Dinner with my Chinese Aunt

                                            Dinner with my Chinese aunt
                                                

     

     Your Uncle Buck really loved fishing.  He died because he loved fishing.  How’s that?  One day, out in the Delta sitting in his boat, he happened to look up with his one good eye and saw a tiny speck.  The speck grew larger and larger, brighter and brighter….It was a...whatchama call it …a space rocket rubbish? Satellite garbage?  Well, whatever it was, the gods struck him right where he was sitting …buried him deep into the water...or incinerated him up in a round fireball, I don’t know which.  I still have goose bumps whenever I think about it.  You didn't know he died that way?  You thought he just had a stroke and keel over?  Who told you such a lie?  

 
     Here, have some more noodles while they are still hot.   And spoon up the green vegetables at the bottom of the pot.  You don't eat enough vegetables, I can see that.  Your eyes have baggy shadows under them and your face is so very pale.  They don't feed you too good in the army, do they?  I can sense these things, nephew.  I can sense these things because I have suffered much in my lifetime.  In the sixty-seven years I’ve been on this earth, I’ve eaten more grains of salt than you have eaten grains of rice, believe me.     

Your poor Uncle Buck, he never knew what hit him.   Was I there when it happened?  Why? Do I have to be?  Oh, you mean how do I know that a space thing struck him?  Well, I have some imagination, you know.  I can figure things out.  I can see him looking up and… Besides, they found this piece of metal with his lower jaw stuck to it like a barnacle.  Those dead ghosts say it wasn’t his lower jaw but you can see how they would come to such a conclusion.  They do not wish to be responsible.  Your uncle did die out there. They said it was some other fisherman but it was him.  He was to have boiled beef tongue and rice for dinner that night.  It was his absolute favorite and he wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  Unless, of course, he was dead, which he was.  No, it was him, it was him.

 It was such a shock, nephew. We have been married for nearly fifty years, and to be separated in this manner….  To this day, I have not fully recovered from this emptiness.  To this day, I still dress in black.  What’s that?  I always wore black?  No, not always.  There was this time at Mao Goo’s funeral, I wore this lovely Mu Mu….No, I did not embarrass anybody.  I had to rush to make the flight and did not have time to change.  Yes, we were vacationing in Hawaii, your mother, Uncle Buck and I.  Ah! You remember.  That's right. You were just turning ten.  Yes, I know, Mao Goo is not his name, it's his title.  It means that this person was my younger brother and your mother's older brother.  If you addressed Mao Goo as just plain "Uncle" (as I see you have a tendency to do), it tells you nothing of this person’s status in the family.  You should always address your relatives by their titles.  How else can you tell who is older, who is younger?  If you do not know his standing, how can you show honor and proper respect to the person more elderly than you?  Americans really don't have much use  for old people, do they? 

You eat too quick.  It is bad for your stomach.  Here, try some of this fish.  You never had fish as fresh as this.  It was plucked out of the water tank only hours ago.  I know, because it was scaled and gutted in front of me.  It was the liveliest one of the bunch and you should see how hard it fought to keep on living.  May its vigor pass on to you.

I don't know why your Uncle Buck wanted to go with me to Hawaii that time.  I think he wanted to see his cousin Charlie before he died.  We are getting along in years, you know.  The thing that bothered your Uncle Buck was that he kept seeing Eurasians.  He was so against mixed marriages.  Now, I have to agree with him on that one.  Mixed marriages are against the natural order of things and it never works out for either party. What about your sister’s mixed marriage?  You think, for one minute, your mother or I, or the rest of the family agreed to it?  She could not have done so in the old country, believe you me.  Has Muy Muy ever told you she was happy being married to that white ghost?  Muy Muy is the proper title for your younger sister.   I insist on using titles, how else will you learn?  And you should address your Uncle Buck as ‘Goo Dern’, even if he is gone.   ‘Goo Dern’ means that the person you are addressing is your mother’s older sister’s husband.  You do not want to use titles?  I see, it’s too confusing for your Americanized brain.  Well, that’s up to you.

