(By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.)
I wondered what his work had been in his homeland and wished his English or my French were better so that we could speak about something other than the weather and how he was feeling.
Aunt Zell had started putting the puppy out on the grass inside a portable fence after his morning feed so he could start his training, and the youngest Ou child had discovered him. He scooped up Brinkley/Donaldson/ MacNeil/Lehrer (Aunt Zell thought he'd cocked his head with interest when the news came on last night) and spoke to the others in lilting phrases that I took to be a Cambodian dialect.
There were broad grins and smiling replies as he hefted the puppy in an oddly familiar gesture I couldn't quite place. A stray breeze rippled my gown and one of the boys spotted the motion. He hissed a quick warning to the young one, who even more quickly returned Cronkite to his pen. The others paused and gave me half-bows of formal greeting.
"Bon jour," I called down. "C'est un bel matin, non?"
"Good morning," replied Mr. Ou. "Is beauty day, yes. Very hot soon."
Another round of smiles and nods and I went inside to shower and dress. I admired the courage and tenacity that had allowed Mr. Ou to survive and now, even begin to flourish in a modest way. Lu told me that she'd signed up enough home owners for his services that by next spring he would probably be able to afford a riding mower for bigger yards. Dobbs can be suspicious of strangers and foreigners and I was proud they'd let the Ou family settle in without any friction. Cultural clashes can sometimes—
"Oh, dear Lordy!" exclaimed the pragmatist, who often puts two and two together a step ahead of my conscious mind.
"Now don't go jumping to conclusions," the preacher warned nervously.
"Who's jumping? And why are you wringing your hands if you haven't already jumped, too?"
I found Lu Bingham's private number in my address book and when she answered sleepily on the fourth ring, I said, "I have to be in court in exactly one hour and twenty-two minutes. If you want to keep Mr. Ou from having a cross burned on his front doorstep, you better get here in fifteen."
I skipped my shower, threw on some clothes and hurried downstairs.
"Is something wrong?" asked Aunt Zell when I came barreling through the kitchen.
"No, no. Lu Bingham's coming over to help me talk to Mr. Ou. There's a question about wages," I lied, knowing the mention of money would keep her inside.
Aunt Zell would never ask how much I was paying for her anniversary gift, but she did say, "Whatever you're giving him, dear, he's worth every penny. He and those boys do such a good job." * * *
One thing about working in a crisis center, it does seem to give quick reflexes. Lu was still in bed when I called, yet she made it in ten minutes. I guess she was expecting, from the tone of my voice, to find an angry mob storming Aunt Zell's backyard. Instead, there was only Mr. Ou and his boys, toiling peacefully in the early morning sun.
"I ran two red lights," she began indignantly. "What's the big emergency?"
"I need you to translate, okay?"
"If you'd paid more attention in Mrs. Jefferson's French class instead of flirting with Howard Med—"
"You gonna lecture or listen?" I interrupted.
We walked across the narrow arched bridge to the vine-shaded gazebo and Lu asked Mr. Ou to join us.
He came, but he looked apprehensive; and when I gestured for him to sit, he did so gingerly.
"Tell him my aunt has been very pleased with his work," I said.
I waited till she had translated and he had warily acknowledged the compliment, then said, "Ask if he understands that I'm a judge, an officer of the court and bound by the laws of this state?"
She started to protest, took one look at my face and asked him.
Mr. Ou nodded and looked even more apprehensive, if that were possible.
"I've read that dogs are considered great delicacies in your country. Even cats."
Lu gave me an outraged glare. "Of all the stereotyped, xenophobic, racist—"
I glared right back. "Why does a recognition of basic cultural differences always get labeled racism? If I were a racist, I'd have someone from the sheriff's department over going through the bones in his compost heap. I called you, not a reporter from the Ledger, didn't I? So quit hanging insulting labels on me and ask him, okay?"
"Oh, God!" said Lu and hastily translated.
Mr. Ou listened, but said nothing. He didn't have to. Not after I'd seen that youngest boy heft Brokaw the way I've seen Aunt Zell heft a supermarket chicken or pork roast a thousand times.
"In this country, cats and dogs are pets. People here would be horrified and outraged if they knew you had cooked one." I tried not to let myself think of Aunt Zell's Goldie. Of Miss Sallie's Queenie. Or, heaven forbid, Alice Castleberry's registered bull terrier.
"There is no law in North Carolina that actually forbids the eating of these animals," I continued, "but a person who took another's pet could certainly be prosecuted for theft, perhaps even for cruelty to animals."
As Lu translated, Mr. Ou suddenly began to speak and even with my limited French, I understood a protest when I heard one.
Lu confirmed it. "He swears there was no cruelty. Death was painless and swift."
"Then he admits it."
"Not exactly. It's all couched in the conditional voice."
"Well, put this in the imperative: it must stop. No more. If I hear of another single dog or cat disappearing, he and his family will be charged. Even if there's no evidence, just the accusation will make his neighbors shun them, get his children taunted in school, certainly make people quit hiring him. Some Americans get more upset over abused cats than abused children. His very life might even be threatened if certain men were to hear of it.
"These the same men who eat squirrels and possums and shoot a Bambi for their freezer every fall?" Lu asked sardonically.
"Don't try to justify or rationalize, just tell him what I said, and put in as many cultural taboos as you can."
There was a long silence when she finished, then Mr. Ou spoke quietly for several minutes.
"He's very sorry if he's done broken our laws and offended you. It's been very difficult feeding his sons. Boys need meat to grow strong, he says, and there was not enough money to buy it. Now, thanks to his lawn service business, he no longer has to forage for meat, but can buy it at a grocery store. He promises it will not happen again. He's very grateful to you for not bringing him to court, and to show his gratitude, he'd like to do this yard for free from now on."
"That sounds suspiciously like a bribe," I said. "Tell him, thanks but no thanks. If he wants to atone, let him put in a yard at the WomenAid house." * * *
As we walked back to the house, Aunt Zell came out to ask Lu to tell Mr. Ou how really pleased she was with his work and to express her hope that he was finding America a good place to live. She had a small box of cookies for the youngest child. "Animal crackers," she beamed.
I thought of the child's sharp little teeth biting off the head of a tiger and decided to skip breakfast and go directly to court.
CHAPTER 21
FRAMING AROUND OPENINGS
"Where a floor opening occurs (such as a stairway opening), the parts of the common joists which would extend across if there were no opening must be cut away."