One night, before I left, I cooked for them. I waited until they were out trapping eels. They knew nothing of who I was or what I could do, so when they returned and found my meal upon the table their chins all but brushed the floor. Such heights of pleasure I felt then.

I had prepared eel, of course, but not the stewed eel she made almost every night. Instead I made salt-and-pepper eel, thin little crisp-fried slices of fillet with a pungent wild pepper dip. I roasted a duck in the manner of Tan Zhuanqing, using the method passed down by my father, and then I made a second duck entirely of soy and gluten, and stuffed it with lotus root and lily bulbs and dried tofu and wild garlic, all bound by a mince of the dark green waterweeds that grow among the grasses. I roasted it until its skin was as crisp and shiny as that of the real duck.

The food was too much for them. The way it looked and smelled and tasted overwhelmed them. They had never had such dishes, even though each was prepared from the same foods they ate every day. Their faces lit up when they tasted it, and yet it made them almost frightened of me, of the fact that I could turn their food into a meal such as this. Liuli carried the things to the sink afterward and refused for the first time to let me help her clean. She deferred to me. She avoided my eyes.

That night, I mentioned going. She was neither sorry nor glad. Of course I had to go. I did not belong there. I was not of their home or their lives. By cooking for them I had broken the bubble. Our separate-ness, the vast differences between us, now defined us. Liuli was self-conscious in front of me. She held herself away. I wanted to reach for her more than ever, but I did not. She was a good woman, a good mother; she and the boy had saved my life. Above all I had to show respect. I spent my last days on the water, playing with Longshan, unable to stop myself from casting long, speculative glances back up at the house where I knew she sat, divided, thinking of me.

In the end she gave me some money she had saved, and that decided it. She pressed it on me; she insisted. I think we both knew if she hadn't done this I might never have left, and she didn't want that. She knew I would never have been able to look at her straight across, as an equal, which is the least any woman deserves.

So she gave the money and I took it. Living as she did, on the water, she knew people who plied the sea for their living and could not be contained by governments or laws. Such people would take a man to Hong Kong and drop him on an outlying beach amid incurious fisherfolk - all it took was money. In China there has always been the hou men, hou men, the back door, which can be opened by money or relationships and through which many things can be negotiated. Thanks to her that door opened for me. When I went through it I was to keep going until I reached America, but I didn't know that then. I only knew it was the last time I would see her. I climbed into a boat at the edge of the swamp. She poled away backward, her eyes on mine, her face still, remarkably, like the face of my mother. the back door, which can be opened by money or relationships and through which many things can be negotiated. Thanks to her that door opened for me. When I went through it I was to keep going until I reached America, but I didn't know that then. I only knew it was the last time I would see her. I climbed into a boat at the edge of the swamp. She poled away backward, her eyes on mine, her face still, remarkably, like the face of my mother.[image]

12.

In the Peking dialect of my youth, food was always used to describe the basic things. To have work was jiao gu, jiao gu, to have grains to chew. To have lost one's job was to have grains to chew. To have lost one's job was da po le fan wan, da po le fan wan, to have broken the rice bowl. These words made the difference between life and death for people who were poor. So these words contained a world. to have broken the rice bowl. These words made the difference between life and death for people who were poor. So these words contained a world.

- LIAN G WEI, The Last Chinese Chef

On Thursday evening, after several days of cooking and sleeping and more cooking, Sam found his eyes straying to the clock. Tonight was Yao Weiguo's banquet for the committee - Yao, his main rival. Tonight was Yao, tomorrow Wang Zijian, and then, Saturday night, the last and tenth night of the competition, Sam. Although radio call-in shows had been burning with exchanges over the merits of the ten chefs, and wagers had been laid, the panel itself had kept completely quiet. None of them had leaked anything about the banquets thus far. Everything in the media was speculation. Sam had not heard a thing.

He felt blessed to have the last slot. His flavors would be the final ones to linger in the judges' minds. On the other hand, they might be exhausted. He would take care not to overwhelm them. Better to reach for greatness in simplicity. This was what he had in mind anyway.

He had forty-eight hours left. What remained was the last rehearsal of each dish, especially the ones that were new to him - these had to be done over and over. He was also still assembling bowls, plates, platters, paintings, and calligraphy in tune with the arc of the meal. Once any facet of the meal had struck a resonance in the diner, he wanted everything else in the room and on the table to multiply the effect. The effect could not be overt. It had to build quietly.

He looked again at the clock. There was so much to do. He should work. But he felt a nervous and unceasing tug to go out, too, to go to Yao's side of town, to walk down the hutong hutong that ran behind Yao's restaurant, the Red Door, to get close to his banquet, see what he could feel, what he could hear, what he could smell. He closed his eyes. that ran behind Yao's restaurant, the Red Door, to get close to his banquet, see what he could feel, what he could hear, what he could smell. He closed his eyes. Don't do it. Don't do it. But he knew he would. But he knew he would.

