk." She also wrote: "I never thought my mom was such a cock-tease."

"What that mean?" Pingping asked her son.

Nan explained, "A woman who is too fond of men."

"Something like that," agreed the boy. "That's a gentle expression." "I don't believe you," Pingping said. "Livia is never gentle to her mother."

"I mean Dad's explanation."

"Anyway, she can't talk about her mother like that. She's bad girl and crazy."

That night Pingping phoned Heidi and told her that Livia was angry about her taking a boyfriend. Heidi said someone had seen Livia at the train station three days before. She was worried sick and had reported her disappearance to the police. She didn't mind whatever Livia called her, as long as the girl could return home safe and sane.

₁₃

TO THE Wus' astonishment, Livia showed up at the Gold Wok two days later. The girl was a foot taller than three years before, almost as tall as Pingping now. She wore a jeans skirt and high heels, her lips thickly rouged, nearly purple. Despite a few flecks of acne on her cheeks, she was handsome, as well as curvaceous. Her frizzy auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, giving her the look of a young woman. Both Pingping and Nan couldn't help but marvel at the girl they had never imagined Livia would grow into. Though unsettled by her sudden appearance, Pingping hugged her and said, "I told you you will grow tall."

Livia beamed. "You were the only person who knew me."

At those words Pingping's unease melted, and she called Taotao to the front to meet his friend. The boy came over, and the two of them hugged awkwardly, smiling without a word as if shy in the grown-ups' presence, as if he had known all along that she was coming.

Livia had no extra clothes with her and reeked of tobacco, which she said she'd caught from a man sitting close to her at the Greyhound station. "Anyways, don't think I smoke," she told Pingping. Then she caught sight of the God of Wealth sitting in the alcove and asked Taotao, "Who's this cross-eyed guy? Why offer him so many goodies?"

"He's the money god. We inherited him from the former owner of this place, and my parents don't want to disturb him." "Can he make your family rich?" "I've no frigging clue."

She patted the deity's porcelain belly and caressed his smiling face. "He's so pudgy, a model of obesity. Can I have an orange from this plate?" She lifted one of the fruits Pingping had placed at the deity's feet that morning.

"I'm not sure if you can now. They were was just offered to him."

Pingping said, "We have orange at home. Let's go." She wanted the girl to take a shower and change her clothes. Livia put the fruit back on the plate, and together she and Pingping went out, heading for Marsh Drive.

It was early August, and despite the clear sky, the air was so muggy that Pingping and Livia both opened their mouths to breathe as they walked. The roadside near an intersection was littered with napkins, a squat whiskey bottle, a few chicken nuggets and fried shrimp; the grass had been grooved by a truck's wheels, red mud exposed like festering wounds. Several photos were scattered around, all torn in half. "Whew, it's so humid!" Livia said to Pingping.

"This is Georgia, not Boston. It's not hottest time in summer yet."

"Hotter than this?"

"Of course, it can reach ninety-eight degree."

"God help me! How can human beings live here!"

Pingping didn't respond, but she was glad that her son didn't seem involved with the girl's running away, though she wasn't sure whether Livia had come to stay with them or mainly to see Taotao. In some sense she was pleased that the girl had shown up here, which meant that Livia must have felt somewhat attached to them, and now her mother could stop looking for her.

A snapping turtle appeared ahead of them, crossing the street. At the sight of the creature, Livia let out a cry and bounded over. "Wow, he's so cute!" She patted its dark shell and scared it to a halt, its head withdrawn from view. With her toes she overturned the turtle, whose underside was brownish and rubbery, semitranslucent. Ping-ping bent down, held one side of its shell, and put it back on its stomach. Still it wouldn't move, playing dead. Around them a pair of blue dragonflies hovered, their wings zinging and flickering with sunlight.

"There's lake nearby," Pingping told Livia, "so you can find a lotta bird and animal around here."

Livia tried to lift the turtle, but Pingping stopped her, saying it might snap at her hand if she wasn't careful. Yet the girl feared that a passing car might crush it if it stayed in the middle of the road. Pingping stretched out her foot and gently pushed the creature all the way across the street into the roadside grass. The turtle began crawling away, its beak stretched out again and its eyes clear like a bird's.

As soon as Pingping and Livia got into the house, the girl went to the bathroom for a shower. Pingping put a change of clothes on the lid of the toilet beside the bathtub while the girl stood in the cone of spraying water, shielded by the screen of ground glass. "You can wear my clothing, okay?" Pingping said.

"Thanks a million," said Livia. "Oh, it's so nice to take a warm shower again! I must stink like a skunk."

"How many days you didn't wash?"

"Four."

"Take your time and wash yourself thoroughly. There are orange in refrigerator. You can eat as many you want." "Sure, I'll have one."

Pingping looked at Livia behind the semitransparent screen, but she could see only the contour of that pubertal body. Apparently Livia had grown into a fine, healthy girl, though she still seemed flighty and fragile. Pingping went out to call Nan to discuss what to do about Livia.

At the Gold Wok, Taotao was sitting in a booth and eating a pork bun. His father asked him, "Is Livia your girlfriend?"

"Nah, she's just a friend. Why? Why are you grinning like that?" the boy growled.

"I jahst asked. What's the difference between a girlfriend and a friend?"

"You date a girl, then she's your girlfriend. I don't date Livia, so she's just my friend."

"That's good. She's not suitable for you."

"None of your business! How can you tell if she suits me or not?"

"She's too big, almost like a woman. Look at yourself. You have no hair on your tawp lip yet."

The phone rang and Nan picked it up. Pingping asked him how they should handle Livia. They were both worried that something might happen between their son and the girl, so they had to figure out a way to prevent the two youngsters from being alone together.

Having talked briefly, they decided to let both Taotao and Livia work in the restaurant and would pay them each five dollars an hour. Although business was slow at present, this was the only way to keep the girl in line.

The moment Pingping hung up, Nan called Heidi. Heidi dissolved into sobs at the news. She implored Nan and Pingping not to disturb her daughter, saying she would come and pick her up without delay. "Don't wahrry yourself sick, Heidi," said Nan. "We'll take good care of her. In fact, we're going to hire her to work for us."

"Do you think she'll do that?" came Heidi's concerned voice, broken up by a burst of static.

"Here is not like in Boston, where you have a lawt of places to visit. Livia cannot go anywhere. Taotao will work wiz her too. We hire them as a team so zat we can keep watch on them."

"That's a great idea, Nan. I can't thank you and Pingping enough."

