"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.
"Why can't you take the bus?" his mother said.
"I don't want to."
"How come?"
"I don't like the bus anymore."
His parents knew there must be some reason he wouldn't say, so they demanded that he be forthcoming about it. Pressed time and again, Taotao confessed that he was afraid of two boys, Sean and Matt, who would twist his ears and pull his nose whenever they saw him on the school bus.
"Why do they do that?" asked his father.
"They're just assholes and won't stop bugging others."
"Then why not ignore them?"
"No," his mother interrupted. "He can't let others bully him like that."
"Mom, they do it to everyone." "Then why aren't the others scared?" "I'm new here."
"That's not an excuse. You have taken that bus for more than a year. I won't drive you, and you must help yourself."
The boy looked crushed, his mouth compressed and his eyes brimming with tears. His father told him, "You have to fight back by yourself."
His mother went on, "Do you want me to go with you on the bus tomorrow? I'll question the squirts and find out why they keep picking on you."