Night was dropping as he locked his gate, shadows growing, and he felt a familiar wave of love for the area he lived in. His neighbors felt the same. He could see it in the way the grandmas walked the small children, the old men shouted over their card games and in hot weather pushed their undershirts up to their armpits. It was in the way packs of young girls walked the lake, showing off their gazelle bodies in the latest formfitting clothes. He loved it for all these reasons, and then doubly, because in addition to everything else he was living in the house in which his family had lived, on and off, for more than eighty years.

The amount of effort and money Sam had poured into restoring all but the small north-facing room was another sore spot in Liang Yeh's refusal to come back. Sam wanted to bring him here. Show him. Here, Ba. Look. Here, Ba. Look.

He had told him as much when he called him again, this morning. "The main thing is, Xie needs you. He's hanging on to see you. And you should come. Your house is waiting, your father's house. It's safe."

In response to this, at least, Liang Yeh had been merely silent. This was an improvement.

Sam walked to the subway, went south and changed lines. A few stops to the west brought him to the neighborhood of Yao's restaurant. He walked for a while, distracting himself as if on an aimless stroll. In time he gave in and drifted into the hutong hutong that ran behind Yao's place. No one would see him walking. It was dark. that ran behind Yao's place. No one would see him walking. It was dark.

The high rear windows of the place were flung open. As he crept closer he heard laughter from inside and the clink of dishes, then a rising cheer. "Hao! Hao!" "Hao! Hao!" came the voices, Good! Good! Sam felt the reflexive curl of tension. He shouldn't have come. came the voices, Good! Good! Sam felt the reflexive curl of tension. He shouldn't have come.

He heard a sound to his right and turned to see a figure step out of the shadows - no, not one figure, two. Who?

Sam made a silent mental shriek. It was Jiang. And Tan. Their mouths dropped in recognition too.

The long stare devolved into suppressed laughter, and in a second all three of them were heaving and holding their sides. They hushed one another, which only made it worse.

"Shh!" Sam sent a look to the back windows of Yao's restaurant, which were open.

"Come!" Jiang croaked, wiping his eyes. "Why should we stand here? Let us walk over to the Uighur night market. It's just a few blocks. Have you eaten? I have not. I may faint from starvation! I may die! Come." And the three made their way down the hutong hutong.

In the market, cheap lights were strung across the alley and vendors shouted behind great wok rings with lids that lifted off to stately puffs of steam. Row after row of Uighur men with dark Eurasian faces ran charcoal grills, where they produced lamb in every form, from skewers to the tender minced meat that was marinated, griddle-fried, and stuffed in split sesame flat cakes.

No doubt Yao's meal had been brilliant, Sam thought as they walked through the people and the tables and the hot smoky aromas. But what was that to him? His meal would be brilliant too. He felt confident when his uncles were beside him.

After much surveying, they settled on thick hand-cut noodles with green vegetables in broth and a huge platter of dense, chewy, cumin-encrusted lamb ribs. They ate in the companionable silence of relatives assigned to one another long before any of them were even born.

As Sam ate, his eyes roved the crowd. After a minute he saw a distinctive curtain of black hair coming toward him - Xiao Yu, the girl he had seen David Renfrew approach that day in a restaurant. "Hi," he called out when she came close.

She looked over, surprised. "Oh, Liang Cheng," she said, using his Chinese name. "I read the article in the paper about the competition. I hoped for the best. How was your banquet? Was it successful?"

"I haven't gone yet," he said. "Saturday night."

"Wish you success."

"Thank you. And you? How are you?"

"Very well. Hao jiu bu jian. Hao jiu bu jian." I haven't seen you in a long time.

"Actually," Sam said, "I saw you you a week ago, but I don't think you knew. It was in a restaurant. I was on the other side. I saw David Renfrew go over and talk with you." They were speaking Chinese, but to say David's name he dropped back into English. The sound of it made her mouth tense. "Sorry," said Sam, seeing it. a week ago, but I don't think you knew. It was in a restaurant. I was on the other side. I saw David Renfrew go over and talk with you." They were speaking Chinese, but to say David's name he dropped back into English. The sound of it made her mouth tense. "Sorry," said Sam, seeing it.

"Don't be sorry." But abruptly she looked at her watch. He had touched a sore spot. Something had happened. Sam remembered the odd trepidation he had felt when he saw Xiao Yu and David together. He felt it the minute David asked him for her name. He couldn't have said why. Sometimes it was not necessary to know, only to feel.

"I should go," she said.

Looking at her, he saw he had not imagined it. She wore the proud, taut chin of a woman slighted. "Please take care of yourself."