You are saying that in America I should be and talk American?  Fie on you!  Just because I have lived here fifty one years doesn't make me an American,  but I don't want to go into that.  I don't want to argue with you on such trivial matters.  You being here make me very happy and I don't want to spoil it by arguing with you about white ghosts.  True, not all of them are bad.  Yes, your white brother-in-law is very respectful but he is still a white ghost and, in the life’s scheme of things, his loyalty will lie with his own kind when it comes to a choice.  This is not a fault!  I would not blame him for taking his own side.  I would do the same and so should you.  Why are you speaking of Jews and Palestinians?  What have they to do with what we are talking about?  You say that the Protestants and Catholics in Ireland have the same problem?  What problem?

 All I know of Ireland is when Muy Muy, your younger sister, took me to see that movie with John Wayne. We all loved John Wayne.  He was so tall and he did look very oriental.  The movie was about him going back to Ireland, where he was born, to get a wife (which is something you should do).  He wanted to marry his own kind, a wise choice, but his future bride refused to be married because her misery brother would not give her a good dowry.  It was a good movie even when I could not understand what was being said.  We have many Chinese movies with the same plot so it was easy to follow.  Technically speaking, Americans do make better-looking movies.  Do you suppose it is because they place such a high priority on entertaining themselves?  I do not know.

 What do you think of the fish?  It is not too cooked for you, is it?  Normally, the flesh is barely in the boiling oil before it is pulled out and drained.  With all the hearsay about worms and parasites infesting the rivers these days, I have to fry it twice as long. I remember your Uncle Buck catching some catfish and stripping the skin off with a pair of pliers.  Oodles of fat white worms came bursting out in wiggling droplets onto the chopping block.  They were lodged between the skin and flesh.  But as long as the fish is fried crisp, how would it harm anyone to eat it, should it? Why are you grimacing?  Don't you like the fish?  He struggled mightily before he died.  I'm glad you like it.  Here, have some more.

Your Uncle Buck had many strange ways, undoubtedly from being in Gold Mountain too long.  Old traditions and old country courtesy did not sit well with him. When we visit, it is always I who remind him to kowtow before he shook hands.  When asked by friends or relatives, it is always I who have to make little of our children's  accomplishments.  Buck would be the uncouth one that brags of our children's successes (except for Dur), and always the amount of money they earned.  I remember one year when he sent out post cards telling all our friends and relatives the amount of square footage contained in our children's houses and the salaries they're making.  Can you imagine my utter humiliation when I found out?  I could hardly face my friends, let alone our relatives.

 Is it true that native Indians are not afraid of heights?  I heard that from somewhere.   Your uncle had a bait shop, you know.  Bought the business right after he retired.  Although he never caught anything larger than a perch, that didn’t stop him from giving advice to white fishermen who came to the shop.   Those white ghosts thought he knew all about fishing because he was Chinese and owned a bait shop.  Having a black patch over one eye, did help the image.  What did he do for a living before he opened the bait shop?  I thought you knew.  He was a cook for a very rich family. Come to think of it, it could be the cause of his feelings of inferiority.  No, it wasn’t because he was a cook.  I think it was because he was a cook for a  private family.  Being a cook for a private family made him a servant.  Remember, in his youth your Uncle Buck was an ensign in the Chinese Royal Navy.  Coming here to Gold Mountain, being a cook was the only work he could get, and he was lucky to get even that. 

     His employer was the president of a very large soap company.  Their family’s home where he worked was in the San Mateo hills, a very posh community.   It was deep in the woods with two huge swimming pools but I don’t remember ever seeing water in it.  Your Uncle Buck lived on the grounds over the garage some distance from the main house.  He lived by himself.   His room was only part of the garage; the rest was used for storage.  The maid and the chauffeur, the only other permanent employees, both white ghosts, lived in the big house, probably in the basement.  I was not with him when he was working.  I would never dream of asking his employer if I could.  It just wasn’t done.  The maid and the chauffeur had family also and their families lived in the city just like me.       

You can eat the bones of the fish.  It will add strength to your muscles and will not harm you since it has been overcooked.  Just make sure you bite down good and hard with your teeth so the pointed ends are crushed and do not stick in your throat.  It is a carp, you know, and it has a thousand fine bones in it.  I have never before seen anyone try to debone a carp.  I would have done it if it were at all possible.  You must know, nephew that there are many things on this earth that is just not possible and deboning a carp is one of them.