Nan wondered if he should invite Heidi to stay with them, but unsure if their home was too shabby for her, he said nothing, knowing she'd surely make arrangements for her lodging anyway. In the back of his mind lingered a touch of discomfort from having the two juvenile workers at the Gold Wok, because their wages might consume a good part of the profit the business could fetch in a slow season like now. Besides, he'd have to pay Niyan as well and might even lose money this week. He hoped Heidi would arrive within two or three days.

₁₄

LIVIA and Taotao didn't mind being kept at the Gold Wok. Never paid five dollars an hour before, they followed Pingping's instructions with alacrity and worked zestfully, busing tables, taking plates and bowls out of the washer, peeling fruits, shelling nuts, picking vegetables. Livia did ask Nan what places in Atlanta were worth seeing; he told her that there was the Martin Luther King Center and also the World of Coca-Cola, where you could have a "Soda Safari" and partake of all kinds of soft drinks for free. The girl wasn't interested in either place, and said, "Coke just makes you fat. I quit drinking it long ago." To Nan's disquiet, Taotao mentioned Stone Mountain Park, saying a boat ride on the lake there could be fun, but Livia thought it was too hot to stay in the open air. Nan felt relieved that she didn't want to go sightseeing.

Compared with Livia, Taotao seemed much younger, like a little brother, so his parents weren't really worried about his being with the girl. Yet Nan noticed that with Livia around, Taotao had become more animated and talkative. The boy even tried to ingratiate himself with Livia, who he assumed had come all the way to see him. Nan was certain that if Taotao were a few years older and able to drive, he would have taken Livia to the movies, or Stone Mountain Park, or Lake Lanier, and wouldn't have been willing to work at the restaurant. Maybe it would do him good to have a girlfriend. At least that might teach him how to get along with girls and eventually make him relax when dating a woman. Nan always regretted that he had taken girls too seriously when he was young.

Livia reveled in the free food at the restaurant. She told the Wus that both her brother, Nathan, and she had missed Pingping's cooking. Now there were more choices here and everything was better made, no longer the homey fare Pingping used to cook. Livia kept asking Nan and Pingping, "Can I work here for the rest of the summer? I hate the fishy smell of the Cape."

"In fact, we can't hire you for long," said Nan. "You're underage, and I may get into trahble for exploiting children."

"Nobody will know, please!"

Pingping said, "We have to ask your mother."

As if she were a full-time employee here, Livia would mimic Niyan's manner and even asked the waitress how much she made. Niyan wouldn't tell her and just smiled, amused by the carefree girl. The truth was that there wasn't enough work for the youngsters to do. When idle, the two of them would settle in a booth, cracking spiced pumpkin seeds and roasted peanuts and talking about their schools and the kids they both knew. Now and again they would laugh, which drew attention to them.

Livia leaned forward in her seat and whispered to Taotao, "Do your parents get along?"

"Sure. They've worked very hard. My dad is a real chef now. You see, people like what he cooks."

"I mean, your parents don't fight anymore?"

"Very rarely."

"So Nan won't walk out on Pingping?"

"What makes you still think of that?" The boy stared at her and puckered his brows. "Never mind."

"C'mon, tell me why you said that."

"Are you sure your dad isn't seeing another woman?"

"You have a sick mind. He'll never abandon us."

"Then how come your dad and mom sleep in different rooms?"

"They always do."

"I don't get it."

"My dad reads and writes late at night. He doesn't want to disturb my mom."

"That's odd. So they don't go to bed together anymore?" "That's just your stupid way of thinking. Husband and wife must sleep in the same bed or the marriage is in trouble."

"My aunt stopped sharing her bed with Phil before they were divorced."

"But that doesn't apply to my parents!" the boy flared at her, his eyes sparking.

"There, there, don't be an asshole."

Indeed, Nan and Pingping hadn't slept in the same room since they moved to Marsh Drive. But contrary to Livia's assumption, they did make love from time to time, mostly when Nan sneaked into Pingping's bed early in the mornings, and the marital crisis Livia had intuited long ago had been eased considerably. The couple lived a stable life now, totally preoccupied with their business and their child. When Livia arrived, they had moved Taotao out of his room and let the girl use his bed. The boy stayed with his dad, sleeping on a futon next to the south-facing window. He didn't complain and had surrendered his room willingly, whereas Livia felt it bizarre that Nan would sleep in the same room with his son instead of staying with his wife. In fact, Pingping had asked Taotao to sleep in her master bedroom, but the boy wouldn't do that. Thanks to the girl's presence in the house, he adamantly insisted on staying with his father. Nan was pleased to have him in his room.

But at night Taotao and Livia would watch TV together in the living room and wouldn't go to bed until after midnight, whereas Nan and Pingping would turn in as soon as they got home. One night Nan saw the two children lounging on the sofa and watching a John Wayne movie. Livia kept yawning, while Taotao looked dreamy, his eyes glassy, somewhat clouded over. He didn't respond to his father's sudden appearance, as if he were dozing. His delicate fingers were holding something like a tiny cigarette. Nan looked closely-it wasn't a cigarette but a joint. He shouted, "Damn it, you're smoking marijuana!"

"Just a little bit."

"It's drugs!"

"Not that much different from tobacco."

The boy gave him a silly smile, his nose quivered a little, and he seemed too dazed to speak more. Nan snatched the joint from him and snuffed it out with his thumb and forefinger. He turned to Livia. "You gave him this, right? Damn you!"

"He-he asked for it. I told him he shouldn't smoke in the house, but he wouldn't listen."

"Still, you're a drug dealer. I'm going to call zer police."

"Please don't, Nan! I just happened to have a little bit of the weed on me."

"Give it to me." He stretched out his hand.

She pulled out of her pocket a white envelope, six inches by four in size and about a third full, and handed it to him. At this moment Pingping stepped in, wrapped in a nightgown, and said loudly to nobody in particular, "You can't smoke in here." She peered at Tao-tao, who looked dumb. "What's wrong with him?"

Nan explained and showed her the stump of the joint. She burst out at Livia, "How dare you teach him to eat drug! I'm going to call your mother now."

"Please, Pingping, don't be mad! My mom knows."

"What, she know you are drugger?"

"I'm not a druggie! I just got a bit of the weed from Neil, who's my boyfriend. My mom chased him out of our house when she discovered it."

Nan broke in, "Are you telling us zer truth?" "Swear to God, I am."

Pingping switched off the TV. "Taotao, how many times do you smoke that stuff?" "Only once."

