by Ha Jin
The boy didn’t reply and began sniveling. Tammie came over, patted Pingping’s upper arm, and pointed at two customers waiting at the counter. Pingping went up to them while Nan returned to the kitchen to cook the takeout they ordered.
Tammie stroked the boy’s hair. “What’s wrong, Taotao?” she asked.
“Everybody’s so mean to me.”
“Your parents just want to help you. Your mommy teaches you every day. Whose mommy does that? Come, be a big boy and stop crying.”
Taotao made no reply. Tammie had overheard their exchange just now, so she went on, “You should listen to your parents. If you’re afraid of those hoodlums, they’ll bully you without a stop.”
The next morning, on the school bus, Sean, whose father had just walked out on his mother, sat next to Taotao. Sean elbowed him whenever the bus turned, then flashed a grin fortified by a mouthful of braces, but Taotao ignored him and kept looking at his own new Velcro sneakers his mother had just bought for him at a rummage sale. Then Sean grabbed hold of Taotao’s earlobe and twisted it. “Cute little thing,” he said, pulling hard.
“Knock it off!” Taotao gave him a shove in the chest.
“Have a problem, munchkin?” Sean pushed him back and again cracked a metallic grin.
At that word Taotao was suddenly possessed by a fit of rage. “Don’t call me that!” He punched Sean squarely in the cheek.
“Ow! You smashed my face, man! You made my gums bleed.” Sean bent over and muffled his voice with his palm, and bloody saliva was oozing out between his fingers.
Matt, a red-haired fifth grader, jumped in, “Taotao, you crazy jerk! He was just having a bit of fun with you.”
“I’ve had enough of his shit!”
In fact, Taotao hadn’t hit Sean that hard, but the braces had stabbed his cheek from inside and made it bleed. At the sight of the bloody drool, Taotao shivered, his heart kicking.
Mrs. Dunton stopped the bus and came over. “You did this to him?” she asked Taotao in a severe voice, her lipless mouth displaying her tiny teeth.
“He twisted my ears every day. Just now he called me names.”
“I just said ‘munchkin,’” Sean wailed, sniffing back some snot.
“But you pulled my ear.”
Indeed, Taotao’s earlobe was still red. Knowing Sean was a troublemaker, Mrs. Dunton just fished out a piece of tissue and handed it to him. “Here, wipe your face. You two will have a lot of explaining to do in the principal’s office.”
Taotao was criticized by the vice principal, the bearded Mr. Haberman, who also wrote a letter to his parents, urging them to talk to their son and take steps to stop this kind of violence. Nan was disturbed and promptly wrote back to apologize and assure the school that Taotao wouldn’t commit such an act again. He also agreed to let the boy meet with Mrs. Benson, a counselor at school, whom Sean must see as well. Nan blamed Pingping for encouraging their son to fight, but she wouldn’t listen to him, saying, “I’m already a frightened mouse in this country. We don’t need another wimp in our family. I’d rather disown him than have him intimidated by those little bullies.”
Nan didn’t argue with her, knowing he couldn’t make her change her mind, but he talked with their son, who promised not to fight with his hands again.
In reality there was no need for Taotao to keep his word—Sean and Matt left him alone thereafter. For several days smaller boys dared not sit close to Taotao, who was known as a tough kid. But soon they forgot about the fight and accepted him as one of them.
Despite her hard words, Pingping had been worried about the incident. She told Janet about Taotao’s violent act. To her surprise, her friend assured her, “No big deal. As long as they don’t bother him again, this is over. In a way, Taotao did the right thing. What else could he do to stop them? You should be proud of him. My brother once was bullied by a bigger boy in our neighborhood, and my mother wouldn’t let him in unless he went to fight with the boy on the street.”
“How is your brother now?”
“He’s doing fine. He’s a financial planner in North Carolina, making tons of money.” Janet smiled, her upper lip shaded by blond fuzz.
Pingping didn’t reveal Janet’s opinion to her husband, unsure whether Janet was just partial to Taotao. She knew the Mitchells adored the boy.