"You too," she said. "Success to you."

"Man man zou," he said, Walk slow, as he watched her wave and turn and disappear in the close-pressed night crowd. People moved by, under the lights, jostling, their talk and their laughter borne along with them. She was gone. he said, Walk slow, as he watched her wave and turn and disappear in the close-pressed night crowd. People moved by, under the lights, jostling, their talk and their laughter borne along with them. She was gone.

Jiang and Tan were speaking, and he turned back to them, away from the crowd. He belonged with them. He ate the choice lamb ribs they deposited with love on his plate, and he picked out succulent pieces to place on theirs. Before leaving work for the day, Zinnia stopped off in Carey's office. "Have you made any calls yet?"

"No." He felt irritated. "I'll get to it."

She sent him her look of prim displeasure, which he knew to be one of her most insufferable and therefore effective weapons. "But you must do it soon. Quickly."

"Why?"

"It's Thursday. Tomorrow people will leave for the weekend."

Carey pursed his lips. "I hate mixing business and pleasure."

"Really! Is that what you believe?"

"Yes."

"It's your philosophy?"

"Yes."

"Who took Matt out, those nights, when he met Gao Lan?"

Carey sighed. "I did."

"Look what happened then."

"All right, Zinnia, Jesus. Okay. I'll do it." Defeated once again by a Chinese woman. He was no match for them. Waving her off with one hand, he reached for the phone with the other. "I'll call."

Carey got lucky with the fourth call, and within an hour was on his way to a restaurant to meet a woman he had dated a few years before. Still unattached, was what he'd heard. As soon as he called and she answered the phone he knew it was true, for she jumped. Yes, of course she would meet him. Tonight? Certainly. She would be disappointed when she realized Carey had not called her for any personal reason. So be it. Zinnia was right, he needed to help. So he made the call.

The restaurant was on the capital's northeast end, in a quarter that had once been home to diplomatic offices and hotels but had now been swallowed by the relentless swell of commercial buildings. Inside, the place preserved some semblance of the old decor, with stone stools and wood-scrolled tables. He arrived first and sat drinking tea, watching the door for her to come in.

It was romantic, living in China. There was beauty in it. He heard parrots screeching in cages on the other side of the dining hall, caught the happy tide of dinnertime Chinese as it rose and fell. Always there was something to please him. Wonderful food. Gorgeous women. They never stopped attracting him, even if he had yet to meet one he wanted to stay with.

He knew that staying here was a sort of delaying tactic, a way of stretching out his youth. It was at home he'd be much more likely to find a woman. Laowai Laowai men, even the ones most flat-out crazy about Chinese girls, generally went home to marry. They chose one of their own. Girls they knew from high school. Girls from their hometowns. Girls who looked like their mothers, like the men themselves. But not Carey. He reached for his small, thick cup of aromatic tea and sipped it, listening to the ambient well of Mandarin conversation. He would not go home that way. men, even the ones most flat-out crazy about Chinese girls, generally went home to marry. They chose one of their own. Girls they knew from high school. Girls from their hometowns. Girls who looked like their mothers, like the men themselves. But not Carey. He reached for his small, thick cup of aromatic tea and sipped it, listening to the ambient well of Mandarin conversation. He would not go home that way.

It was probably moot - the time to go home had come and gone. He had passed the golden point sometime in his late thirties. Now he was forty-five. If he went back he'd step down - on the job, in society, among friends, and with everything having to do with women. Here he was like royalty. Just being a foreigner gave him unassailable value, but it was value he couldn't take with him. Either go home and retire that part of himself forever which had grown to love his position, or stay here in China. Grow old here. Choose a woman. Just choose one. Die here. He stared gloomily out the window at the blue-bowl October sky.

The door opened and Yuan Li came in, ultra-chic in leopard heels and a fashionable fringe of black hair. She was glorious, in her thirties now, confident. Perhaps he should look at her again. Carey toyed with the idea. She was kind, supportive, lovely. She had bored him, though, as he recalled, and he had ended it. No doubt he would end it again, in time, if they were to restart, which was why he would not. It was clear that she was willing. He could tell by the way she looked at him. No, he told himself, don't act interested, not that way. Be friendly.

For the first hour of their meeting he engaged her in a sweet, solicitous conversation that traded all kinds of news: about jobs, relatives, travels, hobbies, vacations. He had been in China long enough to know how a meal should be done, with a long exchange of pleasantries and moods preceding any hint of a disclosure or request.

Finally, after they had talked long and the food he'd ordered had arrived and been eaten, he spoke casually. "It happens I am looking for someone. Gao Lan. Am I correct in recalling that you knew her?"

As he spoke he watched her face. First he saw the trace of insult. She understood now why he had called her. Then in her eyes he saw caution and calculation. Good. That meant she knew her.