"This is his first time," put in Livia. "Clearly you're a bad influence," Nan said.

The girl hung her head without another word. After making her and Taotao promise never to do drugs again and sending them to bed, the parents sat down and talked between themselves. Nan wondered if they should inform Heidi of Livia's drug problem, but Pingping believed Heidi already knew. For better or worse, the girl wouldn't lie. Probably she had fled home because she and her mother had fought over this matter. Nan and Pingping decided to keep a closer eye on the two children until Heidi arrived.

₁₅

HEIDI arrived two days later. She looked much older than she had three years before, with more wrinkles on her neck, and her grizzled bangs were almost white now. She had lost weight, though she was still broad in the beam. She hugged and kissed both Pingping and Nan and thanked them for accommodating Livia, who seemed happy to see her mother.

Nan had to cook in the kitchen while Heidi and Pingping were sitting at a table and conversing. Taotao was at the counter, working as the cashier, and Livia helped Niyan as the busgirl.

Heidi had checked in at the Hilton Hotel in downtown Atlanta, where she also had a bed for Livia, but she hadn't mentioned this to the girl, unsure if she'd be willing to stay with her. Heidi, having eaten brunch, took only a beef ravioli from the appetizer platter Nan had placed on the table. Now and then she'd steal a glance at her daughter, who paid no heed to her and was ogling a young man in a maroon silk shirt seated near the window with an Indian woman, whose face was so heavily made up that Pingping couldn't tell her age-probably under thirty.

"Livia's hopeless," Heidi whispered to Pingping. "She started to have trouble with boys last winter and didn't do well in school."

"She is good girl in heart," consoled Pingping.

"If only I could talk some sense into her."

Afraid their conversation might annoy Livia, who seemed to be eavesdropping, Pingping offered to give Heidi a tour of their house. Together they went out to the Wus' passenger van. Usually Nan kept the car's backseats down, using it as a freight vehicle as well, but after Livia arrived, Pingping vacuumed it and put all the seats up.

Heidi was amazed by the Wus' home, not only by the brick ranch but especially by the lake and the immense trees in the backyard. She turned to Pingping. "Now, tell me again, how many years have you been in the United States?"

" Nan is here nine year, me seven and half years."

"Wow, in less than a decade you already have your own business, a house, and two cars. I'm so happy for you, to see you doing so well."

"We just try to manage. Still have mortgage to pay."

"Is it a big one?"

"Not really, about forty thousand dollars left."

"Amazing. This can happen only in America. I'm very moved by the fact that you and Nan have actualized your American dream so quickly. I'm proud of this country."

Pingping smiled, a bit embarrassed by her effusion. Heidi waved at the old Romanian man sitting on the opposite shore and holding a fishing rod. That florid-faced man spoke no English and often went angling there alone, a small metal bucket sitting next to him. Once Pingping saw that he had caught six large fish, two bass and four bullheads. That had made her feel as if she'd been robbed, as if the lake weren't public property but her family's. The feeling probably arose because every morning when she looked out the window, she'd see fish skip out of the surface of the shimmering water.

When they turned to observe a gray egret that stood on one leg in the shallows, Pingping said to Heidi, "Livia said you have a boyfriend now."

Heidi nodded. "His name is Joe, a good guy, but Livia and Nathan are not pleased."

"They will grow up and leave home. You can't be old lady live in that big house by yourself."

"You're right. I have my life too."

They also talked about the public schools in Gwinnett County. Pingping said that in general, the language instruction here was quite good, with students reading and writing a great deal, but the science part was rather weak. She had heard several neighbors complain that the high school didn't offer science projects and had invested too much in sports because its football team had won the state championship several times. Last winter Taotao's English teacher had assigned each student to write a novel as homework, and Taotao had started the project but wouldn't show his parents what he had been writing. At first Pingping was amused by the assignment, but soon she suspected that the teacher might have cut corners in her job, knowing few of her students would finish the homework and hand it in for grading.

Their conversation turned to Nan. Pingping told Heidi that he was more like a family man now and worked hard to keep the Gold Wok afloat. "Are you happy here?" Heidi asked, and her clear hazel eyes looked straight at Pingping's smooth face.

"Yes, I'm happy as long as our family are together," she answered, scratching the welt of a mosquito bite on her forearm.

The egret took off from the lakeside, sailing away like a kite. Heidi had stepped on some geese droppings and kept scuffing her pumps on the grass. While shuffling, she gazed at Gerald's yard, in which things were more disordered than before. The trampoline was standing on its side like a makeshift wall, and the doghouse had collapsed, hardly recognizable. Against one of the junk cars was a pile of split firewood, having waited to be stacked since the past winter. Worst of all, the porch behind the house was half installed with gleaming glass, while a part of it remained a gaping hole, as if the house had been disemboweled. Gerald had been working at the thing on and off for more than a year, and it seemed he could never finish it.

"Who's living next door?" Heidi asked Pingping, pointing at the decaying house.

"Gerald Brown. He's electrician, a good guy. His wife left him."

"What a shame he doesn't take care of his property. The neighborhood should do something about it. If he doesn't put his home in order, he should be thrown out of the community. What an eyesore this mess is in the middle of such a nice area."

Pingping said nothing. A bad taste was seeping into her mouth, and she sighed, shaking her head to indicate that it was impossible to make Gerald mend his ways.

₁₆

WITHOUT much persuasion Livia left with her mother, and Ping-ping and Nan felt relieved. For days the Wus had been talking about their neighbor Gerald, who lately wouldn't come out of his house. He had been ill and unemployed since June, and his front yard was messier than before. Sometimes at night pickups would even park on his lawn for trysts and leave behind beer bottles, paper bags, Styro-foam boxes, and even used condoms on the grass, which hadn't been cut for three months. Whenever Nan or Pingping mowed their lawn, they would cut the part of Gerald's front yard adjacent to theirs, but that had made Gerald's lawn appear even more neglected.

Then one morning as the Wus were about to leave for work, three police cruisers pulled into Gerald's driveway and lawn. In his front yard gathered dozens of people from the neighborhood, to watch him being evicted. Mrs. Lodge, shaped like a potato, was among them and kept shaking her white head and saying, "Poor guy. What a shame."

Alan was also standing nearby. He sidled up to Nan and Pingping. With a grin that made his eyes crinkle, he said, "It's high time for him to go. Finally they're doing something."

Still bewildered, Nan asked, "Where's Gerald?"

"I've no idea. They couldn't find him."

"Why they're doing this?" Pingping said.

