A Paper Son (15 page)

Beyond the carelessness of the men and the occasional sloppiness of the maids there are few other sources for money, so the three coins she has selected for Rose today represent much work and diligence, but it is all worth it when they stop at the first stall they find and buy sticky pork buns. It has been weeks, months, since she has had the pleasure of buying a snack for her children. It was the dockside
congee
stand in Canton, she remembers, when they first landed, before Bing died, before Mae and China ensnared them.

They wander through town, eating and talking happily, looking through shop windows and exploring back alleys. They discover a small courtyard with a pond in it and they linger there, flicking pebbles into the water and watching the ducks paddle around. When they are hungry again they venture back into the alleys and find a restaurant where they order bowls of noodles in broth with bean curd and vegetables. They are the only women in the restaurant.

Occasionally Li-Yu's mind flits back to the house and the questions she will face when she comes back that evening with Henry and Rose. Why were you gone all day? What about Rose's chores? What about yours? Isn't she hungry? What kind of mother are you, who would keep your daughter from food, all day long? They will feign concern for Rose to make her look like a bad mother. We weren't hungry, Li-Yu will say.

Rose happily slurps the dregs of her soup from the side of her spoon. Li-Yu leans forward and places a hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Rosie,” she says, her voice low enough so that nobody around them will hear her. Rose leans forward to receive the secret. Li-Yu points to the table. “Nobody can know about this,” she says, in English. She hasn't spoken English to either of her children in weeks. “Not even Henry.”

Rose nods, her eyes wide.

“I wasn't supposed to have those coins,” Li-Yu says, switching back to Chinese. “But I wanted them to be for us. For you. Do you understand?”

Rose looks unsure, but she nods. Li-Yu hopes she won't ask any more questions. Rose has always taken an interest in the affairs of the adult world, and back in California she had liked to involve herself in conversations about auto repairs, the cost of groceries, local politics.

“Where did they come from?” Rose asks, true to form.

“I found them,” Li-Yu says, wincing, knowing immediately that Rose won't believe her. “Here and there.” She stands abruptly, hoping that will be the end of it.

“Why do they have to be a secret then?” Rose says as she stands, her voice rising above a whisper.

Li-Yu heads for the door with Rose right on her heels. Once they are outside, Li-Yu says, “Because Mae would have wanted me to give them to her. For the food and the clothes and things they buy for you and for Henry.”

“They don't buy me anything,” Rose says.

“That's why I wanted it to be for you,” Li-Yu says. “Now that's enough questions. We have an afternoon to spend together, and we have some money left.”

They wander into the maze of a shopping district where busy food stands and little businesses spill out of the front rooms of the small houses that form the sides of narrow, twisting alleys. They wander along slowly, enjoying the smells, examining the wares. Li-Yu sees many things she knows Rose would like, and she waits for her to ask for something, but she never does. It is as if her daughter has come to understand the worthlessness of everything here to them.

Just before it is time for them to collect Henry, a final shop catches Li-Yu's eye, not so much because of its goods but because of its proprietor. He stands still as a statue among tables heaped with miscellany, staring into the alleyway. There is nobody in his shop. Nailed to his door frame is a small sign, reading, “Things bought and sold.” Li-Yu cannot help but slow down, and as she drifts past his shop she runs her eye over his wares. She realizes he is watching her. There is the slightest change in his face—a hint of a smile, maybe, or just the twitch of an eye. It is there and then just as quickly it is gone.

“Let's go in here,” she says to Rose. The man smiles at her and bows as they enter. There are irregular patches of white hair on his cheeks and chin. Li-Yu nods to him. He clasps his hands behind his back and looks away, the smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. Li-Yu scans the piles on his tables. There are teapots and dishes, bamboo chopsticks, shoes, knives, and threshers for rice, most of them worn, some of them at the ends of their serviceable lives.

“Are you looking for something?” the man asks her, after a time.

Li-Yu shakes her head.

“Nothing you want? Nothing you need?”

