The Dim Sum of All Things

by Kim Wong Keltner

  “This reminds me of Louisiana, on the river road between New Orleans and Baton Rouge,” Michael said.

  For this time of year, the region was enjoying an unusual warm spell, and Lindsey watched barefoot teens skipping rocks over the silty water. Smaller children on the opposite bank played in the mud, and some ate potato chips as their parents rinsed out plastic pails and toys.

  Michael slowed down as they passed a boarded-up Chinese market. It was painted a faded pink, with its black lettering giving the impression of having been charred onto the wood, beaten down by sun and rain. They continued past the old store, past fruit trees, and rows of planted soil, rich with peat from the decayed vegetation of last autumn’s harvest. The landscape suggested that people here still lived off the land, but there was no one in sight.

  From her passenger side window, Lindsey saw a metal green sign that said they were passing the town of Locke, but there were no numbers indicating any population.

  “Can we stop here?” she asked. “My dad is from this town.”

  No other cars were on the road, so Michael easily slowed down onto the dirt shoulder as overgrown branches bent against the sideview mirror. They crossed the deserted blacktop and quietly walked toward the main street, which was lined with unpainted shacks that barely supported weary balconies.

  As light extinguished itself behind the horizon, the plank sidewalks sank into blue darkness. Cowbells, withered flowers, and abandoned chairs, buckets, and brooms cluttered the doorways of deserted residences. A bar at the end of the block showed the only sign of life, and even the anemic string of lights on the window barely managed to flicker.

  They crossed the street to a makeshift museum, where the bluish glow of an overhead bug-zapper provided dim illumination. They wandered slowly in the direction of an old Chinese school, but it was empty as well. Lindsey could sense that the stairs where they stood had once been a lively spot, and she sniffed the air, straining to detect the last whiffs of crayons, or kids’ smelly, well-worn sneakers. She placed her ear against the banana-yellow clapboard siding and imagined hearing the last faint notes of an old man’s piano lessons from when he was a boy.

  She knew that the Owyangs had lived here in this old town that had once been bustling with farmhands, sharecroppers, and laborers—all Chinese. She wanted to find the places where her father’s family had lived and worked, and she had a sudden desire to grasp the tattered threads of this town and run her fingers along the fibers that were all but worn away. She quickly promised herself that she’d return to this place with her parents and brother, because now that Pau Pau had shown her that it was possible to mend unraveled stories, she was determined to gather the loose ends of her dad’s history, knit together the discarded pieces of yarn, and fasten up the ripped stitches before any valuable memories slipped through the moth-eaten holes and neglected tears.

  Alongside her, Michael gazed into the alleys, which served as pass-throughs to the residential street behind the storefronts. He didn’t ask questions or make small talk, seeming comfortable enough with her silence.

  When they returned to the car, the night was upon them. In the pitch blackness of the unlit country road, Michael turned on the high beams, and they resumed their drive along the levee.

  They sat quietly as the rustle of night air blustered through the partially open windows and into their ears. The impact of one bug, then two, three, and four flitted onto the windshield as the polished glass bore the remains of their delicate, silk-threaded wings. In this strange, warm darkness, they both stared straight ahead, intoxicated by the romance of an old California that still existed, right here on this hidden, dreamlike highway.

  The remaining heat from the afternoon billowed up the scents of magnolia, burnt alfalfa, and the ripe fruit of old-growth orchards. Yellow-bronze pears shone occasionally in the headlights, and animals on the side of the road periodically darted between the tall thickets, flashing like fast-prancing apparitions. Cottontail rabbits gazed at the car’s speeding brightness, and couples parked on the side of the road kindled small orange fires. In the river water just beyond, lanterns attached to bobbing rowboats outlined fishermen’s silhouettes. Every beast was in its private wonderland.

  A white barn owl opened its wings and clumsily flapped across the road to land on a fencepost. Lindsey had never seen a real one before, and they stopped the car to watch as it surveyed the land in anticipation of its night of hunting. In silence she wondered, Do animals think or dream?

