by Robbi McCoy
“Since you’re an anthropologist,” said Pamela, the redhead, “maybe you can tell me if this is true. Someone once told me there are cultures where a widow is forbidden to ever remarry after her husband dies.”
“That’s true,” Faith confirmed. “Not so much in the modern world, although there are still some enforced mourning rules. Even in our own culture, it’s considered at least a little crass for a widow to remarry too soon after her husband’s funeral.”
“Yes, but it isn’t a law.”
“No.” Faith took another bite of her fish. “The Chickasaw required three years of mourning. That’s one of the longer ones. Among several other Native American tribes, the rule was that the widow had to sit by her husband’s tomb for a year. Her family members brought her food, but until a year had passed, she was forbidden to leave the spot.”
“Oh, Lord!” exclaimed Pamela. “Two days after my Richard’s funeral, I was on a plane to Tangiers. And I haven’t stopped traveling since. That was thirteen years ago. I’m having the time of my life. He was a good man, Lord love him. He worked hard and made a lot of money.”
Faith smiled at her. The huge diamond on her hand hinted at how much money her Richard had made.
“So under practically anyone’s rules,” said her roommate Nancy, “you’re now free to remarry.”
Pamela scowled. “Why would I do that?”
Cassie laughed.
“Mourning is an interesting subject,” Faith said. “It was originally instituted in many societies as a way of isolating family members of the dead from the rest of the community.”
“Why?” Cassie asked.
“If you look at it as a practical measure, it may have been to prevent the spread of communicable diseases. Along with isolation, sometimes people burned all the possessions of the dead person to destroy any evil spirits hanging out with the dead guy. But, really, what they thought of as evil spirits may in fact have been bacteria or viruses.”
Cassie nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that makes a lot of sense.”
“So what is the appropriate period of mourning today?” Nancy asked.
“Some modern sociologists say one month for every year married can be expected. I think a formula like that is useless. Mourning is a highly individual process. Some people never recover from the death of a spouse. Others bounce right back.” Faith gave a nod toward Pamela, who grinned. “Fortunately, we don’t have to abide by anyone else’s rules.”
By now the fish had made its way around the table and was back in front of Faith.
“What kind of fish is this?” Pamela asked, flaking it with her chopstick.
“Whatever it is, it’s good,” Faith said. “When you’re traveling in foreign countries, I’ve always found it a good rule not to ask questions like that. Eat everything and just enjoy it.”
“Have you two done a lot of traveling?” Jennifer asked Faith as two plates of vegetables were set on their table.
“Luckily, yes. We’ve been all over the world. Every continent except Antarctica. This is our second trip to China. We managed to hit most of the usual tourist stops on our first trip. The Great Wall, Xi’an, The Forbidden Palace, that sort of thing.”
“That’s what we’re doing,” Cassie said. “Two weeks, and this cruise is the last thing. So far, it’s been fabulous.”
The others started comparing notes about their travels. All three widows had impressive lists, even from Faith’s point of reference. Their main form of amusement, it seemed, was traveling.
“What major European city would you most want to live in?” Pamela asked the group.
After hearing London, Paris, Barcelona and Prague, she turned to Faith and said, “What about you, Faith? You’ve been to all of these cities, right?”
“Actually, we’ve been all over the world, but my research takes me to some unlikely places and we haven’t had the chance yet to see very many of the usual ones.”
“Right,” Lauren said. “We’ve been to Ghana, Madagascar and Syria, but we’ve never been to Paris. Or London, other than the airport.”
“We have been to Rome,” Faith pointed out.
“Yes. The catacombs.” Lauren laughed shortly.
Faith turned to face her, recognizing her sarcastic laugh. Turning back to the group, she said, “All those places, all the beautiful cities of Europe, are on our list. Including Tuscany, Lauren’s heart’s desire. But Paris and London and Tuscany will wait for us. The Yangtze River will not.”
For the first time Faith noticed the musical soundtrack playing in the background. Betty Hutton was singing “Things Like That There.” A funny old song, she mused.