Li-Yu shakes her head again and moves on to the next table, which contains a picked-over stock of gloves and used rubber boots. The clerk watches her.

“I buy things, too,” he says. “Maybe you have some things to sell. I pay good prices.” He nods and Li-Yu thinks she sees a wink.

Li-Yu thanks him and pulls Rose back out into the alleyways. On her way back to the main road she memorizes the route, taking special care to pick out markers from amid the noise of the crowded alleys—a faded red awning, a noodle stand. They collect Henry and hurry back to Xinhui.

“What's next month?” I asked my class the next morning.

“February,” they said, in loose unison.

“Right,” I said. “So when will it be Feb-you-ary?”

They looked around at one another, sensing the danger.

“Next month,” answered a handful of the less wary.

“No,” I said. “It will never, ever be Feb-you-ary, because there is no such thing. Next month will be . . .” Here I pointed at my mouth and drew out the syllables. “Feb-ru-ary. Say it.”

They said it. “Now I'm going to come around and listen to each and every one of you,” I said. “Pull out your homework and look it over while you await your turn. And if I hear any ‘yous' in the middle of your Februarys, there will be no recess.”

“We're not going to have recess anyway,” Eliza said, pointing at the rain.

“Right,” I said. “So let's not make it any worse.”

She ignored me. “So is today Wed-nes-day?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “Today is Wendz-day.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because yesterday was Tuesday,” I said.

When I was halfway through my pronunciation inspection I heard the squeak and tromp of little rain boots in the hallway and I looked up to see Annabel leading her class toward the cafeteria. I hurried to the doorway. She gave her students a signal and they all stopped in their tracks, turned to their partners, and began playing pat-a-cake. Annabel came over to my side.

“We got flooded out again,” she whispered. “We're on our way back to our class away from class.”

“Bummer,” I said. “We're still on for Saturday, right?”

“We are,” she said.

“Good,” I said, “I'll come get you.”

“I live in the Outer Sunset,” she said. “I'll come to you.”

“We're in this neighborhood all week,” I said. “I could use a change of scenery. I'll come out there. We can grab something on Ocean Avenue, maybe.”

“Maybe we could meet there, then.”

“It's not a big deal. It will probably be raining, and there's no need for us to be looking for two parking places on a Saturday night. I'm happy to come by and pick you up.”

“I'd rather we just met there,” she said. “Please.” She gave me an unconvincing smile and I knew I'd strayed off some course whose delineations I couldn't see.

“Okay, sure.” I said. “Whatever you want to do.”

“Thanks,” she said. She put a hand on my arm, guiding me back on course. “I'm looking forward to it.” She returned to her spot at the head of her class, issued another wordless command, and her students followed her down the hall.

I returned to my February quiz; Kevin was next on my route. “Hey, Mr. Long,” he said.

“Hey, Kevin,” I said.

“It's been sixteen days in a row now. Do you think it will rain until Feb-ru-ary?”

“I hope not,” I said. “Good job.”

***

The next night I headed for the airport to collect my sister. Because of the weather her plane was two hours late, and because I failed to check her flight's status before I left home I had to spend the time on a bench just outside the passenger-only zone, watching people emerge from their respective gates, converge in the hallway, and stream toward baggage claim. Flights arrived from Phoenix, from Austin, from Spokane, from Tulsa and Boise and Denver, and then finally from JFK.

She came down the hallway in a long white coat, her cheeks flushed, her black hair tied up in a bun, her gait a little unsteady. Her skin was paler than I'd seen it in a long time, drained of color by a northeastern winter.

“Perry!” she said. She threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. I returned her tight hug. She smelled like a gin and tonic, and her face was cold.

“Look at you,” she said, letting go, grinning, looking me up and down. “You're all freakin' skinny.” She shifted a heavy purse from one shoulder to the other. “So I have a ton of crap to pick up. I hope you have room in your car.” She made for the escalator that led down to the baggage claim carousels. Once aboard she pulled a little mirror out of her purse and checked herself. “Jesus, planes make a girl look like hell,” she said. She snapped her head up. “What's with this crazy-ass weather, anyway?” I wasn't sure if I should answer or if it was a rhetorical question.

