Nino and Me

by Bryan A. Garner

  “Ha!” he said. “Say, this is excellent. I like the texture of it. I really like it. I’m just more adventurous than you, Bryan. You see? Here, Tom, try some of this jellyfish.” He served Tom with his own chopsticks. Tom tried it but humorously scrunched up his nose: no more jellyfish for Tom.

  But jellyfish soon became a leitmotif during the rest of our stay. At every lunch or dinner, if it was a Chinese restaurant, Justice Scalia would add, “Oh, and please bring me a generous side of jellyfish.” Then he’d add, “My uncle here”—gesturing at me—“doesn’t eat it, but I do like jellyfish.” That was the first of many times that he called me “uncle” on the trip.

  Despite the slippery nature of jellyfish, Justice Scalia generally had no problems delivering it to his mouth via chopsticks—though occasionally, very occasionally, he’d help the food into the tweezing side of the chopsticks with his left forefinger and thumb.

  At the end of our meal at Spring Moon, the waiter brought a yin-and-yang chocolate mousse. Justice Scalia liked the look of it so much that he posed for a picture while holding it. The waiter explained the meaning of yin and yang to his (mostly) Western guests. He told us that in Chinese culture yin and yang are symbols of the many complementary dualities that pervade our lives, such as light and dark, expansion and contraction, fire and water, male and female.

  Shopping on Hollywood Road

  Toward the end of the meal, I asked Justice Scalia whether he’d like to go to the antiques district of Hong Kong—at Hollywood Road, on the west side. At first, he wasn’t interested because he didn’t care for antiques.

  “It’s not just antiques, Nino. They have lots of interesting things—even dinosaur eggs.”

  “Dinosaur eggs? Are you kidding me?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know they’re dinosaur eggs?”

  “Wait till you see them. You’ll see that they’re fossilized. They’re rock. They’re mostly hadrosaurus eggs from the Henon province. They have them throughout the antiques district.”

  “Doesn’t sound interesting to me.”

  “You’ll find things there for Maureen. I promise.”

  “Like what?”

  “Gewgaws.”

  “Gewgaws? Who uses a word like that?”

  “I do. You know I use words like that.”

  “Yes, unfortunately, I do. Okay, let’s go to Hollywood Road.”

  So we did. We took a cab from the Peninsula Hotel to Hollywood Road. Justice Scalia, Karolyne, and Tom followed me through various antiques shops as I examined vases, jewelry, and dinosaur eggs—at least two dozen sets of them. I thought most items seemed overpriced, and I forbore negotiating for anything.

  Justice Scalia was fascinated by Chinese dragons. At one shop, he found a jade dragon that he especially admired and pointed it out to the shopkeeper.

  “How much will you pay?” asked the shopkeeper.

  “Let me ask my uncle,” said Justice Scalia, turning to me. When it turned out that the dealer wanted more than $2,000 U.S. for the dragon, Justice Scalia politely declined. “My uncle says it’s too much.” We walked away with a smile and a wave.

  “So I’m your uncle?”

  “You’re my uncle!”

  “You’re getting that from me. You know I’ve often said you’re like an uncle to me. I do feel that way.”

  “I’ve heard you say that,” he said, smiling, as we nudged shoulders while walking down the sidewalk.

  One shop had hundreds of busts of Chairman Mao. The raspy-voiced seller had sold me an 18-inch-high bronze bust of Confucius six years before—the only likeness of Confucius he had. But likenesses of Mao pervaded every nook of his shop.

  In front of his shop were hundreds of bronze animals representing birth years in the Chinese zodiac. I was born in 1958, the year of the dog. Karolyne figured out Justice Scalia’s birth-year animal: born in 1936, he was year of the rat. Tom, born in 1960, was also year of the rat. So we needed a good dog and two good rats, as well as a rooster (for Karolyne’s birth year).

  Halfway through the search, Justice Scalia took me aside. “I wish I weren’t a rat. I could be anything but a rat. I just don’t want to be a rat.”

  “Nino,” I said, laughing, “facts are facts. You’re a rat.”

  We narrowed the choice down to three bronze rats. Justice Scalia took one sitting atop a nut, with coins on the side. Tom took one of the others. Justice Scalia and I posed for a photo—each of us holding our birth-year animals.

