"Please."

"I do do understand why you would seek support from the father of your child. Why you understand why you would seek support from the father of your child. Why you should. should. What I want to know is, why did you file against my husband? Why not the other man?" What I want to know is, why did you file against my husband? Why not the other man?"

A charged silence hung, like the kind before a storm's first crack of thunder. How had the widow known? Finally Gao Lan broke it with a short, formal laugh. "You've made a wide cast of your net."

"If it were your husband, would you do any less?"

"I suppose not."

The woman went on. "Look. I know there is a chance Shuying is Matt's, and a chance she's this other guy's. You're the mother. You're the only one who can say which is more likely. So all I'm really asking is, why Matt? Is it because you think she looks like him? Because I'll tell you, I went there and met her with an open mind, and I'm going to be honest: I don't see it."

Gao Lan nodded. It was true; Shuying did not look much like Matt. She had been aware of it since the girl grew out of her split pants and left babyhood behind. "I did go to the other man first."

The American woman sat higher in her chair. "And?"

Gao Lan was a woman who hated to show she was afraid, but this man she feared. She had done many things in her life which showed her bravery - she had struck out on her own; she had refused her parents' suggestions for husbands and come to Beijing to make her way instead. This man was different. She didn't say his name anymore. She didn't even like to think it. "He threatened me," she said.

"What?" The American widow almost rose from her chair, a fierce, instinctive movement.

"He said if I ever said such a thing again, implied Shuying was his daughter, or did anything about it, he would make sure I did not work in Beijing again."

"He can't do that."

"But he can. He can spread talk about me easily, if he wants."

"Does he know this work you do?"

"Not now," said Gao Lan. "At least I don't think so. But secrets are hard to keep. And if he found out, and passed this around" - she trailed her eyes over the apartment, the sparkling plaza down below outside the windows - "the door for me would close."

"But if he's the father, he's responsible for Shuying under the Treaty. He must take care of her."

"Asking him to do that is like asking a tiger for its hide."

The American's eyes softened in understanding. "I see why you'd feel that way. But he still still can't intimidate you. I don't know about the laws here, but he couldn't do it in the States. Impossible." can't intimidate you. I don't know about the laws here, but he couldn't do it in the States. Impossible."

Gao Lan felt a frisson of surprise. Something in the American woman had changed. It seemed as if she didn't like hearing that this other man had threatened her. "Unfortunately, though, I don't know of anything that could stop him here in China," she said.

"I do," said the widow. "Carey could stop him. He could straighten him out. Carey James? Remember? You met him."

The name did not click at once in Gao Lan's mind. She shook her head.

The foreign woman closed her eyes. "The night you met my husband. The night the two of you were together. The first time."

"The only time," said Gao Lan. "I remember. Your husband's friend." Now she could see Carey: tall, blond, remote. He was the one who had been with Matt, who had urged Matt over and over to say goodbye to her and go someplace else.

"He will help you," the widow said. "I'll make sure of it. That's if the child is this other man's and not Matt's - and we'll know the answer to that in a few more days."

Gao Lan decided to give voice to what she noticed a minute before. "Why would you help me? If Shuying is not Matt's."

"I'll tell you why. Women don't stand by and watch another woman being bullied. That's a law of nature, as I see it." The Chinese woman translated this, even though Gao Lan found she could more or less follow Matt's wife's English.

Now Gao Lan felt her own guard dropping and tears, for the first time, gathering in her eyes. "You know what? I am sorry. Sorry two ways. First and forever, I'm sorry he took leave of this world. I felt so sad when I heard."

This made the widow's tears start up.

"I'm sorry for what we did together, too. It was only once. I thought it would be a secret, safe, separate from you and your life. Well water not intruding with river water - that's what I thought. I was wrong. Duibuqi. Duibuqi."

"That means I'm sorry," said Miss Chu.

The American nodded, now with shiny tracks down her face.

Gao Lan pushed on. "But I want to tell you this. Matt was the one who stopped it with us. Not me. I wanted to go on. I'm sorry, but it's true; I did. He said no, he wouldn't, because he loved you. He said he had done it once and he would have to live with that, but he would never do it again. He told me, 'I love her so much.' That's what he said."

Gao Lan had to stop, and she sat in a tremble while the Chinese woman put this in English. The American listened, then reached out and brushed her dry fingers across the back of Gao Lan's hand. "Thank you," she said.

"Drink some tea," Gao Lan said, with a gesture to the table. The other two women murmured agreement, though they still did not touch their cups.

"There is one more thing," said the American.

"Hai you yijian shi," translated Miss Chu. translated Miss Chu.

The widow wiped her face with the back of her hand in a movement she had obviously made many times before. Gao Lan felt for her.

Then she opened the bag she had brought with her and withdrew an envelope, and from this she took a picture. She handed it across. "Have you ever seen this?" she said, and Miss Chu translated.

Gao Lan leaned to the left to hold it under the light. She saw a street corner, people on the ground, a car on the sidewalk. She swallowed.

"It's the accident." The widow's voice was thick.

Gao Lan looked at it again. Her heart rushed up into her mouth. That was Matt. On the ground with the woman kneeling over him.

When Gao Lan looked up her eyes were wet again. She handed it back. She didn't want to look at it anymore.