“Yeah, it's been crazy,” I said, when she didn't veer immediately to another topic. “So how long will you be here?”

“Forever,” she said. She snapped her mirror shut and dropped it back into her purse. “That's how long.” She fished out a stick of gum and her cell phone.

“Seriously? You're back for good?” She was jabbing at buttons on her phone and though I think she intended to drop her gum wrapper into her purse, she missed and it landed on my step. I reached down and picked it up just as the escalator deposited us on the floor. The baggage claim area was cavernous, but most of the carousels lay still and empty in darkened sections of the room, like metal dragons asleep in their caves. Lucy shut her phone and squinted up at a monitor. “Number twelve,” she read. She dropped her phone back into her bag. “Sorry,” she said. “What did you ask me?”

“You're going to move back?”

She held her hands out, as if presenting herself. “Not going to,” she said. “Am. Right now.” She pointed at carousel number twelve. “See all those pink suitcases? Those are mine. And that's not even half of it.” She glanced around at the faces in the room, as if searching for something. “I mean, what do I have to go back for? Greg is an asshole. My boss was an asshole. That whole city is an asshole.” She shrugged. “I never belonged out there at all. Don't get me wrong; it's an amazing city. For like two weeks. And then you just want it all to shut the fuck up.” She grabbed a stray luggage cart.

“I think you have to pay for those,” I said. “That must belong to somebody.”

“Help me out with these suitcases, would you?”

In all we packed six sizeable suitcases onto the luggage cart. It was a precarious stack, and I had to get low and lean hard into it to get the wheels moving. “You mentioned your boss,” I said. “So what happened there?”

“That's a hell of a story, Perry. What did I tell you on the phone?”

“You said you got canned.”

She was walking quickly through the corridor that led to the parking garage.

It was all I could do to keep up with her. There were a number of other travelers walking our direction, including a family of four with two little girls. I imagined one of them straying from her path and getting flattened by our cart.

“Did I tell you why I got canned?” Lucy asked.

“No.”

“Stealing. I got canned for stealing.”

Instantly I thought of Li-Yu, and the sock full of coins hidden beneath her bed. “You're kidding me,” I said. “Why did they think you were stealing?” I asked.

She laughed. “Because I was robbing those fuckers blind.”

We arrived at the elevator. “Fourth floor,” I said. “You're kidding. Money?”

She hit the button. “Hell no,” she said. “I told you about that plastic surgeon I was working for, right? Total douchebag. He kept trying to talk me into a titty job. Said he'd do it for free. And his practice was making ridiculous money, and meanwhile, there was this little clinic around the corner from our place in Washington Heights that always had about two dozen busted-up Dominicans lined up out the door.”

We boarded the elevator and began to rise.

“So I started stealing supplies from the office. Everything I could carry. And I gave it all to the clinic by my house. I got away with it for about two months, and then one day my boss calls me in and says ‘I know what you're doing,' and I say, ‘okay,' and he says, ‘so I should probably fire you, and then prosecute you.' And then he gives me this look that makes my skin crawl, Perry, it makes my skin crawl, and you know what comes next, right?”

The door slid open and I leaned into the cart again.

“He looks at me with this sicko grin and says, ‘Maybe we can work something out, though,' and I don't even want to hear him say it, so I tell him I wouldn't touch his dick or any other part of him even if it would keep me off death row and I walked right out, but get this, Perry, I swiped a stethoscope right off his desk, right in front of his stupid face. Like he even needed it—he just kept it around for an excuse to touch his clients' tits a few extra times. So he tries to make a grab for it but I snatch it and jam out of his office. He catches up with me in reception and starts saying something about calling the police but I screamed at him, screamed at him, Perry, in front of everybody else in the office, that if he did I would hit him with the biggest sexual harassment suit he'd ever heard of, and how would his titty-building career work out for him once all of Manhattan knew he was a perv. And then I swiped the tape dispenser off the reception desk and got the hell out of there.”