Chapter 15 #2
When skewers of grilled beef are placed on the table, Mr Lee says, ‘It’s time.’
I nod absentmindedly while I slide the chunks of meat and vegetables off the wooden sticks.
He puts his hand over mine, and I jerk away, my gaze snapping to his. His smile crinkles his eyes, and he nods to the horizon.
‘Look,’ he whispers.
I follow his gaze and all irritations are forgotten.
Everything blazes gold. Shifting my chair so I’m facing west, I gaze rapt as the sun sinks towards the horizon.
It dips lower and lower until it kisses the treelined avenues.
The sky shimmers with streaks of pink and blue and orange like watercolours painting the sky.
It’s even more beautiful than I remember.
None of the other diners are looking at the sunset.
They’re intent on their food or their companions, and thankfully seem to have forgotten about my sneezing episode.
I mean to ask Mr Lee how the others could be so blasé about the setting sun, but Mr Lee isn’t watching the sunset either. He’s watching me.
‘You lot are missing out.’ I shake my head and return my attention to the shifting colours of the sky. I feel rebalanced, the earlier embarrassment washed away by the bright, but fading, glow of the setting sun.
‘I suppose since we see it every day, we don’t cherish it as much as we should,’ he says thoughtfully.
The idea of taking this for granted makes my heart twist. ‘To see this every day. You have no idea how lucky you are.’
Mr Lee nods gravely. ‘You’re right. We should take more time to appreciate our blessings.’ He raises his glass. ‘Thank you for reminding me how very lucky I am. Nazdarovya.’
I pick mine up and mimic him, trying to roll my r’s in the same way. ‘Naz-da rrrrou vyah!’
We drain our glasses.
‘Was that English or French?’ I ask.
‘That was Russian.’
I set my glass down. English, French, Russian? ‘How many languages do you speak?’
His smile is warm and somehow my insides warm in answer. Though it’s more likely the vodka.
‘Aside from Mandarin, Shanghainese, and Hokkien, I also speak English and French, and a smattering of Russian. It’s necessary to do business in Shanghai.’
‘What kind of business do you do?’
‘I’ll trade you an answer for an answer.’
I narrow my eyes at him, and he raises his hands in surrender, laughing silently.
‘You really want to know?’
I nod.
He gazes out over the balcony, to where the sun dips over the horizon. The sky is a brilliant shade of indigo. Strings of lights now twinkle in the trees, and multicoloured lanterns glow softly in greens, blues and pinks above each table.
‘My father owns property. He died when I was living in New York and I came home to manage his portfolio,’ Mr Lee says.
The waiter brings a second bottle of vodka. I don’t remember finishing the first, but from the warm, fuzzy feeling swimming around in my chest, even though the bottles are small, I can’t deny I’ve got a fair amount of vodka in me.
I wave my empty shot glass at him.
He moves to pour me a shot, then stops. ‘I’ll top you up, but only if you tell me something about you that I don’t know.’
I gaze into my empty glass. Thinking about my past brings on a wave of melancholy. My grandmother wishes I was never born. My mother sold me then died. My father abandoned me. The only person I have is Big Wang, who only bought me so he could get the Longnu dragon pearl.
‘Do you ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?
’ I gaze out across the Whangpoo, thinking about the realms of Tian – the Celestial lands and Hell.
‘I’m titled, but the Hulijing Court would rather burn their fine silks than welcome me into the fold.
Drinking blood makes the yaojing in Hell side-eye me, except the jiangshi, but everyone side-eyes the jiangshi so it’s not really the VIP membership I’m looking for.
’ I sigh into the bottom of my glass. ‘I can’t function properly here either. ’
‘You’re looking at all the ways you’re different.
I could say that too – having spent half my life in the US.
I’m too American in my ways when I’m home, and when I’m in America, they can never forget that I’m Chinese.
’ Mr Lee fills my glass and his. ‘But you know, I could also say I’ve grown from the influences of these different places.
There are things I love about America, and things I love about China.
My world is one of my own making – much like how Big Wang creates Shanghai from those things he admires and enjoys. ’
A last ray of the setting sun lances through our vodka glasses, spilling honeyed light across the table.
‘We’re quite similar, you and I,’ Mr Lee continues. ‘We both embody things that maybe people don’t expect to go together, but which surprises them, hopefully in good ways.’
His perspective makes me reconsider mine; I smile into my glass, now full.
I raise my vodka. ‘Rrrou-zda no-vyah!’
‘Na-zda rro-vya!’ He clinks his glass with mine.
We drain our shots. His cheeks are rosy, and from the heat of my own I probably am just as pink-faced.
‘Enough sadness,’ I say. ‘Effort makes the mind, I’ve heard. I choose to be happy.’
‘Here here.’ He raises his glass again. ‘To happiness and new friends.’
I am lost for a few moments in the warmth of his gaze, before remembering myself. The fake talisman nags at the back of my mind, but I can’t do anything without reinforcements. I might as well enjoy this evening.
I raise my glass. ‘To happiness and new friends,’ I say and drain it.
The night is a blur of firefly lights and laughter. Lots of laughter. Dessert is sweet, layers and layers of thin pancakes drenched in honey and liquor and set aflame.
At some point there is dancing. Only men, and they’re all wearing blowsy white tops with red embroidery around the collar and black trousers.
There’s a lot of movement and blurriness and I’m so swept up in the whirlwind of music and sounds and smells and sheer joy all I can do is laugh and clap in time with the music.
Mr Lee gets up and joins the male dancers – Russian folk style, he says – kicking their legs out from a seated position, but without a chair for support.
I clap long and hard for Mr Lee as he works up a sweat with the others, acquitting himself honourably, and receiving hearty claps on the back from his fellow dancers.
As we leave, swaying and stumbling, one of the dancers grabs Mr Lee in a tight embrace.
He clamps thick hands either side of Mr Lee’s face and kisses him three times on his cheeks – left, right, then left again.
I’m so surprised that when the dancer clasps my face in turn, I let the man kiss my cheeks too.
He smells of dried wood and pine and sunshine.
I can’t help but laugh. His joy is infectious.
He bows in my direction. In a flush of goodwill and wild impulse, I grab his face like he did mine, and kiss him three times – left, right, then left again.
He looks dazed, then pleased as he says something to Mr Lee who blushes deeply.
‘The best night ever!’ I say to Mr Lee, who links his arm through mine.
We laugh and stumble arm in arm back to the Cathay Hotel. There’s a moment when I glance up at Mr Lee, the stars twinkling above our heads, and he notices me watching him. His expression is open and warm. He smiles, pats my hand. ‘The best night ever,’ he replies.