An ultrasound at the Norcross Medical Center showed it was a healthy baby, though it was too early to find out its sex. Somehow both Nan and Pingping had no doubt that it was a girl. From a tiny black box like a camera a nurse let the Wus hear the baby's heartbeat, which raced rapidly like a bird flapping its wings. "Very strong," Nan said, beaming as thin creases grooved the skin under his eyes.
Stacy, the nurse, told them, "Actually, the pulse is rather shallow, but it will get stronger as the baby grows." Her chubby fingers kept pressing Pingping's belly, which hadn't bulged out yet. The baby was just two months old.
Despite paying $236 for the checkup, Nan was elated. During the following days he and Pingping began thinking what name they should give the baby. Whatever they came up with, Taotao would say it sounded silly. Ignoring the boy's grouchiness, Pingping and Nan settled on "May," which is phonetically identical with the Chinese characters beauty and plum blossoms. Indeed, such a name was commonplace, but the plainness might make the child easy to raise. Back in China, especially in the countryside, parents often purposely gave babies nondescript names, even calling them Doggy or Donkey or Dolly, or just Kiddo or Lassie, so that ghosts might not notice and snatch them away.
Gradually Taotao cooled down, willing to accept a sister as a new member of their family, though his mother was still anxious. Sometimes Pingping was an insomniac at night, tossing in bed and thinking about all the unpredictable things. What if the baby turns out to be retarded or has a congenital illness? I'm already forty-anything like that can happen. What if I die in childbirth? That'll destroy Tao-tao and devastate Nan -our family will collapse. I won't worry about Nan, who can get along without me. If I'm dead, he might find another woman soon and might even go back to China to look for Beina. Although he says he's too tired to love anyone, I know him better than he knows himself-he could forget me and marry another woman soon after I'm gone. But I wouldn't begrudge him that. He deserves to go on with his life, to form a new family. What I cannot set my mind at ease about is that Taotao will be motherless. Nan loves him, I'm sure, but he doesn't know how to take care of a child. Not to mention the baby, who will need nursing and looking after. Nan can be a good provider but can't be a true family man. He was born to be a writer and scholar, though he can be neither here. That's what makes him angry all the time. If only my parents were here! They could help me figure things out and make arrangements. With them around I wouldn't mind having two more babies. I love children; so does Nan. We should've had a large family. That would make him happy, and with a girl baby he'll definitely try to be a good, indulgent father. Well, I'm not so sure. It seems like he can't live without making himself and others suffer. Still, I love him. He's a good man for all his shortcomings, and he can't wait to see the new baby. Never is he worried about the difficulties I might get into. Always absentminded like that. You may be able to remove a mountain, but you can't change a man's nature. Stop thinking so many negative thoughts. Get some sleep. Tomorrow is Monday, and there'll be a lot of work for the buffet.
In the morning Pingping's face would be sickly and bloated. She also retched a lot, convulsing with the dry heaves. There were many things her stomach wouldn't digest, such as cheese, tofu, spinach, fish, chicken. Yet she got hungry so frequently that she ate seven or eight meals a day. "This baby is a monster," she kept saying.
Nan tried to calm her down. He wouldn't let her do any heavy work in the restaurant. All of a sudden his life seemed to have a purpose, a center, and he felt invigorated. He was grateful for a second opportunity, because he hadn't helped his wife much in raising Tao-tao. This time he was determined to be a better father.
7
NAN wrote four short poems in English. He was pleased with them and wondered if he should show them to Dick. He decided not to for the time being; instead, he mailed them to Sam Fisher and Edward Neary, since both poets had told him to send them his work. He hoped they would comment on his poems and ideally help him publish one or two.
A few months earlier Dick had suggested that Nan write a memoir. Nan was bemused by the idea and shook his head, saying he had no such intention and couldn't imagine being a memoirist. To him, such a book should be written by someone who had experienced something extraordinary. But Dick said, "Your life can be a very interesting subject according to what I've heard." Still, Nan didn't want to attempt that. Besides, a book of prose would demand a lot of the author-a long-lasting concentration and total immersion in the writing. It meant he'd have to live as a full-time writer for a year or two, a luxury he couldn't afford. He'd better focus on poetry, which mainly needed short bursts of energy.
Now that the poems had been mailed out, he expected to hear from the two poets any day. But three weeks passed without a word from them. He was puzzled, wondering if he should write to them again, but his good sense got the better of him, so he waited patiently.
One afternoon Dick arrived at the Gold Wok with a sullen face and puffy eyes. He looked a few years older than the cheerful Dick that Nan had last seen. Nan drew up a chair upholstered with red vinyl and sat down at the table across from his friend. "What's eating you?" he asked, using the expression he had just learned from Shubo.
Dick uttered a long sigh. "My publisher is eating me. Oh, help!" His face contorted as he suddenly began sobbing. He stretched out his hand and held Nan 's forearm as though intending to stand up but unable to. Surprised, Nan handed him a paper napkin, which Dick took and used to blow his nose.
"They want you to sell more books?" asked Nan a moment later.
"No. They refused to publish Unexpected Gifts."
"Why? I wondered what happened to zer book. It should have come out long ago."
"First they postponed its publication, then they decided not to do it at all."
"How come?"
"They said my last book hadn't reached the sales standard. That's just an excuse. I know some books they published have done much worse than mine. They just wanted to get rid of me, probably because I quarreled with them about that cover."
"Don't you have a contract?"
"I signed the contract, but they've never sent me the cosigned copy. So the contract isn't valid."
"Zat's awful!" Despite saying that, Nan didn't fully understand why his friend was so heartbroken. He asked again, "Didn't they already cawpyedit it?"
"Yes, but the publisher changed his mind. I'm through, Nan. I'll never recover from this blow."
"Don't be so pessimistic. You can always look for anozzer publisher, can't you?"
"You don't get it, Nan. Once you've lost your publisher, you're ruined."
"How so?"
"You belong to a different category of poets now and few publishers will take your work seriously. It's like you've become homeless." "There's no room for negotiation?" "With whom?" "Zer publisher."
"No. The series editor was a sorry poet whose book I once reviewed negatively, because he'd lifted lines from others' poems. This made the whole thing worse. I knew that snot might stab me in the back, but I didn't expect he and the publisher would connive to destroy me. This got me right here." He pointed at his heart. By now he had stopped sobbing, though his eyes were still misty.