10
AFTER mid-October business turned brisk at the Gold Wok. Because Pingping no longer had time to go home and check on Taotao in the evenings, she made him stay in the restaurant after dinner, doing homework and waiting for his parents to close up. At school, his classmates had been talking about Halloween. He was quiet about it, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go trick-or-treating as he had done back in Massachusetts. His parents did ask him whether he wanted a costume, but he said he wasn’t interested.
Pingping bought two large pumpkins and placed them at the front door of their house. Taotao hollowed them out and carved the jack-o’-lanterns, but didn’t put a candle inside. Across the street, in Alan’s yard, a pear tree was laden with dozens of tiny pumpkins, all made of plush and wearing a painted smile. Whenever a breeze blew, those orange-yellow fruit, resembling giant apples, would jerk and bob incessantly.
On Halloween Eve, just after dark, Pingping and Taotao returned home, carried out a folding table, and set it up in their driveway, near the carport. On it they put a lamp and three baskets of candies: peanut butter cups, toffees, and egg-shaped chocolates. Since they had to go back to the restaurant, they Scotch-taped to the tabletop a sign, an oblong of cardboard, which said PLEASE LEAVE SOME FOR OTHERS!
There were a lot of customers at the Gold Wok that evening, and Taotao looked unhappy and restless, even though his parents allowed him to watch TV in the storage room. Toward nine o’clock, Janet came and said to Pingping, “I waited for Taotao at home, but he didn’t show up. We prepared lots of goodies for kids. You should’ve let him join others to trick-or-treat in our neighborhood.”
“Your house is too far away,” said Pingping.
“Fiddlesticks, it’s just a five-minute drive.”
“Taotao has homework to do.”
“Oh, Pingping, it’s Halloween. Let him go out and have some fun.”
“He can’t go by himself. We are busy now.”
“I can take him around to get some candies. Do you mind?”
“Of course not, but is not late?”
“Not really.”
Pingping went to the storage room and called to Taotao. The boy was more than happy to leave with Janet, but he needed a getup. “I can’t wear this,” he said to his mother, pointing at his green V-neck.
“I ask whether you want special clothing, you said no. You can’t blame me now.”
“Don’t worry,” Janet stepped in. “We have a vampire mask at home. You can use that.”
“I love that humongous thing!” The boy had seen that grotesque face hanging in the Mitchells’ game room.
“Oh yeah?” Janet said. “You can wear that. I’ll figure out what to put on myself.”
Nan told his son to come home soon, which Taotao promised to do. After Janet and the boy left, Nan, Pingping, and Tammie went about wiping the tables and mopping the floor, though there were still six customers eating in the room.
When they had closed up, they set out for home without delay. It was a clear night, and the stars seemed less distant than usual. In the air lingered a smell of burned grass and wood. On the street across the lake, flashlights were flickering, and groups of children in ghostly garb were still walking back and forth, some accompanied by dogs and grown-ups. There was also a lantern bobbing in the distance like a will-o’-the-wisp. Merry cries and laughter surged up now and again.
In the Wus’ driveway the lamp was still on. To Pingping and Nan’s surprise, none of the baskets on the table was empty, all still half full. Into the original chocolates, toffees, and peanut butter cups were mixed some other kinds of goodies—3 Musketeers, gumballs, peppermint patties, jellybeans, M&M’s. There wa
s also a red apple half buried in the candies. Both Nan and Pingping burst into laughter, amazed that the children were so innocent that they’d thought the sign begged them to leave some of their own spoils for others. The Wus were touched. Nan said thoughtfully, “If this were in China, the lamp, the extension cord, the baskets, the pumpkins, and even the table would be gone, much less the sweets.”
“That’s true,” agreed Pingping.
As they were speaking, a bunch of Ninja Turtles, each wearing a plastic carapace, appeared down the street, jabbering and capering. Nan cupped his hands around his mouth and cried at them, “Hey, do you want more candies?”
“Sure we do,” a girl trilled back.
Immediately Pingping removed one of the baskets and placed it under their Ford parked in the carport. She wanted to save it for Taotao. The children raced over, brandishing their rubber swords, their capes fluttering.