I rarely saw your Uncle Buck when he was working as a cook.  He would come home for a weekend every so often.   I, in turn, would visit your uncle just one day a month on his day off and I never stay overnight.  Maybe that is why we got on so very well in those days, you suppose?

Once, his employer gave Buck permission to show me the inside of the mansion so I could oh and ah over the lord’s possessions.  He and his family were vacationing in Europe, and the maid and chauffeur were also away, so the place was deserted.  It was such a gorgeous palace but I simply could not live there.  It was so huge! I could spend an entire day  just sweeping cobwebs off the ceilings. There was one large room after another.  There was this huge room my whole apartment could have fitted in three times, and all it had was a green top table where, with long sticks, you hit colored balls into holes; there was no other furniture.  It was so empty that there was echoes when one speaks.  The upstairs had beautifully tiled bathrooms and majestic bedrooms and large closets filled with clothes and mirrors.  The employer had a lot of famous guests and movie stars visiting him there.  There were many signed photographs on the wall, just like at the hair dressers. 

But the strangest room was a little room underneath the main, marbled staircase facing the front entrance.  It had no windows so it was very, very dark.  You had to turn the light on to see, even during the daytime.  The walls were painted green, not wall papered or paneled like the other rooms and the door had a lock on it. None of the other rooms had locks on them. It had a roll top desk, a chair and a small bed with plain bedcovers.    There was a large red book, a Christian Bible, I think it was, lying on the table next to the bed and I remember a lot of family photos next to it.  For a moment I thought it was the maid’s room.  Imagine my shock when Buck told me that this was where his employer slept!  Can you imagine the master of this magnificent house sleeping in such a bare and tiny room under a staircase?   It did disturb me that he did not sleep with his wife but I suppose this is one of those customs of rich Americans.  Often he would give your uncle tips on the stock market that turned out very well for our family.  Yes, we did very well by him. 

Here, drink your soup.  It is not good when it is cold.  No, those black bits floating in the soup are not dead insects.  It is bits of seaweed .  You can be so insulting at times.

The man had two sons, you know.  I got to know them on my once a month visits.  They were little children, then, and they were allowed to help the chauffeur wash the cars and to do little chores around the swimming pool that had no water.  It was fun for them, splashing and spraying water all over the garage and pretending to clean the pool.  We liked them.  They were nice to Buck and me.  They had such nice manners.  It was very sad.  I heard, later, that the older one was committed to a mental institution when he was about your age, for alcoholism I think it was, and the other just ran off and was never heard from again.  Your Uncle Buck was mystified; I was mystified.  They had everything. 

We had a small apartment in Chinatown, you remember.  You came to visit with your parents and you played with your cousin Dur.  My useless son use to throw wooden alphabet blocks at you and then both of you would chase each other all around the apartment.  He was the more aggressive, if I remember correctly.  Strange, how it all turned out.  Now you are in the army and my bookish son is too timid to be in a business.  Your cousin Dur was a great disappointment to your Uncle Buck, you know.  He did not find great prosperity in this country like his siblings.  It embarrassed your uncle that Dur is a schoolteacher.  No, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a schoolteacher but your Uncle Buck thought that it was a lowly vocation.  In China, that position is graced with dignity and respect.  You are well honored to be a teacher there…but not here, I guess.  Your Uncle Buck tells me that all the teachers are looked down upon by the general public.  They are poorly paid, treated shabbily, and that their students have no respect for them.  He tells me that teachers are nothing but intellectual losers who can find no other work.  I notice he tells me this whenever Dur is within earshot. 

Well, at least Buck died happy, don’t you think?  He was in his boat doing what he loved to do, smoking and drinking.  Catching fish was only an excuse, I think.  I don’t remember him ever catching a fish.  I have happy visions of him sitting there with a cigar in one hand and a can of beer in the other.  I do hope that that piece of space metal hitting him in the head didn’t hurt.  He was never a really bad man. He only beat me once, you know.