  Then the four of us walked down the lane, past sellers of counterfeit American coins—19th-century Morgan dollars seemingly made out of tin and obviously fake Washington quarters with oversized busts of Washington on the obverse.

  At the end of the street, we found what looked like a reputable store full of beautiful old vases. Inside the shop, two dusty old moon vases were tucked away on the bottom shelf of a seldom-opened case. The seller told us that they dated from the 1600s. In any event, I knew that with Chinese antiquities, 17th-century items aren’t considered particularly old. He wanted $8,000 U.S. for the pair. I was skeptical about his dating. I thought they were probably modern replicas made to look old. In the end, I negotiated a price of $1,900 U.S. Because he could speak no English, the negotiation took place entirely by typing numbers into his calculator. When we finally got to the stopping point of $1,900 U.S. (we were using Hong Kong dollars on the calculator), the seller accepted but acted extremely agitated by the price. But he agreed to that number.

  “Nino, you could take one, and I could take one, for $950 U.S. apiece. We’d have matching Ming vases.”

  “You’d have one, and I’d have one,” he said. “I like the idea.”

  “You can see that they’re unusual. We’ve looked in 20 shops already, and we’ve seen nothing like these.”

  “I agree.”

  “And they’re very appealing aesthetically,” I said.

  “I think so,” Justice Scalia said. “I’m willing to do it.”

  “Would Maureen like them? It’s a big expenditure if she doesn’t.”

  “I think she would.”

  Then Karolyne walked in from the sidewalk and said, “Bryan, what are you doing?”

  “I think we’re going to buy these vases.”

  “Don’t do it. You’ve gotten enough already.”

  “Darling, I’ve bargained the guy down by 75%. I think it might be a good deal.”

  “Let me see them . . . How much?”

  “They’re $1,900 U.S.—for the pair.”

  The seller took some water out for a demonstration. He put droplets on the vases, and the water instantly disappeared—either through absorption or by instantaneous evaporation. He did it repeatedly. It was astonishing how quickly the water vanished.

  “That’s impressive,” I said.

  “What does that show?” asked Justice Scalia.

  “I have no idea,” I said, laughing. “What does that show, Lyne?” Then Karolyne spoke with the seller in Cantonese.

  “He says that it shows how good the vases are,” Karolyne said, “and that they’re genuine. But I don’t think you should get them.”

  “Why not?” I said.

  “Just a feeling,” she said.

  Justice Scalia said, “If Lyne thinks we shouldn’t, then we probably shouldn’t.”

  I said, “That’s why I call her my arbiter elegantiarum,” I said. “She talks me out of things like this when she needs to.”

  Second Full Day in Hong Kong

  Sunday would be our last day in Hong Kong without a scheduled speaking engagement. Justice Scalia and Tom, a fellow Catholic, had agreed to attend an early Mass that would allow them to return to the Ritz-Carlton by 9:00 a.m. It was the only time they had been without Karolyne to help them navigate and communicate, and it reportedly involved some nervous moments on the iPhone. But they had successfully returned for breakfast.

  That morning Polly took us on the tram to Victoria Peak to see the finest view of Hong Kong, and t
hen to Aberdeen Harbour, where we rode on a sampan boat and took a tour of fishermen’s houseboats. We wore traditional sampan hats, which looked like upside-down wicker bowls. We all enjoyed a good laugh at how silly we looked—especially Tom, whose hat sported a vibrant multicolor chin-strap. Polly then took us to Stanley Market, where we shopped awhile at the array of small stores.

  At 1:00 p.m., Polly dropped us off for lunch with Karolyne’s family—dim sum at the Sheraton Hotel. Once again, Will sat beside Justice Scalia. While the lazy Susan was turning to pass food around the table, the subject of marriage somehow came up. “You’re being awfully slow, dating Jennifer for 18 months,” said Justice Scalia. “Do you intend to propose?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Well, be fair to her. Don’t waste her time. Eighteen months is a long time if you’re not serious about pursuing the relationship.”

  Will asked how long Justice Scalia had known his wife before proposing. Three months. What about me? Six months. What about Tom? Eighteen months—but his excuse was that he was still in law school at the time, and broke.

