"You're kidding me-why?"
"Zer climate is very similah to their home provinces, and houses are not expensive."
"I can see that. To be honest, this is the first time in my life that I can afford a condo. There are lots of restaurants and shops in Atlanta. Quite a convenient place to live."
"Have you been to a farmers' market yet? I never saw so many fruits and vegetables before."
"No, I haven't."
"Go to zer Dekalb Farmers' Market. It's absolutely fantastic."
"Oh, I love this shrimp. Thank you, Mrs. Wu." He waved at Ping-ping, who was clipping coupons at the counter.
She replied, "I'm glad you like it. Just call me Pingping. I didn't change last name after we marry."
"Sure. Thank you, Pingping," Dick said loudly.
They all laughed, Tammie included, and then the two friends resumed their conversation. They talked about Bao Yuan, the painter-poet and editor of the journal New Lines, which was defunct now. Dick said Bao was thinking of leaving New York, though his paintings had begun to sell. Actually, he had just held a one-man show in a gallery in Soho, which turned out quite successful and sold many pieces of his work. Still, Bao felt he couldn't continue living in New York and had been looking for a job elsewhere. Nan knew that would be difficult, since that fellow spoke little English and would make no effort to learn it. It was a shame that he had lived with Wendy for almost a year and still couldn't speak a correct sentence. As people believed, the best way to learn English was to do it in bed with a native speaker, but Bao had simply wasted the opportunity. If he refused to change, there would be no way he could survive in America. "He's too smart," Nan told Dick.
"How do you mean?"
"He had good opportunities, but his mind couldn't focus. He depends too mahch on cleverness and doesn't work hard."
Dick agreed. Then, as if remembering something, he said, "Sam told me you were still writing poetry. How's it going?"
"Oh, I haven't done mahch lately, but I've kept lawts of notes. I'm still trying to figure out how to use zem."
"Do you write in Chinese or English?"
"I haven't written a lawt since I came here, to be honest."
"I remember Sam once urged you to write in English. You should try. Your English is excellent."
"I don't think I can." "Why can't you?"
"I don't know anybody who has written significant poetry in an adawpted language."
"That's not true. How about Charles Simic? He came to this country in his teens and became a marvelous poet."
"Who?"
"Charles Simic."
"I have never heard of him, but I'm going to look at his work."
" Nan, you should be bolder. Fuck the bunk that says you can't write poetry in your stepmother tongue. If nobody can, then you'd better try harder. That will put you in a unique position, to make yourself original. To tell the truth, I was quite amazed that your English has improved so much. You speak more fluently than before."
"Sanks for your advice. By zer way, what's 'bunk'?"
Dick gave a belly laugh. "You're so earnest. It means 'nonsense,' the abridged form of 'bunkum.' "
"I see," Nan said, not knowing that word either. His lips stirred as if he were tasting his own words and reluctant to let them out.
After three o'clock some customers came in, so Dick took his leave. He and Nan exchanged phone numbers, and he promised to come again.
8
DICK'S presence changed Nan 's life somewhat. Every week the poet would come to eat at the Gold Wok at least once. Nan always did his best in cooking whatever he ordered, and together they'd talk about news, poetry, books, movies, and Buddhism. Nan didn't know much about the religion, while Dick had been studying a bilingual volume of the Lotus Sutra. He would bring along the book and ask Nan about the meanings of some Chinese phrases that he suspected might have been corrupted through the translation, though he respected the group of translators named Silent Tongues.
Nan was happy whenever Dick came. He admired his carefree manner, his devotion to poetry, and his seriousness about meditation. But Nan wouldn't try to write in English as Dick had advised, mainly because he was exhausted by his daily work, unable to gather his strength for such an endeavor. He was still unnerved by the lingering impact of the recession, which had lately forced another shop at the plaza out of business. The past summer his restaurant had made only $1,000 a month, and the Wus had had to withdraw money from their savings account to pay bills. Tammie had made much less than before too and complained a lot. Nan encouraged her to look for a more lucrative job elsewhere if she wanted, but she said things would come around, and she stayed. For that he was grateful. Although more people came to eat after the summer, the business wasn't as good as it should have been. Pingping had asked Janet to let her make more necklaces and earrings, but the jewelry store was faltering too and couldn't stock more inventory at the moment. What disconcerted the Wus most was that if someday they couldn't come up with $1,000 for Mr. Wolfe at the end of a month, they might lose their home. The fear made them more determined to pay off the mortgage as early as possible. After that, even if their restaurant didn't make enough, they could still have their home intact and manage to tide themselves over. Nan regretted having mailed Mr. Wolfe $1,500 a month for half a year. From now on he would send him exactly $1,000 each month and deposit more money in the bank. Once they saved enough cash, they would clear the mortgage with a lump sum. This way he could always have some savings for a rainy day.
Whenever Dick was around, Tammie was noticeably excited. She seemed very fond of him. Usually she was reticent, but with Dick she'd become voluble, explaining to him how the dishes were made and plying him with questions about his family, his students, and his writing. Dick would take the opportunity to learn some Chinese words from her. He'd laugh casually even though he was aware of her glad eyes. Seeing the change in Tammie, Pingping would shake her head, believing the waitress was too easily smitten with that man. But she didn't know how to broach the subject with Tammie, who sometimes still avoided speaking to her.
After Dick left, Tammie would ask Nan questions about that red-faced man. How did they meet? Where did his folks live? Had he had a lot of friends in New York? Had he always been so funny and upbeat? Wasn't it amazing that he had already become a big professor and published two books even though he couldn't be older than thirty-five?
Nan felt for Tammie, knowing what it was like when you fell for somebody, which often made you silly and act out of character. Love could be an addiction, if not a sickness. Nan and Pingping talked between themselves about Tammie's infatuation and knew the poor woman might get hurt. So one day Nan told her bluntly, "Actually Dick is gay."
"You mean, he doesn't like women?" She looked at him in disbelief, her large eyes glittering.
"Yes. I saw him wiz some men in New York. Most of his friends were gay."
"That's awful!"
"I'm afraid he may catch diseases if he isn't careful wiz too many boyfriends."
"He looks very healthy, though."
"Yes, I was just sinking aloud. He knows how to protect himself. Don't make too much of what I said."
For the rest of the day Tammie looked absentminded and remained quiet. Nan felt sorry for her, but it was better to stop her from daydreaming before she got hurt. Afterward, when Dick showed up, Tammie was no longer as vivacious as before.
9
"MOM, can you drive me to school tomorrow morning?" asked Taotao one afternoon the moment he stepped into the restaurant, carrying his heavy book bag on his back. Today he should have gotten off at Marsh Drive and stayed home, doing his homework.