A boy asked the Wus, “How many can we have?”
“As many you want,” said Pingping.
In no time the children pocketed and bagged all the goodies from the two baskets, then headed away for the next lighted house.
Nan turned, enfolded Pingping with one arm, and kissed her on the cheek. Surprised, she asked with a smile, “What’s that about?”
“I’m happy. If only we had once lived like those kids.”
11
EVER SINCE they’d bought the restaurant, Nan and Pingping had been thinking of finding a legal guardian for Taotao. If they both died, they wanted their son to be safe and raised with care and love. They thought about a few Chinese couples they had known in the North, but none of them were suitable, mainly because those people already had children and might not treat Taotao like their own. If only they had a family member or relative in America. After long consideration, they decided to ask the Mitchells to be Taotao’s guardians in case they both departed this life. Dave and Janet were good-hearted and financially secure. More important, they were fond of children and could give Taotao a loving home.
When Nan and Pingping mentioned this to Janet, Janet was amazed, her eyes aglow. She said, “We’ll be more than happy to be his guardians.”
“What we do and make this legal?” asked Pingping.
“We should see an attorney perhaps, if you want to spell it out on paper. Dave will be thrilled to hear this.”
So on the first Monday morning of December the two couples arrived at the Shang Law Office in Chinatown. Mr. Shang had just undergone eye surgery and was wearing a green eyeshade, which somehow reminded Nan of a photograph of James Joyce. The Wus reiterated to him their intention—they wanted the Mitchells to keep their son and property if they both died. Mr. Shang said, “That’s a good idea. You belong to the propertied class now.” Three days earlier Nan had called and given him all the names and information needed for the agreement, so he assumed that the paperwork was already done.
Mr. Shang switched to Mandarin and asked Nan with a scratchy accent, “You want them to have your restaurant and home too?” His good eye glanced sideways at the Mitchells sitting on a sofa near his desk while his mouth went awry, revealing a gold-capped tooth. Dave was gazing at the attorney, his top lip twitching, as if he was irritated by being excluded.
“Yes. If they take care of our son, they should inherit everything we have,” said Nan.
Mr. Shang reverted to English. “I understand. Just double-check.”
“They’re good couple,” Pingping put in. “We know them long time. They’re our friend.”
“I’m not sure you’ve known them long enough.” Mr. Shang wagged his head.
“We don’t have any family or relative in America,” Nan explained.
“You don’t have a Chinese friend you can trust your boy to?”
“Not really.”
“How sad! You’re truly a marginal man. It seems to me that your white friends may not be suitable for your son. Everybody can tell he’s adopted by them, not their own.”
“We don’t mind that.”
“All right, all right, I’ll do what you want. I just meant to make sure you were fully aware of all the consequences.” Mr. Shang turned away to prepare the agreement on a computer below a small window. He had already written a draft and was typing it out. The gray screen of the monitor was flickering as he punched away at the keyboard. From time to time he combed his thin hair with his slim fingers. Beside the computer stood a can of Sprite, which he lifted to his mouth time and again. The Wus were seated on the sofa across from the Mitchells. Nan felt embarrassed that the lawyer had spoken Chinese with them just now, so he explained in a low voice to their friends what they had talked about. He said that Mr. Shang thought people would easily tell that Taotao was an adopted child if he ended up in Janet and Dave’s care, but Nan and Pingping had told the lawyer they wouldn’t mind that because the Mitchells were their friends and very fond of their son.
As the conversation went on, the four of them talked about where Taotao should go to college when he grew up. “MIT is the best,” Dave claimed firmly.
Nan didn’t argue, but he’d prefer his son to have a liberal arts education.
From college they switched to the topic of life insurance, which Nan and Pingping didn’t know how to buy. Neither did they see why they should get it. What was the point in having a lot of money if one of them died? Money, if you couldn’t enjoy spending it, wouldn’t buy you happiness. Unlike them, Janet had bought some insurance on Dave.
Mr. Shang returned to his desk, holding two printed sheets. He handed the couples each a copy, saying, “You should all read this.”
