Sam sat next to his uncle and lifted a bit of meat to the old man’s lips. Xie chewed the meat and closed his eyes. At first Maggie thought he was happy. But then she saw he swallowed with effort, and refused more. Maggie lowered her chopsticks. She thought these ribs were wonderful. The first batch had been good and this batch was even better. But Sam’s uncle was delivering some reasoned, labored criticism. Oh, please, she thought. Yet Sam listened intently.
She followed him into the kitchen. “Now what?”
“The flavors are less obvious, but not seamless.”
“Isn’t there a possibility he’s missing the point? There’s a symphony of flavor in this dish. It’s that matching of flavors you were talking about, what did you call it – ”
“Tiaowei,” he said.
“Right,” she said, as if she remembered, which she did not. “Plus there is the texture. The rice coating is just the right consistency to mellow the feel of the pork. It also rounds out its taste. What is that flavor in the rice powder, anyway? Anise?”
“It’s called five-spice. It’s a spice blend. Very common here.”
“Ah. And then there’s the flavor of the lotus leaf. I say the ribs are brilliant.”
“Thank you.” He smiled wearily. “I appreciate that, but I have to make them again. I told him I would. Can you give me just a few minutes? I’m sure you want to go back now. Just let me get this next batch in the steamer and I’ll take you. Songling will watch the flame while I’m gone.”
“Of course. Take your time. But I’m going to go upstairs, if it’s okay, to the room you mentioned before. Can you come get me when you’re done?”
“Sure,” he said.
“It’s a long time since we left Shanghai.”
“Was that this morning?” He closed his eyes. “It seems like a month ago.”
She nodded.
“Go,” he said, and pointed her up the stairs. “When the ribs go in the steamer I’ll call you.”
At the top, in the second room, she saw Sam’s things in a small pile on the bench at the end of the bed. He was neat, but she already knew that.
There was a low light burning. She closed the door and sat on the bed. She kept seeing the elfin face of Shuying, the eyes, the curls. If you are his, then I’ll see his face again.
It would be days until she found out. Right now she had done all she could. Now was the time to wait, and to be tired. After a few minutes she got up and turned out the light and returned to the bed. She lay down. Instantly quiet and ease settled over her. She thought she had never been anyplace so peaceful as this little Chinese room. She’d just rest there for a second, she decided, but then she closed her eyes and she slept.
Sometime later in the dark she awoke to feel a hand touching her, and she lifted her head, slow and faraway. “Shh,” Maggie heard. She opened her eyes.
The door was half-open. Light was coming in from the hallway. Songling was bending over her. Maggie saw her triangular cheeks and chin. She looks like Uncle Xie, Maggie thought as she closed her eyes again. She felt Songling pulling her shoes off. Dear Songling. Thank you. Then she felt the Chinese woman covering her with a blanket. Warmth settled softly on her. Songling’s small steps went out and the door closed, and everything was darkness.
Maggie awoke on the bed. It was late night; dark. Where was she? Yes. She had fallen asleep. It was late now. The whole Xie house was completely still.
She slid off the bed and crept to the window. There were no lights outside, only trees and bamboo, but the moon was full and the pale mercury of it just enough for her to make out the time on her watch.
Three-thirty. Damn. Deep night. Everyone was sleeping. So where was Sam?
She crept to the door and eased it open. The light was still shining in the hall. It hit her harshly and she squeezed her eyes shut a long second before she opened them again. And then she saw him. He was rolled in a blanket at her feet, sleeping.
“Hey,” she said. He didn’t move. She bent and wrapped a hand around the knob of his shoulder. “Hey, get up.”
He lifted himself to his elbows and looked at her. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m okay.” And he twisted to lie back down.
“No. Come on.” She pulled him by the arm until she had him lurching to his feet. She drew him into the room and shut the door. Again the darkness. Good. She steered him to the other side of the bed and he fell, gratefully, going quiet and still again almost instantly. She lay down on the other side and drew the blankets up over them both. They had on all their clothes. He was like a narrow mountain range behind her, one dark-ivory hand curled on the white pillow. She turned her back to him and went to sleep.
When Maggie opened her eyes the sun was pouring in and she heard low, far-off sounds, the clink of dishes, the rise and fall of laughter and Chinese. She drifted her hand out and felt the other side of the bed. It was empty. Now she could hear his clear voice down below, spiking up above the others.
She stepped out of the bed into the warm light. At the sound of her feet on the floor, a flurry of footsteps came down the hall and hands knocked on the door. Immediately the door opened.
It was the three sisters. “Ni qilai-le,” said Songling, with the happy air of someone who had grown tired of waiting for Maggie to show some signs of life. They set a towel and washcloth on the bed and then crowded around her, touching her fluffy hair with frank interest. Now that she had spent the night in their house – or maybe it was now that she appeared to have spent the night with the man they knew as their cousin, she wasn’t sure – their link had tightened. Songan brought a hairbrush from the drawer. Maggie had to stop her. “No. Never.” She took a pick from her tote bag and showed them, and then they all wanted to do it. Songzhe combed out her hair first, then each of the others took a turn. It felt good to Maggie, the hands on her shoulders, the musical sound of their talk, the rhythmic soft pulling against her head. Almost, she could go back to sleep sitting up.
Then she heard Sam’s footfall on the stairs. Strange that she knew his step already. He reached the door and knocked and pushed it open, then froze at the sight of the three women around her.
“I’m getting a ’do,” Maggie said.
“Ah. I see. Do you want to take a shower? And then we’ll have breakfast.”
Of course, she thought, another meal. “Does someone else need to use the bathroom?”
“Not now. They’re Chinese. They bathe at night. You slept through it.”
The sisters got up and trickled out, sly, smiling, as if now was the time for Maggie and Sam to be alone.
“They like you,” he said. “They told me so.”
“They think we’re together.”
“No,” he said. “I told them we’re just friends.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I took your room.”
“Not in the end,” he said.
She stared, suddenly aware that this was a moment that needed to be broken. “Okay,” she said, “let me wash. I’ll be quick. I’ll come right down.” And he turned quickly and left.
Breakfast was congee, rice porridge with shreds of a briny, pleasingly marine-flavored waterweed and crunchy, salty peanuts. Hard-boiled eggs, pickles, and fluffy steamed buns flecked with scallion surrounded the pot. Two kinds of tea were poured, Dragon Well green, which was Hangzhou’s local specialty, and a light, flowerscented oolong that Sam said was from Fujian. The women sat around her, smiling and laughing. They gave her occasional little pats and presses of affection. He’s a good man, their looks seemed to say. Take care of him. They misunderstood, of course. They still thought she was his woman. Even the patriarch sent her an indulgent, welcoming smile. She caught Sam’s eye. He shrugged, as if to say he sensed it, but what could he do? Actually she didn’t mind; she liked it. She liked the feeling she had when she was among them.