Mambo in Chinatown

by Jean Kwok

  “Come on.” I jerked my thumb in the direction of the street. “I’ll get you a bowl of congee and some fried dough.” Lisa clasped her hands together. That was one of her favorite dishes.

  We went to a tiny restaurant that had some of the best breakfast food and seated ourselves against the wall. Lisa dipped a segment of fried dough into her congee and took a big bite. “I love this place.”

  “I know, I think I’d starve if we didn’t live in Chinatown.” I blew on my steaming congee. “What did you think of the tai chi?”

  She nodded, chewing. “It felt good. Difficult, but peaceful too. It’s nice to do something with you again.”

  I felt a dullness grow in my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

  She stared at her food.

  I pushed on. “I let you down. You were right, I was so busy with myself—”

  “No.” Lisa’s eyebrows drew together in concentration. “It wasn’t your fault, Charlie.” Despite the heat of the congee, she was shivering.

  “Do you forgive me? Of all people, I should have seen it.”

  Her voice was husky. “There’s nothing to forgive. I was just trying to block it all out. No one could have done more than you. You always said I did better than you in everything, but do you know the reason why? You know what the only difference between you and me is? That I grew up with you to help me, and you didn’t have anyone.”

  I got up and went over to her side of the table. I hugged her and we held each other.

  —

  When Lisa and I got back into the apartment that day, the Broadway jar was sitting on the table. Lisa ran to it, picking it up. “It’s so much fuller.”

  Pa came out of his bedroom. He’d aged a decade in just a few weeks but he was making a real effort to spend more time with us. “Now that I don’t have to pay for so much medicine, I had something left over for the jar. I think we’ll have enough very soon.”

  Lisa laughed and ran into his arms. “Thank you, Pa!”

  “Anyway, I promised you we would do something nice if you did not get into Hunter, right? Well, I think we should do something extra special since you will be starting there in a few weeks.”

  Lisa said, “Which show? And when? I want to pick!”

  To tease her, I said, “No, I want to choose!”

  We grinned as we stuck our tongues out at each other.

  —

  It was mid-September and the weekend of the Autumn Moon Festival celebration. I strolled through the blocked-off streets arm in arm with Mo Li and Zan. Something had caught Ryan’s eye and he’d told us to go on ahead, he’d catch up with us soon. The Moon Festival was one of the most important holidays to us, a time when people reunited in a circle like that of the full moon. To many Asians, it was similar to Thanksgiving, and Mo Li had come back from Boston University for it. I loved the streets packed with tables and tents, the colorful lanterns that hung over our heads. No regular food stands were allowed, which was why Zan had the day off too.

  We stopped by a stand that sold paper lanterns and traditional cookies in the shape of pigs and fish. Mo Li bought a lantern in the form of a butterfly, I got one that looked like a colorful glass rabbit and Zan, of course, bought a modern one in the shape of a bulldozer. As a child, I’d been so excited to walk through the streets at night with my lit paper lantern swinging from a stick in my hands.

  Zan said, “Do you want to buy one for Lisa?”

  I shook my head and pointed to the large roped-off area we were approaching. A sign read “Lantern-Painting Contest.” Among the many families sitting at the long tables were Pa and Lisa, both frowning in concentration over the round white lanterns they were working on. Lisa looked up, saw us, waved and bent over her lantern again.

  Mo Li laughed. “Better not disturb them further. They look serious.”

  I said, “First prize is a couple of boxes of mooncakes and you know how much Lisa loves those.” Mooncakes were dense, sweet delicacies filled with white or yellow lotus-seed paste, with a salty egg yolk in the middle, looking like the full moon.

  Zan asked, “How is she?”

  When I’d told them what had happened, they’d both been horrified. “It’s something she’ll need to carry with her for the rest of her life but she’s working on it. She’s happier than I’ve seen her in a while. She’s started at Hunter and loves it.”

  Behind us, Ryan’s voice called, “Wait up.” He was holding a beautifully wrapped orchid, which he must have bought at one of the stands. “This is for you.”

  While Zan and Mo Li cooed, I swallowed. “It’s in a pot. I don’t think I can keep it alive.”

  Everyone laughed. Ryan said, “I’ll help you.”

  As he trailed behind us, I asked Zan, “Did you ever see Todd at your egg cakes cart again?”

  She blushed. “Every day. Actually, we’ve taken a few walks together after I finish work.”

  Mo Li and I raised our eyebrows.

  Zan said, “He’s stopped working for the Vision. He’s setting up as a psychic for himself and he’s already doing pretty well.”

  I asked, “How’s the Vision taking it?”

  “She’s so mad, but there’s nothing she can do about it. I think she’s going to lose most of her customers to him.”

  Mo Li tapped me on the shoulder. “There’s your old noodle restaurant.”

  I turned to Ryan. “That’s where I worked as a dishwasher.”

  He said, “And look at you now.”

  —

  Later that evening, Ryan was waiting for me downstairs from our apartment. His white shirt beneath his jacket glowed faintly in the gathering shadows. I took his arm and led him down the street. When we got to the park, the sky was half lit by the sunset, balanced between day and night. The sky grew darker and it began to rain. We went slowly because the ground was uneven. The rain made the wisps of his hair stick to his face. We were at the foot of the bridge. The water roared underneath.