"Gerald hasn't paid his bills for a long time, so the bank was sick of him. Now they've come to repossess his property."

Dumbstruck, the Wus stared at the commotion, never having seen somebody being thrown out of his own home. From inside the house and its basement, a team of Mexican workers was dragging out Gerald's possessions and dropping them on the grass. There was all kinds of stuff, most of which he had taken from construction sites: scraps and rolls of rugs, broken chairs and tables, battered floor lamps, utensils coated with grease, stacks of plastic pails, two wheel-less barrows, hundreds of old magazines, boxes of electric wires, assorted pieces of lumber, several rusty jigsaws, a brand-new toilet with an oak lid, two used air conditioners. A beefy policeman with a pair of handcuffs on his hip kicked a floppy baby carriage and told the spectators, "Gerald Brown has twenty-four hours to remove his stuff. After that, you can pick up whatever you want."

From the backyard came the moaning of a tow truck. One of Gerald's junk cars emerged from the corner of the house and was hauled away. Nan noticed many eyes eagerly searching through Gerald's belongings scattered on the grass, and he was sure that before dark some people would come and scavenge through this mess. He was afraid they might damage his lawn, since some of Gerald's possessions had already overflowed onto the Wus' front yard. Unable to delay any longer, Nan and Pingping set off for work, talking about the eviction all the way.

Both of them were shaken by the scene, which reminded them that they hadn't paid off their mortgage yet. They still owed Mr. Wolf $38,000. If their business folded or if they fell ill, their home might be repossessed as well. By all means they must get rid of the mortgage as soon as possible.

Shubo stopped by at noon to get from Niyan the key to their safe-deposit box in the bank. Nowadays he worked at Grand Buddha as its barkeep and made decent wages. He and Nan got along well, so he often came in to chat or to give Nan a magazine or newspaper that carried something interesting. Nan was amazed by Shubo's manner, which bore no trace of his academic background. Who could imagine this fellow had earned a Ph.D. in sociology? In every way he looked like a menial worker, with a weather-beaten face and shadowy eyes. When the Wus told him about their neighbor's eviction, Shubo said, "Americans are tough. They live more naturally, close to animals."

Nan laughed and asked, "What do you mean by 'close to animals'? Animals don't have to work to make money and pay mortgages and car loans."

"I mean, if you're strong you survive here, if you're weak you die."

"It's the same everywhere."

"But lots of Americans won't grumble if bad luck strikes. They take it just as something that happens."

Nan wasn't certain if Shubo's observation was accurate, though he had noticed that in general Americans didn't complain much and seemed more able to endure frustrations and misfortunes.

Early that afternoon, when the busy hours were over, Nan went back to see the eviction again and also to check on his own property. He feared that the movers might have damaged the steel fence dividing his backyard from Gerald's. As he was approaching his home, suddenly hundreds of blackbirds took off from Gerald's front lawn, veering away, their wings whirring, and casting a drifting shadow on the ground. Nobody was at Gerald's, and his possessions were strewn around the house, which was sealed, a lockbox hanging on the door handle. Other than the two wheelless barrows, everything was still there. Nan walked around a little and saw that his backyard fence was intact. He entered Gerald's front porch. On a windowsill was propped open a magazine displaying a young couple copulating in doggie fashion. Nan swiped it to the ground; it was an old copy of Hustler. Most of its pages had been crinkled by rainwater. Gerald must have picked it up somewhere, maybe from a trash can. Nan thought about keeping it for a day or two, then changed his mind and kicked it to a pile of newspapers and posters.

As he stepped from the porch, to his surprise, he saw Gerald standing at the edge of his yard, holding a blue bicycle and gazing at the piles of his belongings with large, dazed eyes. The man looked as if he were afraid to step on the lawn, his feet on the pavement, his right hand holding the handlebar of the bike. He raised his head and caught sight of Nan. Nan had never seen Gerald so small and so frail, his eyes lackluster and his chin covered with grizzling bristles. Nan waved and walked toward him, wondering what consoling words he should say. But Gerald spun around, leaped on the bicycle, and trundled away, the chain clinking its guard and the rear-wheel fender. A gust of wind lifted his hair into a tuft and swelled the back of his gray shirt, making him resemble a large bird. Nan exhaled a long sigh.

₁₇

HAILEE was going to be one year old on September 16, and Janet had been busy preparing the birthday party, to which the Wus were invited. As the nominal mother Pingping had agreed to go, but Nan was reluctant. Six weeks ago he and his wife had attended a party at the Mitchells', and he had felt out of place among the crowd there. This time, afraid he might again feel left out, he decided to stay at the Gold Wok that evening. Besides, there was so much to do at the restaurant that either he or Pingping had to be around during the busy hours. So Pingping went to the Mitchells' alone with a picture book in Chinese as a present for the baby. When she arrived, most of the people hadn't shown up yet. Janet told Pingping that several of Hailee's godparents were coming too.

Dave was watching a baseball game with their daughter on his lap while Janet was busy in the kitchen, unwrapping cheese and pouring a jar of salsa into a soup bowl. A large woman holding a glass of seltzer came up to Pingping, introducing herself as Christine, and they entered into conversation. To Pingping's surprise, Christine had taught nursing at a medical school in Taiwan for a year and was reminiscing about her experiences there fondly. She said she missed the night snacks sold at the streetside eateries in Taipei. Pingping noticed that her left eye was bloodshot and a little puffy, so she asked her, "What happen to your eye?"

"Oh, I just had laser surgery." She touched the root of her plump nose with her fingertips as if she were still wearing glasses. There was a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks.

"So you can see better now."

"Absolutely. For the first time in my life I can see individual leaves on treetops with my naked eyes. I began to wear glasses at seven, and before that, my poor eyesight had always made me think a tree crown was just one block of green, not made of individual leaves. This is wonderful. I can drive without glasses on now."

The door chime rang and two couples stepped in. Christine knew the new arrivals and hurried to greet them. Janet, holding a plate of lox, stopped on her way to the dining room and asked Pingping to help her remove the spinach turnovers from the oven, because she had to go and welcome the guests. Gladly Pingping entered the kitchen, put on a mitt, and began taking out the hors d'oeuvres. After that, she resumed the work left by Janet, mashing avocado to make a dip for corn chips. Janet had cooked the buffet dinner already, and several platters were filled with meats and there were also two large bowls of salads, mixed organic greens. Presently Janet came back and together the two of them started carrying dinner to the oval table in the dining room.