  They passed a sign pointing toward Rio Vista. The night played tricks on them as suddenly the river appeared on the left where just a mile or so ago they had followed it on the right. They turned the headlights to where they expected to see water, but they illuminated only fields, scaring up two more caramel-cream owls, which took flight like secret-keepers who had come to study them with curiosity.

  She wondered how many owls had left their nests every dusk and explored the star-speckled night, while city occupants passed their evenings under artificial light, swept up only in themselves and dilemmas of their own invention. Along the banks of the still river, she imagined the hundreds of residents past. Had they asked themselves, “Who will love me?” And had they fled toward the city lights, restless for an answer?

  Lindsey saw constellations she had not seen since childhood; she had forgotten about Cassiopeia and Andromeda, but they had been here all along, in the bright shadow of Ursa Minor.

  The night held heat in its air, like moisture in a buoyant droplet of rainwater that would not burst. With her wits keenly about her, Lindsey felt something in her cells awaken, like protons in an oscillator, or night-blooming jasmine opening its fragile petals. Up until this day, she had kept Michael at arm’s length from her heart as if he were a stranger, and now, unconsciously, she decided to trust him. Light rain blew through the windows, and as the temperature outside broke, something inside her dissolved invisibly. Heavy splashes of water trembled on her arm and melted, slowly penetrating her skin.

  They crossed the bridge to Isleton, Antioch, and the city beyond. She spotted bright lights in the distance, but she knew even before seeing them that she and Michael were not lost. As they made their way closer into the clusters of civilization, they cruised past cottagelike resorts with merry inhabitants drinking cocktails on the patios. They sped toward home, and she felt strong.

  Let Us Now Praise Chinese Grannies

  Lindsey made her way to the video store, taking her time in the afternoon to amble through the blocks where North Beach and Chinatown melted into each other. Wanting some exercise, she took a long, scenic route, and approached the intersection at Kearny and Columbus, where the gigantic Marine World mural once overlooked the Financial District. She could still clearly envision the lion’s mane that had fanned out like a bright, satsuma-colored sea anemone, and she recalled how the animal’s human face with red lipstick had stirred her imagination. Gazing up to the Transamerica Pyramid in the evening light, she remembered the time when someone had strung a massive web of rope across the building, and an enormous Spiderman had hovered over the city streets and traffic below. Now from the foot of Columbus Avenue, she looked up toward the black dragon design embedded in the tiles above the Broadway Tunnel. She hardly ever bothered to look up and see it anymore, but now that she did, she was glad it was still there.

  As she crisscrossed through Chinatown and passed Commercial Alley, she thought of all the things that had disappeared from the city since she was a kid. She missed the scary Chinese Wax Museum on California and Grant, with its snakes and pickled mice in jars, and the sinister Fu Manchu dioramas that reinforced the stereotypes of Chinese villains. She wondered what had happened to the big wooden slide in Portsmouth Square, where she and Kevin used to burn their legs on the sunlight-heated metal. And when did they replace the old mustard-colored honeycomb play structure in the Chinese Playground? She used to like hiding in the hexagonal cubes, and she recalled the gravelly sound of the coarse, pebbly sand crunching
under her Mary Janes.

  Did they still have the yearly carnival at the foot of the Empress of China? She had won a souvenir there once by shooting a stream of water into a plastic clown’s mouth. But this was all back when kids could wander aimlessly and safely through San Francisco. Now the city seemed so different. Not only had these physical pieces of Chinatown and San Francisco been demolished but their disappearance left an emotional emptiness in the gaping sinkholes destined for new construction.

  As she continued down toward the water, she thought about the fact that San Francisco had been destroyed and rebuilt many times before she ever came along. She knew that Montgomery Street used to be the shoreline, and that the landfill that extended the city into the Bay was packed with the remains of gold-seekers’ clipper ships.

  Years ago, the construction workers who dug the underground tunnels for BART stumbled onto the burned remains of a mid-19th-century Chinatown. She knew that Chinatown and San Francisco had always been in a constant state of flux and, despite her sentimental tendencies, she probably should take a hint from Pau Pau and not look to the past so much. After all, Pau Pau often said, “Now is the best time in my life,” and Lindsey wanted to feel that way, too.

