“It’s not as if you’re in pork production,” Tom said.
“What does that have to do with it?”
“What difference does it make to you if I don’t eat meat? As long as I keep eating honey.”
He sniggered. Amiably? No. A bit cheekily.
“Had I known that going to college would make you like this I never would’ve sent you.” The words grew as I talked, but I was unable to hold them inside all the same.
“Of course the boy has to go to school,” Emma said.
Of course, that was apparently as clear as the first night of frost. Everyone had to go to school.
“I got all the education I needed out there,” I said and waved my hand vaguely, trying to indicate the east where the field with some of the hives lay, but discovered too late that I was waving to the west.
Tom couldn’t even be bothered to reply.
“Thank you.” He cleared his plate quickly and turned towards Emma. “I’ll take care of the rest, too. Just go ahead and sit down.”
She smiled at him. Nobody said anything to me. They both avoided me: she crept out to the living room with the newspaper, and he put on an apron, he actually did that, and started scrubbing the pots.
My tongue had dried up. I took a sip of water, but it didn’t help much.
They walked around me. I was the elephant in the room. Except that I wasn’t an elephant, I was a mammoth. An extinct species.
Chapter 4
TAO
If I have three grains of rice, and you have two, and we put them together, how many does that make?”
I took two grains of rice from my plate and placed them on Wei-Wen’s plate, which was already empty.
The faces of the children were still with me: the tall girl tilting her face towards the sun and the boy whose mouth stretched open in an unwitting yawn. They were so tiny. And Wei-Wen was so big all of a sudden. He would soon be just as old as they were. In other parts of the country there were schools for a select few. Those who would become leaders, those who would assume responsibility. And who were spared having to work out there. If only he excelled enough, stood out as one of the best at a young age…
“Why are there three for you and only two for me?” Wei-Wen looked down at the grains of rice and pouted.
“I have two, then, and you have three. There.” I switched the grains of rice on our plates. “How many does that make when we put them together?”
Wei-Wen placed his whole stubby fist on the plate, moved it around as if he were finger painting.
“I want more ketchup.”
“Oh, Wei-Wen.” I firmly removed his hand, it was sticky after the meal. “It’s may I have more ketchup.” I sighed, pointed at the rice grains once more. “Two for me. And three for you. Then we can count. One, two, three, four, five.”
Wei-Wen wiped one hand across his face, leaving behind a streak of ketchup on his cheek. Then he reached for the bottle. “May I have more ketchup?”
I should have started earlier. This one hour was all we had together every day. But I often squandered it, spending the time on eating and cozy pastimes. He should have made more progress by now.
“Five grains of rice,” I said. “Five grains of rice. Right?”
He gave up trying to get hold of the bottle and threw himself back into his chair with such force that the chair legs hit against the floor. He often acted like this, with large, dramatic movements. He’d been robust ever since he was born. And content. He’d started walking late, not having the necessary restlessness inside of him. He was content to remain seated on his bum, smiling at everyone who talked to him. And there were many who wanted to, because Wei-Wen was the kind of baby who smiled easily.
I took the bottle containing the red substitute and poured some out onto his plate. Maybe he would cooperate now. “There. Help yourself.”
“Yeah! Ketchup!”
I took two more dried grains of rice from the bowl on the table.
“Look here. Now we have two more. How many does that make?”
But Wei-Wen was busy eating. There was ketchup all around his mouth now.
“Wei-Wen? How many does that make?”
He emptied his plate again, looked at it a bit and lifted it up. He started making rumbling sounds, as if it were an old-fashioned airplane. He loved old vehicles. Was obsessed with helicopters, cars, buses, could crawl around on the floor for hours on end and create roads, airports, landscapes for transport vehicles.
“Wei-Wen, please.” I swiftly took the plate away from him and put it down, out of his reach. Then I continued pointing at the cold, dried grains of rice.
“Look here. Five plus two. How many does that make, then?”
My voice trembled slightly. I covered it up with a smile, which Wei-Wen didn’t notice, because he was reaching for the plate.
“I want it! I want the airplane! It’s mine!”
Kuan cleared his throat. He was in the sitting room having a cup of tea with his legs on the table and he stared at me over his teacup, demonstratively relaxed.
I ignored both of them and started to count. “One, two, three, four, five, six, and… seven!” I smiled at Wei-Wen, as if there were something extraordinary about these seven grains of rice. “Altogether that makes seven. Right? Do you see? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.”
Just this, if he understood this, I’d let up, then he could play. Baby steps, every day.
“I want it!”
He reached out his chubby hand as far as he could.
“Little one, it has to stay over there,” my voice rose. “We’re going to count now, right?”
Kuan let out an audible sigh, stood up and came in to join us. He laid a hand on my shoulder. “It’s eight o’clock.”
I twisted out of his grasp. “It won’t hurt him to stay up another fifteen minutes,” I said and looked up at him.
“Tao…”
“He can manage fifteen minutes.” I continued staring at him.
He looked perplexed. “But why?”
I looked away, couldn’t bring myself to explain, to tell him about the children. I knew what he’d say anyway. They haven’t become younger. They’re just as little as they’ve always been. They were eight years old last year, too. That’s how it is. That’s how it has been for many years. And if he continued, words would be spoken that were so big that they didn’t belong to him: We must be happy that we live here. It could have been worse. We could have lived in Beijing. Or Europe. We must make the best of it. Live in the here and now. Make the best of every second. Phrases, unlike those he otherwise used, like something he had read, but spoken with conviction. He really believed these words.
Kuan stroked Wei-Wen’s bristly hair. “I’d like to play with him,” he said softly and gently.
Wei-Wen squirmed in his seat, a high chair he was really too big for, but where he sat securely buckled in and couldn’t run away from my home school. He reached for the plate. “I want it, it’s mine!”
Kuan didn’t look at me, just said in the same controlled tone of voice: “You can’t have it, but you know what, a toothbrush can also be an airplane.” Then he lifted up Wei-Wen and walked towards the bathroom.
“Kuan… But…”
He heaved Wei-Wen easily from one arm to the other as he walked towards the bathroom, pretending not to have heard me, continuing to chat with Wei-Wen. He carried his son as if he weighed nothing. Personally, I felt that the child’s body was already growing heavy.
I remained seated. Wanted to say something, to protest, but the words didn’t come. He was right. Wei-Wen was exhausted. It was late. He should be put to bed before he became overtired and refused to sleep. Then we were in for it, I knew that. Then he could keep it up until long after our own bedtime. First foolishness, the door to the bedroom being opened and shut, then he would come into our room again and again, peals of laughter, come and get me. This would be followed by frustration and anger, howling, wild protests. That’s how he was. That’s how three-year-olds are.