The house was noisy now, ringing with chuckles and chitchat. After everything was ready, Pingping went to join the guests. A rotund man with a domed forehead was sitting alone on a love seat. He looked sleepy on account of his doughy face and thin eyes. Despite his fleshy lips and fair skin, he somehow reminded Pingping of Vladimir Lenin. She went up to him and said pleasantly, "Hi, how are you?"

The man raised his eyes, and his face suddenly tightened, his pupils shifting. He seemed flustered and didn't know how to respond. As Pingping wondered about what to say, a raccoon-faced woman came over with two glasses of red wine. She glared at the man, then asked Pingping sharply, "Can I help you?" The plunging neckline of her dress revealed her tanned cleavage.

Confused, Pingping stammered, "I-I'm Pingping. Janet and Dave are substitute parents for my son." In panic she forgot how to say "legal guardians" in English.

"You mean godparents?" the woman asked, handing a glass to the man.

"Something like that."

"Oh… I'm sorry. I'm Kim and he's my boyfriend, Charlie. So you adopted a baby too."

"No. My son already in middle school."

"I see. Charlie is Hailee's godfather and I'm her godmother."

Pingping thought of mentioning herself as a kind of godmother to the baby too, but refrained. She was amazed that the Mitchells had an unmarried couple as their daughter's godparents. Somehow she felt uncomfortable talking with Kim and Charlie, though she couldn't say why. She was sure Kim had been rude to her just now, so she said a few more words, then went away to play with Hailee.

She didn't enjoy Janet's cooking and ate just a piece of chicken breast and some cherry tomatoes, which she always liked. Yet she had a good time with the baby, who was chewing on a tiny rubber fish. She removed the teether from Hailee's mouth and tried to teach her how to say "Mommy" and "Daddy" in Mandarin, but the girl could speak only one syllable at a time. Hailee laughed a lot, her mouth drooling, and she held Pingping's thumb and dragged her along when she crawled around on the Persian rug. No guests stopped to talk with Pingping, probably assuming she was a nanny. Indeed, she looked as young as if she were in her late twenties.

When the large birthday cake was brought out, the house turned noisy again. As people began singing "Happy Birthday," Pingping carried Hailee to the living room while a few ladies, Susie among them, walked backward in front of the cake, chorusing and clapping their hands. Hailee was puzzled and wouldn't blow at the single candle, so Janet did that for her.

After nine o'clock, Nan arrived to pick up his wife, having left the restaurant for Niyan to close up. This time he mixed well with the Mitchells' guests, especially with a wiry man sporting a goatee, who was a librarian in Decatur and liked Chuang Tzu, the ancient Chinese philosopher. The man also knew Dick Harrison and had invited him to read in his library. Nan and he conversed over wine for a good while. Then Nan turned to talk with Christine about which Chinese cities she should visit, because she had applied for a teaching fellowship. If that came through, she'd love to go to China to teach.

Dave came, beaming, and placed his hand on Nan 's shoulder. "Did you try the Parmesan chicken I made?" he asked.

Nan hadn't but prevaricated, "I didn't know you can cook."

"I've just begun to learn to make a few things."

Christine chimed in, "He's a father now and should be a well-rounded family man." She laughed; so did Nan and Dave. In fact, the chicken was undercooked, half of it left in the two platters.

On their way back, Pingping was unhappy and wouldn't speak to Nan. She had often complained that Nan would leave her unaccompanied whenever they went to a party. This time he had done that again, not staying with her for a single minute. She shouldn't have gone to the Mitchells' today. She simply didn't like some of Hailee's godparents. Nan knew why his wife was fuming, so he remained quiet.

The next morning, Pingping dropped in on Janet at the jewelry store on her way to work. When Janet asked her if she had enjoyed the party the night before, Pingping said, "Not really. I like Christine, but to be honest, I don't like Kim and Charlie. They're rude to me, like afraida me or something."

Janet smiled quizzically. Pingping pressed on, "What? I'm never nasty to them."

"You know, Kim is vulnerable. Charlie has been her boyfriend for almost two years, and she cannot afford to lose him."

"Crazy. How can she think I want her boyfriend, that chubby Charlie? I have Nan, he's already more than I can handle. One more man will kill me."

Janet stowed away a box of assorted beads on the shelf, turned back, and said, "A few years ago Kim lost her boyfriend to a Japanese girl, so she must've feared you might do the same to her."

"She's sick."

"Come on, Pingping, you don't know how pretty you are. You can easily bewitch a lot of men. In fact, after you left yesterday, both Kim and Charlie said you and Nan were a lovely couple. Kim was really relieved to know you were married." Janet tittered, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. "Have you heard the expression 'yellow fever'?"

"Yes. A kinda disease?"

"Yeah, you're right. It also means that a lot of men are crazy about Asian women. Believe me, if you weren't married, you could have lots of dates."

"I don't want to date man, I want marriage. Nobody, only Nan want to marry me."

After Pingping left, Janet thought about their conversation, amused by her friend's innocence. She often talked with Dave about Ping-ping and Nan, knowing they'd had marital trouble all along. Dave would say Nan was a lucky man who didn't seem to know how to appreciate his luck. What amazed the Mitchells was that Nan and Pingping, in spite of their rocky marriage, seldom quarreled and wouldn't have extramarital affairs, as if both were content with the situation and would make no effort to improve it. Janet once urged Pingping to take Nan to a marriage counselor, but her friend refused, saying, "We don't need shrink." Probably thanks to the hard work at the restaurant, neither Pingping nor Nan had the time and energy to look for another lover. Also, their son kept their hands full and held them together.

More amazing was that the Wus always shared everything-they had the same bank accounts and paid all the bills together. Whatever they owned was under both names. In fact, Nan let Pingping handle all the money that went through the Gold Wok. By contrast, Janet and Dave each had personal bank accounts and each would contribute $3,000 a month to their joint account, from which all their household expenses, including the mortgage and dining out, were drawn. On holidays and birthdays, they'd buy each other presents paid out of the givers' own pockets. Janet noticed that when Ping-ping bought clothes or shoes for her family, she'd get the same kind for both Nan and Taotao, as if Nan were just another child of hers. In addition, the Wus never got presents from each other. Once, on Pingping's birthday, Janet asked her why, and her friend said, "I don't need gift from Nan. He spend my money if he buy anything. If I buy something for him, I spend his money."