  “Will, I think you have been given judicial direction,” I said.

  He said he’d think further on the matter.

  We left the Sheraton Hotel in taxicabs to meet at the jade market in Kowloon. Justice Scalia’s announced purpose was to find a jade bracelet for Mrs. Scalia, as well as a dragon for himself. He said he’d always had a fascination with Chinese dragons. Karolyne and I simply liked going to such markets for whatever might strike our fancy—and for the experience of haggling with the sellers. Our own jade expert, revered in the family, was Karolyne’s eldest aunt, Dai Yee (or Dai Yee Ma, as Karolyne and I call her), who speaks perhaps only four expressions in English: good morning, hallo, money, and thank you.

  The Jade Market

  The Hong Kong jade market is really a series of covered bazaars with dozens of stalls inside—a dusty place with concrete floors and all sorts of wares besides jade, such as bronze figurines, exotic stones, pearls, and various kinds of jewelry. The aisles are narrow and the stalls crammed. As you walk through, sellers scramble for your attention, hawking their items. Justice Scalia was being attended to by Karolyne, Sandra, Jenny, and Dai Yee, not to mention Tom, so I left them with their jade sellers to go in search of a dragon for Justice Scalia. I found what I thought to be the best of its kind—a 13-inch-long greenish dragon for sale by a seller I came to know as Wong Kam Wa.

  He also had several glow-in-the-dark natural-stone spheres about five inches in diameter. He demonstrated their phosphorescence by putting one of the orbs under a tablecloth, where it plainly emitted a greenish light. I decided to think more about whether to buy one of them later, but first I wanted to negotiate the price of the dragon.

  He wanted $65 U.S. in the beginning, but readily went down to $45. I countered at $18. He then went to $35, saying that was his absolute minimum. I then mentioned that it was only a four-claw dragon, not five. Four-claw Chinese dragons like this one, I said, are more common and really nothing special. It’s five-claw dragons that are traditionally reserved for members of the extended royal family. I said $19 was the most I’d be willing to pay. When he balked at that, I smiled and said goodbye in the most genial way I could. I walked to the next stall, picked up an item there, and Mr. Wa came over to say $25 would be his very best price. I smiled and said I’d already decided against it. Then he offered it for $20. I accepted and shook his hand, telling him that I must go and get my friend. I knew I was bargaining for Justice Scalia, and if he didn’t like the dragon, I’d have to buy it myself.

  When I reached Justice Scalia, he said, “Bryan, I got the bracelet! You’ll never believe what happened. Karolyne’s aunt [Dai Yee] slapped the man twice on the cheek with two $500 bills! I’ve never seen such a negotiating tactic in my life. She slapped him twice! She’s some lady.”

  “Did she get the price she wanted?” I asked.

  “No. He wanted $1,000, and she was demanding $800, so she slapped him.”

  “Did he budge?”

  “No—we paid $1,000.”

  “U.S. dollars?”

  “No. Hong Kong dollars, so divide by eight.”

  “That’s a great price for a jade bracelet.”

  “I’m very pleased. Maureen is going to love it! And it was only about $120 U.S.”

  Our entire group was abuzz about the slapping incident.

  “Nino, I found a dragon for you.”

  “You did? Let’s see it.”

  “It’s the one I like best. There are many dragons like this,” I said, pointing at one in a stall beside us. “But come back here to see this other one! You’ll like it better.”

  We walked back about 20 paces to Mr. Wa’s stall. Justice Scalia looked at Mr. Wa, pointed at me, and said, “My uncle here thinks I should buy something from you.”

  “Here it is, Nino. Look at this.”

  “It’s perfect. How much does he want?”

  “He wanted $65 initially, but I negotiated him down to $20.”

  “U.S. dollars?”

  “Right.”

  “That’s a good deal.”

  “It took a little doing. Guess what. He also has phosphorescent balls.”

  “He has what?”

  “He’s selling phosphorescent stone balls. They glow in the dark.”

  “Jeez. I thought you were describing a medical condition!”

  We both laughed. “Seriously, Nino, look at this ball.” I held it under the tablecloth, in the dark.

  “That’s not glowing!”