Nan looked through the paper, which stated:
We, Nan Wu and Pingping Liu, of 568 Marsh Drive, Lilburn, Gwinnett County, Georgia, hereby agree to let Janet and David Mitchell, of 52 Breezewood Circle, Lilburn, Gwinnett County, Georgia, be our son Taotao Wu’s legal guardians if we both shall die before Taotao Wu reaches the age of eighteen. We nominate Janet and David Mitchell to be our Executor and Executrix. We direct them to pay our legal debts, funeral expenses, and the expenses of administering our estate after our decease and to charge said expenses to the residue. We give Janet and David Mitchell all the rest and remainder of our estate, both real and personal, of whatever name, kind and nature, provided they remain a married couple. The Mitchells shall be obligated to raise Taotao Wu with love and care and to finance his college education.
This AGREEMENT is composed in the presence of both parties and cosigned by both willingly. It shall not take effect unless the decease of Nan Wu and Pingping Liu occurs before Taotao Wu is eighteen.
“It’s pretty good,” Nan said, then handed it to Pingping. Meanwhile, the Mitchells were reading their copy too. Both couples agreed about the wording, so they all signed on the agreement in the presence of two young women Mr. Shang had called in from the store as witnesses.
With some deliberation the attorney unscrewed the cap of his chunky fountain pen and with a flourish wrote out his name on all the three copies, then notarized them. He said to Nan, “Eighty dollars.”
Nan gave him four twenties. Mr. Shang handed a page to the Mitchells and another to the Wus, and kept one for his records. “Well, I hope nobody will ever use this piece of paper,” he said, and screwed up his good eye.
“We do too,” Dave said, then laughed, tapping his balding crown with his fingertips. His wife and the Wus all smiled.
Once they stepped out of the office, Janet asked Pingping, “Why is the procedure so simple?”
“What you mean?”
“If you went to an American attorney, he’d spend hours going through many things with you and would charge you hundreds of dollars.”
“That’s why I said we go to Mr. Shang. He isn’t good man, but he always make things simple for people and give what you want.”
Nan put in, “Actually, he’s an American lawyer and graduated from a law school in L.A. But he often does business in zer Chinese way. Besides, he doesn’t charge a lot.”
�
�Well,” Janet said, “he certainly doesn’t write like an attorney—I mean, his English isn’t full of gobbledygook, like lots of ‘thereofs’ or ‘theretos.’”
“He has to make zer language simple enough for his Chinese cahstomers to understand.”
“Are lawyers in China like him?”
Pingping answered, “Before we come to America, we never use lawyer. I never knew lawyer in my life.”
“True, me eizer,” Nan chimed in.
“You mean, people don’t sue each other?”
“Very rarely they went to court,” Nan said. “Zer Party leaders, awfficials, and street committees controlled your life, so you didn’t need a lawyer.”
“How about now? Are things the same?” Dave piped up.
“I heard there are some lawyers, but they can’t reelly be independent of politics. Zer law often changes.”
Dave observed thoughtfully, “I’m amazed that Mr. Shang doesn’t even use a secretary.”
“He has one, but she works only part-time,” Nan said.
After their visit to the attorney, Janet and Pingping grew closer, though Dave came to the Gold Wok less often, having to put in more hours at work. The Mitchells bought Taotao a joystick to go with his computer, which enabled him to play more games. Nan felt rather relieved, certain that Taotao would be happy and safe with Dave and Janet if Pingping and he both died.
12
NAN honestly thought Dick was a homosexual, but one evening in mid-January his friend came with a young blonde who looked like a graduate student. Dick introduced her to Nan and Pingping, saying, “This is Eleanor.”
The woman, wearing jeans, was tall and quite masculine, with a long waist. In a southern drawl she said to Nan, “Dick talks a lot about you. He said you’re a fabulous chef.” She smiled, the beauty mark above the corner of her mouth moving sideways.
“Welcahm.” Nan was glad that his friend had mentioned him that way.
After they sat down, Tammie came over and plunked a stainless-steel teapot on the table. “What do you want to order?” she asked in a disgruntled voice. Pingping took alarm and glanced at her from the counter.