Janet could see the logic of those words and was even more fascinated by their marital state, which seemed quite stable despite Ping-ping's denying that Nan loved her. Aren't passion and sex essential parts of the married life? Can a marriage last without those basic ingredients? Sometimes Janet raised those questions to herself and couldn't answer them, unable to imagine living with Dave without the desire to possess him and without deep love for him. She was sure that if Dave hadn't loved her, he could definitely have started an affair with another woman, and then their marriage would disintegrate. But in the Wus' case, Pingping and Nan seemed in harmony, and neither was really bothered by the absence of passion in their marriage. On the other hand, Pingping had admitted to Janet that she and Nan did make love from time to time, and that the longer they lived together, the more comfortable she felt with Nan in bed. Strange. Maybe they did love each other, but in their own peculiar way.

₁₈

NAN was peeling ginger while watching CNN. The TV, hung up in a corner behind the counter, had tiny refulgent spots on its screen. As the camera shifted to a street crowded with Asian faces, the anchor-woman with kohl-rimmed eyes said, "A Chinese dissident was arrested yesterday afternoon in Beijing. Mr. Bao Yuan, an exiled artist living in New York City, returned to China last week with the intention of publishing a literary magazine in his homeland. The charge is still unclear, but our CNN source reports that he's accused of the crime of sabotage…"

Nan was flabbergasted and stopped the peeler in his hand, his eyes fixed on the screen. He was eager to see Bao's face, but it never appeared. Instead, a scene that didn't directly bear on his apprehension emerged: a group of policemen frog-marched four handcuffed criminals toward a six-wheeled truck, whose back was canvased, as if they were heading for an execution ground.

At once Bao became the topic at the restaurant, though neither Pingping nor Niyan had ever met him. Nan told them how he had lived off Wendy and how she had called in her brother, who threw Bao out of her house. They all felt that Bao might have planned to get arrested for the sake of publicity; otherwise only a fool would have run the risk of sneaking back into China, where the police were awaiting him. Shubo stopped by on his way to work and left a copy of World Journal for Nan, saying Bao Yuan must have been out of his mind. He had to hurry to Grand Buddha and couldn't stay to join them in their conversation. Before Nan could tease him, saying Shubo's unshaven face brought to mind a koala today, his friend was already outside, striding away toward his car. Shubo's bald patch was more eye-catching when viewed from behind.

Nan opened the newspaper. The front page listed Bao's arrest as a major piece of news. On the third page was a long article about the incident, entitled " China 's New Human Rights Violation." Together with the writing was Bao's photo, in which he wore a sardonic grin as if trying hard to fight down a wild laugh. The article reported that he had taken with him a hundred copies of New Lines and intended to distribute them in China. He also wanted to explore the possibility of publishing the journal on the mainland, but before he could find a business partner, the police seized him and confiscated all the copies of the journal. Rumor had it that the authorities were going to put him on trial, which Nan doubted would ever take place, because it might raise more international uproar. He was sure Bao already had a green card, so it would be difficult for the government to imprison him like a regular Chinese citizen. More troublesome for the authorities, the dissident communities in major U.S. cities were already on the move, launching protests and staging condemnations. The article stated that a group of freedom activists in New York and Washington, D.C., had started collecting signatures and appealed to some U.S. congressmen to intervene on Bao's behalf.

Nan talked with Dick on the phone about Bao's trouble. Dick chuckled and said, "I've heard about it. He's famous now, and even my colleagues in Asian Studies have been talking about his bravery."

"What? Zey believe he's brave?" asked Nan.

"Sure, how could they think otherwise?"

"He might have meant to attract attention."

"Probably. Still, it takes a lot of guts to smuggle the journal into China personally, don't you think?"

"I guess all zer copies must have been back issues. Zer journal was dead long ago, you know zat."

"Maybe he meant to resurrect it in China."

"Well, I'm not sure."

"Jeez, Nan, you're too cynical. Come to think of it, the guy might do many years behind bars just because he believes in free speech and free press."

"It's not zat simple. I don't feel he'll become a prisoner of conscience."

"What makes you think that way?"

Nan couldn't explain it in detail on the phone, so he suggested they meet and talk about it. Dick was busy going through his copy-edited poetry manuscript, which he had to send back to his editor that weekend, so he couldn't come until the following Wednesday.

₁₉

WHEN Dick came to the Gold Wok on Wednesday afternoon, Bao had just been released and expelled from China. It was reported that some in the U.S. Congress had pressured the Chinese government for his release. Nan felt vindicated and said to his friend, "See, I told you he wouldn't be in jail for long."

"I don't get it. Why wouldn't they sentence him to a prison term?" Dick shook his chin, on which sweat was beading.

"Zat would make him more famous," said Nan.

"I guess now he has quite a bit of material for a book."

"He was writing a memoir when I worked for him in New York."

"I know. I saw some chapters of it in translation. Utterly atrocious. I told him to scrap the whole thing and start over."

"Maybe he has finished it." Nan wanted to say that perhaps Bao could easily find a publisher now, but he checked himself.

Out of his back pocket Dick pulled a mock cover of his new book. It was a piece of glossy paper, fourteen by ten inches and divided down the middle, the right half red and the left half white. Two large handwritten words stood in the center of the right-hand side, Unexpected Gifts, above which was the author's name, "Dick Harrison," and below which was a basket of fruit: apples, pears, tomatoes, grapes. The opposite half of the paper bore some words of praise for Dick's other books and a blurb on this volume by Sam Fisher, commending Dick for "his unerring ear." Nan disliked the cover on the whole, but was impressed by the fruits embodying the gifts.

"How do you like this cover?" Dick asked.

"To tell zer truth, I don't like zer crimson, too loud, like a cover of a revolutionary book."

"The color's fine. Red is eye-catching and will help it sell better."

Dick's reply surprised Nan, who had never thought that a poet would be so concerned about the sales of his book. In spite of his own hard effort to make money, when it came to poetry Nan couldn't imagine it as a commodity. He didn't know how to say this to his friend, so he pointed at the wicker basket on the cover, saying, "Zese fruits look nice."

"I hate it!" said Dick.

"How come?"

"It's so banal. Why can't they have a basket of more peculiar things, like squash, or pinecones, or trout, or pheasants? I quarreled with the publisher this morning before I went to class. Gosh, he's impossible."

"Are they going to change zis?"

"I don't know. The guy said it was too late. I told him it wasn't too late because they just started working on this book. We yelled at each other on the phone. He's a schmuck, but he's my publisher. Maybe I shouldn't have had the altercation with him."

"A mediocre cahver shouldn't be a big deal. People will judge zer book by its content."

"I want everything to be perfect."