But the widow stopped her. "Wait." She pointed to the picture. "See that woman?"

"Yes."

"Carey says that looks like you."

"Like me? But how?" Gao Lan looked closer. "Maybe. In a way."

"So you're saying it's not you."

"How could it be me?"

"You were not there?"

Gao Lan stared as she listened to Miss Chu's Chinese. Her, in San Francisco? Kneeling over Matt at the moment of his death? "No. I haven't even been to Hong Kong. The farthest I've been from home is here, Beijing."

The American looked at her again, then at the picture. A tightness faded from her face. "You're right," she said slowly. "I see. It's not you." She looked at Gao Lan for a long moment, then replaced the clipping in her purse. "Shall I call you when I hear from the lab?"

"Please." Gao Lan gave her a card, no title, no company. Just her name in two Chinese characters and a cell number. "Get in touch anytime. Dark or light."

"I will," said Matt's wife, and handed over her own card. Maggie McElroy. Writer, Table Table magazine. "Look, I didn't say and you didn't ask, but I want you to know something too. If Shuying is Matt's, you won't have any trouble from me. I'll take care of things." magazine. "Look, I didn't say and you didn't ask, but I want you to know something too. If Shuying is Matt's, you won't have any trouble from me. I'll take care of things."

"Thank you," said Gao Lan.

She stood up with them and walked them to the door, where she and the widow clasped hands for a second. "Three days, maybe four," Matt's wife said. "I'll call you."

The next day, Saturday, Uncle Xie died. Sam called her about it in the morning. She consoled him, sharing the weight of it, as friends had done for her during her year. She also told him how sorry she was about the timing. It could hardly have been worse. Tonight was his banquet.

"It's true," he said, "everything's crazy. So much so that I don't even have time to call more than one person with this. Just you. And isn't it funny that I'd call you? Someone I've known for only a week."

"How can you say that? We've been to Hangzhou together. I've met your uncle."

"He liked you. They all liked you."

"That's why you called me," she said, "because I was there. I saw how much he loved you. And he believed in you, too. I'm sorry, Sam. I know it's a blow."

"It is," he admitted.

"And don't think of me as an interviewer. Not anymore. We've done that. I've written almost all of the article, leaving only one part blank, the ending. What I mean," she said delicately, "is that when we talk now we talk as friends. I don't write it down anymore. I don't use it. You can say what you want without worrying."

"I wasn't worried," he said.

"Just so you know."

"Well, you might want to write this down," he said. "Something strange is happening in Hangzhou. It's beyond Uncle Xie. It's the whole city. It's very rare. The bamboo is flowering."

"All over the city?"

"It will be all over the province before it's done."

"What does it mean?"

"The end of an era."

She thought about this for a second. "If there's a new era, Sam, I think it will be yours. I wish you luck tonight. I'm sorry about your uncle, but I also think if he's anywhere, watching, then this is what he wishes too. For a great meal. So good luck."

"Thank you," he said. There was a silence and then, almost to his own surprise, he said, "I would like you to come."

"This is your night. You don't have to ask me there."

"I know. I ask because I want to."

"What if I were in your way? It's too important."

"That's exactly why I want you there, because it's important. I feel better when you're around."

She was silent. Then: "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Please come, well before the panel. Come at six. My grandfather's house behind the red gate, soon to be my restaurant. You know. Liang Jia Cai."

13.

When does the bamboo flower? A man may wait his lifetime for the answer and still not see it. The bamboo might flower only once in a hundred years. Once it begins, all the bamboo around it will flower too, for hundreds of miles, all over the region. All the bamboo will flower and bear seeds and then die. So it would seem that the bamboo flowering portends disaster. But many are the tales of famine, of men driven mad by starvation, and then suddenly at that moment the bamboo flowers. Bamboo rats gorge on the seeds and overpopulate; the starving people eat them and their lives are saved. Enough seeds work their way into the soil to begin the new plants, and the cycle of man and his food starts again. Thus the time of the bamboo flowering means both the end and the beginning.

- LIANG WEI, The Last Chinese Chef

Later that morning Maggie went into the office to tell Carey she had decided what she wanted to do.

"I ought to have the results in two days, three at most," she said. "If she's Matt's, cooperate fully."

"There's nothing else we can do," said Carey, and Zinnia nodded.

"But if she's not, if she's the other guy's daughter, I want you to help Gao Lan. Zinnia told you, right? About him threatening her?"

"She did," said Carey. "I still say that has nothing to do with you."

"She's afraid of him," Maggie countered. "More than she should be, I think, but she is. She's taken that fear in. She's holding it dear." Like I did, with my grief, all last year. Like I did, with my grief, all last year. "She can't approach him. Somebody needs to intervene." "She can't approach him. Somebody needs to intervene."

"What did you have in mind?"

"You telling him what's up with his responsibilities, that's what. Only a man can do it. And a lawyer. In twenty minutes you could talk some sense into his head."

"I'm still not sure it's our province."

"If I pay you by the hour and ask you to do it, will it be our province?"

He raised his hands. "Okay. I get it. Okay."

She and Zinnia traded glances of satisfaction.

"But get the test back. Okay? Call me. Call anytime." Then he gave his wicked smile. "Because as you know I'm up until all hours."