  When she returned home, Lindsey’s grandmother proclaimed that enough time had passed since the funeral, and the family could now have their dinner to welcome the New Year.

  “I want to cook the dinner that Gung Gung used to make,” Lindsey said.

  “Dai been lo, eh?” Pau Pau asked with big eyes. Lindsey nodded vigorously.

  “All right. You and me make,” Pau Pau said.

  They spent all week planning the ingredients for the special hot-pot dinner. Lindsey and Pau Pau made many trips on the bus into Chinatown and purchased fresh clams, mussels, scallops, and tiger prawns. Lindsey sliced thin strips of chicken and made iceberg lettuce leaf cups, and Pau Pau minced black mushrooms and meat for the filling.

  Saturday night finally came, and some relatives began to arrive early to help with the preparations.

  “Wow, Linds, I can’t believe you organized this,” Kevin said. He had busted up with Karen and was alone tonight, drinking his Tsingtao beer and watching his female relatives do all the cooking as they tried to work around him.

  Kevin jumped out of Vivien’s way as she brought a heavy serving tray into the kitchen. Jerking his bottle of beer to safety, his elbow knocked over the green bowl that held Lindsey’s keys.

  “Ai-ya!” Pau Pau yelled.

  Lindsey picked up the porcelain pieces, which had broken cleanly into three parts.

  “Throw those away before someone cuts themselves,” Auntie Shirley fussed.

  “Oh, I can glue it,” Lindsey said. “It’ll be easy.”

  She pressed the pieces together and showed how the bowl fit neatly back into its octagonal shape.

  “Suit yourself. Seems like too much trouble for that old thing,” Auntie Shirley shrugged.

  Vivien interrupted, “Daddy used to get liver. Did you get liver, Lindsey?”

  “Oh, I’m making gluten liver!” Shirley piped up.

  Everyone exploded in excitement when Stephanie and Mike arrived with their baby.

  “Armani Huang-Wilkinson has arrived!” Stephanie announced gleefully. As the infant boy stirred, Vivien rushed over and gently lifted him from his mother’s arms. He immediately began to wail as she bounced him vigorously.

  “Look at my grandson! I think he looks like me, and he’s even got an Italian name!”

  Stephanie beamed, looking just a pinch less perfect than usual with slightly droopy hair and yellow-gray circles under her eyes. As everyone hugged her and Mike, she explained, “The name was going to be Prada for a girl, but I’m glad he’s a boy ’cause ‘Armani’ is so classic.”

  Kevin called over as he untangled Cammie from a set of wires behind the television. “Hey, Mike, help me set up the karaoke machine!”

  As everyone settled down, Lindsey rinsed the gold mesh ladles they would use to lower the seafood and meats into the bubbling hot broth from the electric chafing dish. After she dried all the utensils, she set the table. She made sure everything was ready for the dinner, and then she slyly looked around to see if the coast was clear before dialing Michael’s number. After several rings there was no answer, but on the ninth ring he picked up, and Lindsey felt relieved.

  “Hi, it’s me,” she said. “Do you want to do something after work on Monday?”

  “Yeah, what do you have in mind?”

  “I could bring over Dial M for Murder, and we could watch it at your place.”

  Just then, Brandon bounded into the kitchen. “Is that a white guy you’re talking to?” he yelled in her face. He didn’t know he had guessed correctly—he was just teasing her as usual. Lindsey kicked him lightly on the shin.

  “Who was that?” Michael asked.

  “Oh, that’s my cousin Brandon. He’s gonna clobber you with his nunchuks.”

  “Great. I look forward to it.”

  “So how about the video?”

  “Yeah, sounds good,” he replied. “I could make red beans and rice. Or maybe I’ll fry you up some Spam.”

  “Maybe we could just have Hello Kitty toast.” Lindsey had a spontaneous idea. “Hey, do you want to come over for dinner?” She blurted it out before she had a chance to feel nervous or worried what her family might think. She was feeling peppy and confident.

  “Right now?”

  “Yeah, sure. My grandmother and I made this big meal, and everybody’s over. Just come by.”