Nan said no more. He felt Dick had overreacted to the cover, trite though it might be. Dick told Nan that the first run of this volume would be one thousand and that if all the copies were sold, the book would be a success. Nan was surprised by the small number and couldn't figure out why Dick was so eager to sell the book if he could hardly make any money from the sale-the publisher had agreed to pay him merely five percent of the list price for royalties. Dick mentioned that some journals might write about Unexpected Gifts. If the reviews were positive, they'd bolster the sale of the book.

"Yes, a favorable reception is more important," Nan said.

"That's true," agreed Dick. "Actually, I care more about the reviews than about the sale."

"Zat's a right attitude. Poetry isn't profitable anyhow." Despite saying that, Nan didn't fully understand Dick's reasons. Neither did he know that Dick could make money indirectly if the book was well received, because his school would give him a bigger raise and he'd get invited more often to read and conduct writing seminars at colleges and writers' conferences.

While the two friends chatted away, Pingping and Niyan were wrapping wontons in a corner. Dick was the only customer in the room, so Nan could sit with him for a while before business picked up.

₂₀

DICK had continued his weekend meditation with the Buddhist group at a temple north of Emory. He tried to persuade Nan to join him, saying it would alleviate stress and make him peaceful. Nan wondered why Dick needed peace of mind if he wanted to write poetry. Didn't the poet need strong creative impulses? Wasn't it true that the more explosive his emotions were, the more powerful his poems would be? Yet out of curiosity Nan went to see the Buddhist group one Sunday morning.

Their temple was just two long ranch houses in a large wooded yard. It had been built recently, and each house was surrounded by a veranda and had more than a dozen doors. The place reminded Nan of a motel, with a large paved parking lot in the front and a few flower beds grown with clematis, jasmine, and chrysanthemums. Except for some tiny paper lanterns hanging under the eaves, nothing seemed to differentiate this temple from a family-run motel. Dick took Nan to the second house, but on the way there, they came upon the group they meant to join. The disciples were all sitting cross-legged in the lotus position on the expanse of grass in between the two houses. About half of them were locals, but there were four Tibetan men among them, all with leathery but energetic faces. It was a splendid fall day, warm and dry without a single fly or midge in the air. The stalwart Nepalese master, wrapped in a mud-colored robe, waved at Dick and Nan and nodded smilingly. He had a wattled chin and prominent eyes, which broadened some when he smiled. He was sitting on a round cornhusk cushion, and beside him on the grass was a cassette player. In front of him sat a small brass pot containing sand, wherein were planted sticks of incense, sending up coils of smoke.

Dick and Nan sat down beside a young woman in a sweater vest and white slacks. Another few people arrived. When everyone was seated on a hempen hassock provided by the temple, the master began to speak about the day's exercise. His English was nasal and undulating, which made it hard for Nan to make out every word, but he could follow the drift of what the man was saying. He was talking about meditation as a way to cleanse one's mind. "In fact," the master said, "our minds are in a state of chaos before we make effort to improve them. An unimproved mind contains a mixture of many things, benign and destructive, base and noble, good and evil. We all know that a person has biological genes, but the truth is that one also has cultural genes and spiritual genes. All these inherited elements affect one's inner life…"

Nan marveled at the master's expanded notion of the genes. The man must be quite learned, he decided. Nan glanced at the white woman sitting beside him, her face smiling with innocence and joy. "In our exercise today," the master went on, "we shall try to empty our minds and hearts. Forget everything and try not to feel any emotion, neither happiness nor sadness. Above all, forget yourself and who you are. In this way we can sink deep into our origins, experience total emptiness, and achieve genuine tranquillity."

A pair of cymbals started tinkling, and then from the cassette player came the slow, gentle, aerial music played on the bamboo flute. The sound often subsided as if about to disappear, but it always swelled back. The master's voice turned inaudible, though his lips were still stirring. All the disciples, eyes shut, were breathing re-laxedly with their hands on their laps, their palms upward. Nan followed suit. But he closed his eyes only halfway and felt as if the master were levitating.

Unlike the others, Nan couldn't concentrate on his breathing. He opened his eyes and looked around. Every face seemed carefree and serene, and many of them wore a knowing, inward smile that looked a bit mysterious. Nan shut his eyes and tried to let himself be transported by the music; still he couldn't get close to the nirvana that seemed to be admitting the others. His thoughts couldn't help but wander. He wondered if he should continue to write in Chinese. He had mailed out three poems to a literary journal in Taiwan two months earlier, but so far he hadn't heard from it. As for the magazines in mainland China, he wouldn't send them his work anymore after an editor had once written back and asked him to delete several lines that were too sensitive politically. Nan hadn't responded to that, so the poem had never seen print. Maybe he should translate some of his poems into English and try his luck with small magazines in America. Probably the miserable feelings that often surged in him originated from the fact that he couldn't see any possibility of publishing in Chinese, let alone establishing himself as a poet here. It was as if in front of him stood a stone wall inviting him to bump his head against it. If only he had come to America ten years earlier! Then he could definitely have given up his mother tongue and blazed his trail in English…

Somehow two ancient lines cropped up in his mind: "No prairie fire can burn the grass up / When the spring breeze blows, it will again sprout." Yes, he must have the spirit of the wild grass. However thick and impenetrable the wall before him, he must grow beneath it and even on it, like the invincible grass with blades that eventually would dislodge the rocks. This was the American spirit Whitman eulogized, wasn't it? Yes, definitely. He must figure out his own way of making poetry, and-

"All right, you can wake up now," said the master in an even voice.

All the people opened their eyes, their faces softened and their voices smaller. The master told them, "May you hold the peace in you. See you next Sunday."

When all in the group were on their feet, Dick asked Nan, "Well, what do you think?"

"I can see it works on everyone except me."

Dick laughed and slapped his back. "Come, let me introduce you to a few friends."

Nan looked at his wristwatch and said, "I have to go now. It's already past eleven." The Gold Wok opened at twelve noon on Sundays, so he had to rush back.

Dick didn't insist but asked Nan to join him here the next Sunday. Nan said he'd try his best. Actually, he wasn't interested in meditation. He wouldn't join the group again.

₂₁

FINALLY Gerald's house was put up for auction, TO BE SOLD ON PREMISES as the sign on the lawn announced. For weeks people would stop by to look at the property, and when they saw the Wus in the front yard, they'd ask them about the neighborhood and the former owner of the home. Although empty of all the junk at last, the house looked more dilapidated than before. A pipe had burst in the basement and flooded a good part of the floor; the unfinished glassed-in porch looked like a boat cut in half, displaying a dark, gaping cabin. Worse yet, two of the windows had smashed panes now- someone had thrown rocks into the house. The neighbors all looked forward to the auction, which had been postponed once already.