“That’s Shanghai chard,” Lauren offered to Sharon, the divorcee, who was staring with curiosity at the greens on the lazy Susan. “It’s like bok choy. And this is a type of small round eggplant. Looks like they’ve done it Schezwan style, so it will be spicy. Nothing scary, though.”
“How do you know all that?” Sharon asked, spooning some into her plate.
“Just a hobby of mine. Food. I like to cook. I like to try different things. In Portland, we’re lucky to have some really good farmer’s markets. There are actually a lot of Asian vegetables there.”
“Lauren’s a remarkable cook,” Faith said. “Living with her is like going to a restaurant every night. Actually, better than most restaurants.”
Lauren smiled thankfully.
“So, Jennifer,” Faith said, “you’re an EMT. That must be an exciting job.”
“For sure. Some nights you wouldn’t believe.” Jennifer eyed the Shanghai chard suspiciously before spooning some onto her plate. “It can be pretty hairy sometimes. Probably not something to talk about at dinner.”
Cassie, her mouth full, nodded emphatically. Because Lauren had identified the vegetables, the group now looked to her to name and describe each new dish as it was placed on the table. It was the perfect subject, Faith thought, to draw her out. Lauren, however self-deprecating, was an extremely knowledgeable expert on food. Between her job and her personal interest, she had both the science and the art well covered.
“I’m curious,” Cassie said, addressing Faith. “Why’d you come back to China? Just loved it so much the first time?”
“We did love it, but we’re here because of the dam. To see the area before it’s flooded.”
“We’ve heard some alarming statistics,” Cassie said. “Nearly two million people will have to be moved to higher ground. Whole towns.”
“Some really big cities, actually,” Lauren said, “Fengdu, which is one of our stops, has a population around seven hundred thousand. The city is being rebuilt across the river from its current location.”
“They’ve put markers along our route here,” Faith said, “so you can see where the water level will be after the dam is in full operation. The result will be electricity for millions, but you can’t help looking at this beautiful scenery and think about what’s about to be lost. But it’s like that with dams all over the world. Hetch Hetchy in Yosemite. Glen Canyon in Utah. Lots of archaeological sites were lost there too. There was a huge push before that dam was built to recover as many cultural resources as possible, just like there is here. That’s really why we’re here.” Faith served herself some eggplant. “As much as I love beautiful scenery, the real purpose of this trip is to see the hanging coffins.”
Jennifer dropped her fork, which clattered across the floor under the table. “Hanging coffins?”
“You haven’t heard of those?”
“Oh!” said Pamela, “I’ve heard of them. Can’t remember what they are, though.”
“They’re ancient, hand-carved wooden coffins suspended on the sides of the cliffs above the river. A people called the Bo are responsible. Some of the caskets have survived for two thousand years.”
“What?” Jennifer gaped. “There are dead bodies hanging on the cliffs in this river?”
“They’re skeletons now, of course. But, yes, there are. Most of them have lon
g since fallen into the river. And many of those still in place will be submerged when the dam is built. They’ll be underwater. Well, the sites will be underwater. The coffins themselves will be removed before that.”
“We’re going to hike up to one of the sites day after tomorrow,” Lauren said, “in the Shen Nong gorge. You can’t see much from water level, even with binoculars, so we wanted to get a close-up look.”
“Wow!” Cassie said, her dark eyes widening at the thought. “That sounds fun.”
Jennifer turned to Cassie, startled. “Fun?”
“Would you like to go?” Faith asked. “We’d have to get permission, but if you’re interested, we can ask. We’d enjoy the company. Isn’t that right, Lauren?”
She nodded enthusiastically, confirming that she was warming up to their new acquaintances.
“But we’re going on the tour to the temple day after tomorrow,” Jennifer said when Cassie looked at her for her buy-in.
“Oh, come on, Jen. We’ve seen a dozen temples already. This is something unique.”
“It is,” Lauren agreed. “A once in a lifetime opportunity to see the hanging coffins of Bo.”