Still, she took her time before she answered. "I have not seen her in quite a while. Maybe a year or two. I don't know where she is right now."

The waiter came with the check, which Carey took.

"So I'm not too clear," Yuan Li continued.

"I'd appreciate your telling me if you do hear."

"I can ask."

"Thank you," he said, and then returned smoothly to their previous topic, which was the leasing of a building on which she had been a project manager. Altogether he sat with her for more than two hours that night. They consumed three appetizer cold plates and three entree dishes, plus a small forest of beers, most of which, admittedly, were drunk by him. They observed every nicety and parted as friends, even trading warm and potentially meaningful embraces. And all of it was for those few sentences uttered in the middle, cast lightly on the table - Do you know where she is? No. Will you find out? I'll try. Thank you.

Carey steered Yuan Li out to the sidewalk and saw her into a taxi, waved warmly from the sidewalk as she pulled into the street. Ah, it was a nice life here, in its way; the gravity of history, the traces of gentility, and the pleasure of now. He liked the freedom and the forthrightness, which had their own way of coexisting with the oppressions of the government. It wasn't so much that people liked the government or approved of it, such questions being irrelevant anyway; it was that they were good at living with it. Against all odds, despite its severe gray undertone, Carey found China a joyous place.

He sighed. Had he stayed too long, had he let things go sour, was he trapped? Maybe he should have been more like the other lawyers in the firm, like Matt; he should have based himself in Los Angeles and just made sojourns here. But he had been seduced by China. It felt so exquisitely good here. Once he arrived, he had really never wanted to leave.

He held up his hand for a taxi. It was not his world, though, and no matter how long he stayed here, it never would be. He would always be an outsider, and despite a marvelously warm mix of etiquette, kindness, and convention the Chinese did not truly welcome outsiders.

So if he went home - but who was he kidding? It was too late to go home. He was too old. And he climbed into a car and drove off into the Beijing night, thinking instead about where he would go to drink, to hear music, to run into old friends and maybe, with any luck, meet new ones. He named a club to the driver, an address in a hutong hutong off Sanlitun, and lay back to watch his adopted city pass him in a pleasant procession of lights, skyscrapers mixed with the old-fashioned red lanterns that still hung outside restaurants as they had for centuries, wherever people gathered to eat and cement their relationships. off Sanlitun, and lay back to watch his adopted city pass him in a pleasant procession of lights, skyscrapers mixed with the old-fashioned red lanterns that still hung outside restaurants as they had for centuries, wherever people gathered to eat and cement their relationships.

Maybe he would have to stay.

The next morning was Friday. Maggie went by Sam's house to drop off a good-luck gift. The taxi waited with its engine idling while she knocked on the gate. It was a polite, preemptive knock; she didn't expect him to be there, intending, if he was not, to leave her gift outside. Where it belonged.

But his footsteps came across the court, a little impatient. He was working. Then he unlatched the gate and saw her, and his face changed. "Hi," he said.

"Hi." She smiled a little. He was glad to see her. "I brought you something. I can't come inside or anything, I know you have to work, I just want you to have this. For luck."

"You're so kind," he said.

"You'll have to give me a hand." She stepped back toward the taxi and he followed her out over the sill. As they approached the trunk the driver released the catch and she showed Sam what was inside, a potted evergreen tree that filled the entire space.

He stared. It was the last thing he had expected.

"I brought it for your court," she said. "It will get tall." They hauled it out together, and he set it by the gate. It had a shape like a spiral column.

"Of course, if you don't like it, hey," she said. "If I ever come back to Beijing and dine in your restaurant and it's not in evidence, I won't be hurt. I promise."

"It'll be here," he said, and she could tell by the way he was smiling that it was true. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said. It had been easy, with Zinnia powering her through the city flower market and subjecting vendors to penetrating inquisitions on the suitability of various potted shrubs and trees to a Beijing courtyard, to choose one. The whole idea, Zinnia confided to Maggie on the side, was almost quaint now, for no one had courtyards. It was a way of life which had vanished. Nevertheless they settled on the spiral tree, and Zinnia had the young vendor's assistant carry it outside. When it was in the taxi Zinnia said suddenly that she would take the next one; her lunch hour was over. Maggie could see her busy eyes already thinking ahead to the work that waited on her desk. Maggie hugged her. "Thanks," she said.

And now the tree was on the ground, outside Sam's gate, with him looking at it. He did like it. "I loved your father's memoir, by the way. It was beautiful," said Maggie. The taxi was still there, engine running.

He looked up slowly. "He came. He's here."

"Your father? father?"

"He got a visa, bought a ticket. He did it. He's here."

"You said he'd never come."

"I said wrong," said Sam. "It was Xie that got him here. I don't think anything else could have."

"That's where he is?"

"In Hangzhou."