One Saturday morning Alan said to Nan about the house, "I won't buy it unless it's under ten grand."

"Eef you can fix it and sell it to someone, you can make a lawt of money," said Nan.

"But the renovation will cost a fortune. Too many things have to be replaced." Alan slapped his thigh as if an insect had gotten into his pant leg, and his other hand was holding a tiny spade with which he dug dandelions out of his lawn.

Nan went on, "My friend Shubo may be interested in buying it, but he doesn't know how to repair a house."

"Who's your friend?"

"You know zer waitress at my restaurant?"

"Yes, she's a pretty gal." Alan swatted a mosquito that had landed on his sinewy neck.

"Shubo is her hahsband. Zey live outside Lawrenceville and want to move closer."

"I think I met the guy. Well, tell him he's not welcome." Alan's tone was rather casual, but he seemed to speak accidentally on purpose.

Nan was taken aback. "Why?"

"I like you and Pingping, to be frank, and you're good neighbors. But there're too many Chinese in this neighborhood already. We need diversity, don't we?"

"But we are probably zee only Chinese here."

"How about the big family across the lake?"

"Oh, they're Vietnamese." Nan remembered seeing seven or eight cars parked in the yard of that brick raised ranch the other day. He had also noticed two young Asian couples in this area, but he was sure they weren't Chinese.

Alan continued, "Mrs. Lodge, Fred, Terry, and Nate, we all talked about this. We don't want this subdivision to become a Chinatown."

Nan was scandalized but didn't know how to argue with him. He managed to say, "All right, I will tell Shubo what you said. You want to keep Chinese as minority here, but don't you sink our neighborhood should be a melting pot?"

"But some people are not meltable."

"Maybe the pot is not big enough. Make it a cauldron, zen everybody can melt in it, yourself included."

They both laughed. Alan said, "To be honest, the worst-case scenario is that a slumlord will buy this house, fix it up, and rent it out. That'll cause a lot of trouble to our neighborhood."

"See, my friend will be a mahch better choice."

"Sure, compared with a slumlord."

The thought flashed through Nan's mind that some people in the neighborhood had taken his family to be interlopers all along and probably would continue to do so whether they were naturalized or not. When he passed Alan's words on to Shubo, his friend was so outraged that his eyes turned rhomboidal and his face nearly purple. The opposition from the neighborhood made Shubo all the more determined to bid for the house, even though he was uncertain how to renovate it and even though originally he and Niyan had worried that the property might depreciate in value because it was right next to the Wus'. He didn't know anyone in the house-repairing business and would have to use a contractor, who might rip him off. Worse still, it would be impossible for him to keep a close watch on the renovation because he'd have to bartend at Grand Buddha six days a week. All the same, his anger didn't abate, and the more he thought about Alan's words, the more resolved he was-he and his wife must enter into the neighborhood like a thorn stuck in those racists' flesh.

By now Niyan had befriended Janet, so Janet volunteered to accompany her and Shubo to the sale on November 6, which they all expected would be something like a Dutch auction. Shubo had drawn a certified check for $15,000 from the bank, as the flyer had indicated would be needed in order to seal the bargain on the spot. Nan urged the couple to be cool-headed about this matter, advising that they should treat it just as a regular business deal. After exchanging views, everybody agreed that Shubo and Niyan should pay no more than $40,000 for the house. If it went higher than that, they should forget it.

To everybody's amazement, the auction was such a quiet affair that few people in the neighborhood even noticed it. Seven real estate brokers showed up and Shubo was the only nonprofessional bidder among them. There was no chair for anyone to sit on, and the auctioneer, a tall man from Southtrust Bank, didn't shout out any offer from the bidders; neither did anyone hold a paddle with a number printed on it. Besides owing a mortgage of $65,000, Gerald hadn't paid real estate tax and several other bills for years. By any means the bank, the town, the utility companies, and even a used-car dealer had to recover the arrears, so the starting price for the property was $81,000. Shubo, Niyan, and Janet were dumbfounded, just standing there and watching others outbid one another. There were no raised voices, as if they all were at a coffee break from a meeting, making small talk. A man with a marzipan face was sucking a large Havana cigar the whole time and just flashed his fingers at the auctioneer without speaking. Two of the brokers quit at $90,000, but they showed no emotion, as if tired of the whole thing.

The final bid was $93,000, and the house went to a young Hispanic real estate broker. Shubo and Niyan returned to the Gold Wok, still in disbelief. Niyan told the Wus the purchasing price. Everybody was surprised and couldn't imagine that after paying that amount someone could still make a profit from the house. Shubo kept shaking his round chin and said, "Without money you can't fight racism in America."

"Just as you have to be rich enough to love your country," added Nan.

Like their neighbors, the Wus also feared that the buyer of the house might be a slumlord; otherwise, who would pay that kind of price for the property? Maybe the broker meant to convert it into a two-family house and rent it out so that he could make a larger profit. The more people talked about this, the more agitated they became.

To the Wus' bewilderment, for a whole winter the buyer left the house untouched. Though the season was less convenient for construction work, people in Georgia don't stop building or repairing homes in the wintertime. The new owner, who was said to intend to fix up the house and then sell it, seemed to have forgotten the property and didn't even come and look at it again until the next spring.

In mid-March the renovation finally started. A group of Mexican workers washed the walls and the roof, painted the doors and windows, and spread grass seeds into the loosened dirt of the lawn. They dismantled the glass porch and built a new deck. A real mailbox was erected at the end of the front yard. Despite the bright appearance of the renovated house, Nan knew that all the inner damages were covered up. The roof should have been replaced, as well as some of the pipes inside. Within two weeks, a sign was planted in the yard with a sheaf of flyers sheathed in a plastic pocket attached to the board. The asking price was $123,000, which pleased Nan and Pingping in a way, because it indicated that their own home must have appreciated considerably in value. Still, they couldn't help wondering who would pay that kind of money for such a house.

Their anxiety proved unjustified. A month later, Judith Goodman, a middle-aged single woman, bought it. She was an optician at the Gwinnett Mall and liked the quiet neighborhood and the lake. Then her mother, previously living down in St. Petersburg, Florida, moved in with her. Many people in the subdivision were relieved to see the Goodmans here. Again, Mrs. Lodge placed a vase of flowers, tulips this time, on their welcome mat the day after they moved in.