  “It is, Nino! Are you even looking at it?”

  “Then it’s probably radioactive.”

  “You think so? Maybe I shouldn’t have it in my bag.”

  “I still don’t think it glows in the dark,” said Justice Scalia.

  By now, Mr. Wa had taken out a flashlight and shone the light directly on part of the ball. Then he put it under the table.

  “Yep,” said Tom, who had now joined us. “It definitely glows in the dark.”

  “Let me see again,” Justice Scalia said.

  Meanwhile, I asked Mr. Wa what he’d sell it for. He wanted $75 U.S. but would let it go for $65. I countered at $25. Then Karolyne entered the fray, saying we wouldn’t pay more than $20 for the ball. She said, “I agree with Justice Scalia that it might be radioactive.” I figured she was posturing for negotiating purposes, but I couldn’t be certain.

  “Okay, Nino, let’s get down to business about your dragon. You want it?”

  “I want it.” Then he turned to Mr. Wa and said, “What’s the price my uncle negotiated? Twenty dollars?”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Wa, and the transaction was concluded. “Let me sell you the ball,” he said to me. “It glows for you.”

  “My wife says $20, no more. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay. I’ll take that.”

  So we left the jade market with a bracelet, a dragon, a phosphorescent ball, and various baubles that others in our contingent had acquired in similar mini-expeditions. Tom left with two jade crosses.

  Dai Yee’s Condo

  As we were leaving the jade market, Dai Yee asked us, through Sandra’s translation, to her condominium on the 72nd floor of the Arch, a fashionable high-rise connected to the Ritz-Carlton. She wanted to serve us some of her special health-giving broth.

  “We may as well, Nino,” I said. “It’ll probably be your only chance to see home life in Hong Kong—even if it’s not ‘typical’ home life. It’s an apartment in the Arch, after all.”

  “Sounds good to me. You want to come, Tom?”

  “Sure,” Tom said. “I’m game.”

  Dai Yee, Sandra, Jenny, and Karolyne were happy to have us up to the condo. Once we entered the commodious three-bedroom lodgings, we all took off our shoes and were greeted not only by our hosts but also by dozens of jade Buddhas and Guanyins. On the balcony were a Taoist shrine, potted plants, and drying laundry. Taken by the view and the fresh air at this alt
itude, Justice Scalia was amused by my acrophobia, which caused a palpable dread as I approached the railing. Nevertheless, I posed for a photo with him on the balcony, as did Tom. Soon all three of us were at the dining table quaffing bowls of Dai Yee’s fish air-bladder broth in the Asian way—straight from the bowl and not with a spoon.

  Then Dai Yee suddenly appeared with a bowl of large mushroom caps and a single toothpick. She thrust one in front of Justice Scalia’s mouth, saying in Cantonese, “Please try this. It’s good. It’s good for the body.”

  I told him, “She wants you to eat it.” He had little choice but to chomp on it. Then she fed one to me, and then to Tom—all from the same toothpick. Then back to Justice Scalia, who balked this time. But she didn’t understand English and impetuously insisted that he take it. He did. Three rounds for each of us.

  “Well, guys,” I said, “now we’ve shared the same toothpick three times over. I think Dai Yee has cured me of my germophobia.”

  “It’s about time, Bryan!” said a smiling Justice Scalia. “What can we do for your acrophobia?”

  “Nothing, I assure you.”

  Dai Yee tried for a fourth round, but Justice Scalia said to Karolyne across the room, “Please tell her that we’re stuffed.”

  Dai Yee was happy. So were we all.

  When Justice Scalia, Tom, Karolyne, and I returned to the Ritz-Carlton, we decided that after those mushrooms, no dinner would be necessary. “Besides,” said Justice Scalia, “I want to see Serena Williams win the Australian Open! She and her sister Venus are two of the best athletes in history. I really like watching them.”

  We turned in early before our tour the next day with Polly.

  Third Day: Chinese University of Hong Kong

  Justice Scalia was uncharacteristically late for our 8:00 a.m. rendezvous in the lobby. At 8:05, I told Karolyne and Tom that I’d go to his room to check on him. Although I had a key, I knocked—of course—and heard “Coming!” from within.

  “Ah, good morning,” he said.