Apologies accepted.  I know that that dead ghost, pompous warlord captain of yours, did not let you attend your Uncle Buck's funeral.  I have burnt incense to the gods and have cursed that white ghost often.  He will die in agony, take my word for it.  There were plenty of mourners there anyway so you needn’t have worried.  Besides, they never recovered your uncle’s body and all that was in the coffin were bags of sand.  Imagine, burning incense and giving service to honor bags of sand…but tradition must be observed, I suppose.  I missed you not being there, though.  Most of the mourners, I have never seen before.  Your Father, Bo, rustled them up from the Tong Hall.  The family association was having a monthly meeting, mostly to settle the question of who is to take charge of the burial grounds for the month, when he broke in on them.  They love to play mahjong after the meetings but they love to attend funerals more.  It means they get to eat for free after the funeral, and they have one less member to outlive. You think I am exaggerating?  I don’t think so.

No, I haven’t attended any Tong meetings since my confrontation with High Foot, but that was years ago. Why did they call him High Foot?  His name was Gong Lee but everyone called him High Foot because he was tall by Chinese standards.  Ah! You remember him.  He was a Communist, you know.  Yep.  Always shouting slogans every chance he got.  Tells everyone that they should share their wealth with everyone else.  He does not believed it for a minute. Such a hypocrite.  I caught him cheating in a mahjong game one night and he and I have not talked since.  What do you mean you can’t cheat in a mahjong game?  Sure you can and I’m not going to tell you how, if that’s what you’re thinking.

High Foot would not acknowledge me whenever we chance to meet.  He thinks that bothers me.  I humor him, and when his back is turned, I tell everyone that he cheats.  What do you mean it is not right?  You think I should tell him to his face that he cheats?  What is wrong with you? Disliking a man does not mean I should not respect him. You are puzzle? Do you tell people the truth in front of them? Of course not!  To have face, to show respect, you talk about their vices or shortcomings only when their backs are turned and they cannot hear you.  Great men do it all the time.  Look at your presidents.  Do not tell me that they don’t show the greatest respect to their people when they tell them what they want to hear rather than a painful truth.  Why hurt people’s feelings or make them fearful when you can make them happy with a lie?  You can learn a lot from them.

You should come eat here more often.  I just don’t see you enough.  Your Uncle Buck really liked you, you know.  I remember when you were sent to Your Uncle Bong's farm after your stay at the sanatorium.  You were recovering from consumption and your mother was very worried that it was stunting your growth.   We visited you one Christmas many, many years ago when you were… seven or eight?  You, of all people, should remember that day very well.  You were very happy to see your cousin Dur, I can attest to that.  Both of you were running around the oak tree shooting that b-b gun we brought you as a present.  Odd, that I can still remember the name of that gun.  It was called a Daisy, wasn’t it?  I remember because I thought how inappropriate to name a thing, that kills other living things, a flower. Don’t you think it inappropriate?  They could have called it Mr. Death or Small Animal Killer, or the Destroyer of Life, or something like that.  But to call it a Daisy…?

You were so excited when you killed your first bird.  I can still see that beautiful red-necked woodpecker high in the tree.  It was hanging from one claw after you shot it.  You could see little drops of blood dripping from his feathers to the ground.  He held on stubbornly even in death. Such a brave bird.  You were a very good shot that I always wondered if you shot your Uncle Buck in the eye on purpose.  Everyone said it was an accident but I suspect only you would know the truth.  You didn’t know you did it?  You mean, after all these years, no one bother to tell you?  My God, I just presume you knew all along!  You were howling so mightily when your Uncle Buck got shot so I just thought you knew what was happening.

Oh, I am so sorry.  I do not mean to upset you.  Your parents tell me that you will not even kill a spider now.  Is it true?  Strange how you can be a soldier and not be able to kill a spider.  It does not speak well of your army.

Do you really have to go so soon? It is not something I have said, is it? I really enjoy your visit and you must come again, soon.  Next time I will fix a rare delicacy that you will not resist.  Deep fried Sea Slug, it is simply delicious….or would you prefer Owl Soup?  They are both very good.  Give my regards to your mother and tell my sister that I understand why she cannot visit me more often even though she only lives three blocks from here.  High blood pressure should be carefully monitored and I realize how afraid she is of having a stroke in my living room.  Tell your father, Bo, that he is welcome to visit me anytime.  It is so difficult for a widow to visit others.  I do not know why this is so.  It just doesn’t seem right.  Do American widows also have the same problem?  Oh, yes, I mustn’t keep you any longer with my constant prattling…so joy qin, joy qin, see you soon, good by.