Cassie’s eyes lit up with interest. She looked at Jennifer again with a hopeful expression.
Jennifer sighed. “Okay,” she relented. “It’s not going to be dangerous, is it?”
“No,” Faith replied. “But it might be muddy. It’s been raining. So wear hiking boots if you’ve got them. Anybody else?”
Faith looked at the others, who all declined a muddy hike, which didn’t surprise her. “I’ll make a call first thing in the morning to make sure there’s no problem having you join us.”
A waiter came by with a replacement fork for Jennifer and a platter of small red crustaceans. Faith couldn’t suppress a delighted squeal and immediately grabbed one, though she had to reach across Nancy to do so.
“What is that?” Jennifer asked, wrinkling up her nose.
“Spiny lobster,” Faith said, tearing open the claw. “I love lobster.”
“They don’t look like lobsters.” Jennifer looked dubious.
“Not the kind you’re used to, but they taste wonderful. So delicate and sweet. They’re like crawdads. Try one.”
At the mention of crawdads, Jennifer’s mouth fell open and she just stared.
“Never eaten a crawdad?” Faith asked.
Jennifer shook her head as Cassie took one of the lobsters.
“Lobster may be my all-time favorite food,” Faith said. “I don’t think I could ever get too much of this stuff.”
Conversation lagged as the number of dishes placed before them mounted. Faith was just breaking into her second lobster when Jennifer suddenly leapt to her feet. Her chair went flying back, toppling over. Everyone stopped eating, watching her streak across the room to one of the other tables where an elderly woman started screaming and an elderly man appeared to be choking in a manner that sounded serious. Apparently Jennifer had heard this, somehow, before any of the rest of them, over the din of conversation, dishes and the music, which was now onto Frank Sinatra singing “Come Fly With Me.”
Jennifer grabbed the old man, kicking his chair away, and yanked him to his feet, his back to her. He was easily twice her size, but she managed to manipulate him into position with her arms around his chest. His wife had now stopped screaming, but as the rest of the room began to realize what was happening, there was a general round of gasps. Several people were on their feet, including Faith and Lauren, as Jennifer performed the Heimlich maneuver repeatedly. Everyone waited in tense silence as Jennifer made three attempts before a chunk of food shot out onto the table.
Faith had been holding her breath. She let it out and took another deep breath as Jennifer let the man back down to his chair. He gulped air and swallowed several times and gradually grew calm.
“Is it all out?” Jennifer asked, kneeling beside him.
He nodded.
“Okay, then,” she said with authority, rising to her feet and giving him a pat on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”
“You saved his life!” said the old woman, gaping at her husband, her eyes still wide with fright.
Jennifer shrugged. “No biggie.”
“On the contrary. You should have a reward.” She reached for her purse.
“No, really. I do this all the time. But I wouldn’t turn down a beer if you want to spring for that.”
When Jennifer returned to the table, she was grinning, looking deservedly pleased with herself. Cassie put an arm around her and hugged her. “Good job!” she said. “You responded so fast.”
“Didn’t even think about it,” Jennifer said, taking her chair.
“Very impressive,” Faith said. “Good training, right?”
“Right. Becomes instinctive.”
Faith nodded and sat down, knowing that although the response to distress might be instinctive, the Heimlich maneuver was not. That was learned.
“What did he choke on?” Cassie asked.
“Who knows?” Jennifer shrugged. “Probably one of those spiny crawdads.”
A few minutes later a waiter brought her a Tsingtao beer in a green bottle. She raised it toward the old man’s table in a silent salute. His tablemates were still talking excitedly about the near tragedy. The old man gave Jennifer a grateful smile.
Chapter Three
On a ship this small, when official entertainment was offered, there was one choice and only one choice. If you didn’t take it, there wasn’t much else to do, so why not take it? That was the reasoning that led almost all the passengers to this evening’s organized activity: Chinese fan making.