  “Ryan, will you help me with something?” I told him about trying to cross the bridge with my eyes closed, how steep and dark it had seemed. I took his hand and we stepped onto the bridge. I closed my eyes, then reached my right hand out to the wet stone. Ryan held my hand on the other side. His hand was warm in the chill evening air. We began to walk. The rain in the leaves overhead swirled with the wind, roaring like an ocean above us. I stumbled, but now we were guiding each other. We fell into step together as I kept my eyes closed. The water droplets felt cool against my eyelids.

  We went a bit faster, and a little more, and then we were at the place where the bridge peaked. The rain seemed to fall harder. The slope began and we went faster and faster, the rain drenching our wet clothes, and we began to run. I let go of the rail, I heard Ryan laughing as we took flight. I was half afraid that any moment we would tumble off the steps, but we were still going and then we were at the stairs, racing down them, and somehow the steps were behind us and we were running into the unknown on the other side.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First of all, I’d like to thank all of my readers for their support and great kindness. And to those who have connected with me on social media, via my website, e-mail or in person—your friendship and your stories mean a great deal to me, thank you for sharing. I hope very much that my writing touches your life in a positive way. I’m also extremely grateful to all of the organizations, libraries, booksellers, high schools, colleges and universities who have stood behind me and my work—you’ve made my deepest dreams come true.

  There are so many people who have contributed to this book. The two foremost in my mind are my incredible agent, Suzanne Gluck of William Morris Endeavor Entertainment, and my phenomenal editor, Sarah McGrath of Riverhead Books. I could not have done this without you. I owe a great deal to the rest of my team at WME, especially Tracy Fisher and her foreign rights team, Anna DeRoy for film ri
ghts, and to all of my foreign publishers.

  I’m indebted to all of the wonderful people at Riverhead Books and Penguin Random House. You’ve worked so hard for me and my books, and I consider you both friends and colleagues. Thank you for believing in me, most especially Geoff Kloske and Susan Petersen Kennedy. I’m also in awe of the rest of you, including Kate Stark and the Riverhead marketing department, Jynne Dilling Martin and the Riverhead publicity department, Craig Burke and the paperback publicity and marketing department, Leigh Butler and the subrights department, Helen Yentus and the art department, Alan Walker and the academic marketing department, Tiffany Tomlin and the Penguin Speakers Bureau, Linda Rosenberg, Tony Davis and the copyediting department, and finally the entire hardcover, paperback, and digital sales forces, in particular Kevin Che for being the first to lead the way.

  I’m so thankful to everyone at Fred Astaire East Side Studio in New York City, especially legendary dancers and coaches Marina and Taliat Tarsinov, who trained and supported me as a ballroom dancer from the very beginning. It was a dream to dance with Jungie Zamora, plus Sheena Daminar, Tina Gerova, and Sonya Fil are inspirations to me. Armando and Laura Martin have been there for me from the start. I’m also very grateful for the talents of Emeka of Montage Production, the band Son Asi, singer Alja Weerts, photographer Chris Macke, Web designer Ilsa Brink and makeup artists Michelle Coursey and Roberto Gonzalez.

  My dear writer friends and readers Katrina Middelburg-Creswell and Sari Wilson—thank you so much for your wisdom, support and insight all along the way. So many others have contributed to this book and I’m thankful to you all, especially psychic Etty van der Graaf, William Guo, Stan Lou, Hoi Wing Louie, Meridith Messinger, neurologist Scott Mintzer, Gary Lao Hu Mono, Patrick van Rij (Van Rij Hoevenier), Jet Robnett, David Roodman, Jason and Naomi Tong, Elliot Wolf, and authors Benedict Jacka and Pete Jordan. Close friends who have always stood by my side include Julie Voshell, Alex Kahn, Stuart Shapiro, Jon Sherman and Lisa Donner. My gratitude also goes out to Esther van den Berg, Liesbeth Broers, Saskia de Bruijn, Gerhard Koning, Karel and Marianne ter Kuile, Shih Hui Liong, Joost Lucassen, Jan Paul Middelburg, Jet and Hans Omloo, Merijn Scheffer-Teunissen, Dania Schoonenboom, Natasja Slob, Leonie Teunissen, Gracia Tham, Hilda de Vries, Meta van der Wal and authors Patty Chang Anker, Margaret O’Brien Dilloway, Holly Kennedy, Sinead Moriarty, Leo and Tineke Vroman, and Patricia Wood. Hugs to the Beck/Nolan family, especially Buddy, Charlotte and Emily.

  All my love to my family, especially Chow (Joe) and Justine, who helped me so much with research and their great insight. Also thanks to Alex, Amanda, Choi, David, Diana, Elaine, Elton, Eton, Jennifer, Jonathan, Kam, Kitty, Lai Fong, Min, Ping, Walter, Wendy and York. I’ll always keep my late brother Kwan in my heart, alongside my parents, Shuet-King and Shun. I also can’t forget the Kluwer family: Gerard, Betty, Michael, Sander, Matz, Meijs, Otis and Renée van Duren, Yvonne Kruis, plus Anita, Tommy and Eva Racz. Finally, my deepest love and gratitude to Erwin, Stefan and Milan, who put up with me through all those months of writing, traveling and burned food. And I must mention our three cats, Anibaba, Sushi and Timoto, who did a great job of lying across my keyboard to keep it warm.