  Michael said he’d be over in fifteen minutes. Lindsey set another place at the table and whistled to herself as she finished rinsing a few extra spoons.

  As Mike and Kevin put the finishing touches on the karaoke system, everyone nibbled on cold meat appetizers, pickled baby octopus, and long strips of marinated jellyfish.

  When the doorbell rang, Lindsey dried her hands and ran over to the door to let Michael in. She introduced him to her family.

  Mr. Owyang looked at Michael and then turned to Stephanie’s husband and said, “What’s this? I guess all white guys are named Mike now?” He chuckled and went into the kitchen to retrieve Tsingtaos for all the guys, including both Mikes. He was in a good mood because the Giants had some good hitters this year.

  Brandon eyed Michael with suspicion but seemed too cowardly to actually say anything insulting. He stood in the corner and glared at him. After everyone at the table introduced themselves, Michael unzipped his jacket, and Brandon’s eyes suddenly lit up. Michael was wearing a silkscreened T-shirt that showed Bruce Lee mixing records on a turntable.

  Lindsey looked at Michael’s shirt, then at him, then over to Brandon. She smiled to herself without saying anything. Looking at her, Michael stood a little confused for a moment, then said, “Oh, whoops. Sorry I didn’t dress nicer. I was washing the car when you called, and I just rushed over.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. She glanced at Brandon, who stared at Michael’s shirt in awe as he hesitantly handed him a beer. Just then Auntie Shirley swooped over to them and said, “Hey everybody, look out the window! Mother Moon is shining down on us!”

  Lindsey, Brandon, and Michael peered out the window and saw a bright crescent in the sky. Auntie Shirley held her arms around the trio for a moment and inhaled deeply. When she pranced away, Brandon shuddered and shook his shoulders as if their aunt had cooties.

  Michael squinted at nature’s toenail in the sky. With mock disbelief he said, “That’s no moon…it’s a space station.”

  Brandon’s icy demeanor spontaneously melted. Little did Michael know that his single line of dialogue from Star Wars had just completely disarmed his potential adversary. An immediate admiration visibly swelled in Brandon’s puny chest, and suddenly he transformed into a friendlier person.

  “Hey Lindsey, go get us some more beers.” He nudged her aside and started to question Michael about the origins of his Bruce Lee T-shirt.

  Meanwhile, everyone
made their way toward the dining room table and began to find seats.

  “Hey Michael, try these spicy noodles,” someone said, handing him an appetizer plate jiggling with strands of jellyfish. Pau Pau shuffled over and said, “Nice to see you again.” She pinched his cheek with enthusiastic force, and then used tongs to pop a shriveled, gray chicken foot onto his plate. Lindsey got a little nervous, but Michael amiably ate anything anyone put in front of him. Chewing on some sliced beef tongue, he whispered to Lindsey, “I thought you said there’d be weird food. Where is it?” Then much to Pau Pau’s delight, he picked up the chicken’s foot and started gnawing on it.

  Everyone dipped mesh ladles into the boiling water, which held mounds of clear, thin vermicelli noodles. After a few minutes, they lifted out the handles, and the small baskets were filled with cooked shellfish and meats. As they kept dipping, the broth became infused with the seafood flavors, and the leafy greens eventually cooked to a tender texture. Lindsey’s chilled lettuce cups held dollops of finely chopped squab, water chestnuts, and mushrooms, which the family devoured hungrily. Shirley’s gluten liver remained uneaten.

  Lindsey asked, “Mom, did you know that Gung Gung sold his gold watch to save your life?”

  Mrs. Owyang elbowed Vivien and said, “Yeah, I’m glad Dad’s watchband was gold. If that thing had been a fake QVC number, I wouldn’t even be here now.” She pursed her lips and jabbed her sister’s arm, causing her flashy faux bangles to jangle down her wrist.

  As Auntie Shirley rocked Armani in her caftan-draped arms, she welcomed him to Earth and gently asked him how many incarnations he remembered.

  Leisurely, everyone finished up their food, and Lindsey left Michael with Kevin and Brandon as they argued about which Bruce movie was the best. Lindsey cleared some plates, and Stephanie followed her into the kitchen.