After the instructor displayed several beautiful examples of folded paper fans decorated with lotus blossoms, fish, birds, dragons and other traditional motifs, he let them loose with wooden sticks, glue, sheets of paper and watercolor paints. They were four to a table, so Cassie and Jennifer joined Lauren and Faith for the craft session. Lauren was glad to see them there because she already felt closer to the two of them than anyone else on board.
“I feel like I’m in kindergarten,” Cassie said with a gleeful snicker.
“I’m hopeless at this sort of thing,” Faith announced, staring at her blank piece of paper. “Lauren, what are you going to paint on yours?”
Lauren briefly studied the sample fans at the front of the room. “Goldfish maybe. I like goldfish.”
Cassie nodded, dipping her paintbrush in a bottle of blue ink. “Good choice.”
Jennifer was already painting intently, her face close to the table, the tip of her tongue protruding from her mouth.
“Can we talk while we do this?” asked Faith, addressing herself mainly to Jennifer.
Jennifer looked up. “Sure. No problem.”
“In that case, how about coming out stories?”
Cassie peered over the top of her glasses at Faith, her lips curling into a one-sided smile. Faith apparently interpreted that as concurrence.
“You go first, Lauren,” she instructed.
Lauren suspended her brush over a small round blob of orange paint. “Been gay all my life,” she said. “By the time I was sixteen, I was exclusively into girls. Lost my virginity to a girl named Stormy my senior year in high school.”
“Stormy!” Cassie yelped. “How romantic.”
“It wasn’t her real name. But that’s what everybody called her. It was intense, but more about sex than love. After that, nothing serious until I met Faith at twenty-two, the first real love of my life.” Lauren briefly held Faith’s hand. “My first and last, my one true love.”
Jennifer glanced up from her work to smile at Lauren’s sentiment.
“You next, Faith,” Cassie urged.
Faith set down the paintbrush that hadn’t yet touched paint. “I had no clue I was gay. I thought you had to be a jock to be a lesbian and I was so far from being a jock I knew I couldn’t be one, despite the erotic fantasies I had about my Physics teacher. Still, I only dat
ed boys in high school and married my steady boyfriend after graduation.”
“Skippy,” Lauren interjected.
“Yes, good old Skippy. He dated my older sister Charity briefly before he cast his eye my way. I don’t think she ever forgave me for that.” Faith laughed.
“Charity?” Cassie looked thoughtful, then quoted, “‘And now abideth faith, hope, charity; but the greatest of these is charity.’”
Faith nodded. “Believe me, my sister Charity used to quote that passage frequently, with her nose in the air.”
“Your parents were very religious?” Cassie asked, painting thin black lines on her paper.
“Yes,” said Faith. “I had a younger sister named Hope, so you’ve guessed the source of our names. I’ve always thought my family was cursed by irony.”
Cassie pushed her hair back behind her ear. “How so?”
“Well, Faith ended up with no faith. In the case of Hope, things were always hopeless. She had a terminal illness from birth and died when she was ten. And Charity has turned into the most uncharitable of women. At least toward me. I decided a long time ago that if I ever have a daughter, I’ll defy the God of Irony and name her Cruella Ugly.”
Cassie cackled and turned to Jennifer, who smiled uncertainly.
“If she’s my daughter, too,” Lauren said, “I think I’d prefer Lisa or Christine.”
Cassie nodded at Lauren, looking amused, then turned back to Faith. “So what happened to Skippy?”
“We were married just over a year.” Faith glanced around the group and lowered her voice suggestively. “And then I met a woman.”
Everyone nodded knowingly. Faith ended her story there, stopping short of talking about the “woman.” The girl, really—Faith’s college romance. Janie was a shadowy figure to Lauren. She had seen photos, but Faith hardly ever spoke of her. It was so long in the past and not long-lived—two years at most. There was probably not a lot to say. Faith’s equivalent to her Stormy, she’d always assumed.
Lauren glanced at Faith’s paper, which remained completely blank. Faith shrugged at her and lifted her paintbrush in an encouraging first step.