again. She was working hard to suppress a smile as she imagined her mother’s stomach all woolly with minute blue and grey fungi.“Mah, just try and relax. Try not to worry too much. Let me take care of everything.” May-Yen turned her head away from her daughter. She clenched her lips tightly, not allowing a word, a sound, to escape.
Su got up and returned to the packing. She vacuumed up the dust and finished stacking the cardboard boxes, old vinyl suitcases, and green garbage bags into a cohesive pile, while May-Yen sat forlornly on a green chesterfield, watching her daughter’s every movement, wringing her hands like a set of giant worry beads.
May-Yen remembered thinking that cancer was a Western disease, but now Chinese people were getting it. The people who had been careless about eating all that
lo fon
food. Didn’t they know any better? We Chinese are raised on rice – rice that’s hot and soft and cushions the inside of your stomach, radiating a gentle source of heat. But the ice cream, the potato salad – so cold and heavy. You could tell by the way that it coated the inside of your mouth with a thick film that it was bad for you. Food should be clear and savoury and leave your mouth feeling cleansed but your stomach full and warm.
But now the doctors were saying that she had cancer. Three days earlier, May-Yen had been on the phone to tell her daughter what her doctor had told her – or at least what Kenny had told her the doctor had said. When May-Yen finished, Su insisted on speaking to Kenny. Between them they decided that May-Yen should go and stay with Su in Toronto. Of course it made sense. Kenny wouldn’t have time for all those doctor’s visits. He and his wife ran the Lucky Star bythemselves without hired help. It wasn’t that May-Yen wasn’t grateful to her children, especially to her daughter, who spoke English so well and who had a university education. She just couldn’t help thinking, I wasn’t even asked.
Su finished the packing, checked her watch, and went downstairs to the restaurant. She was anxious to leave her brother’s apartment. She found the low ceilings and lack of light depressing and oppressive. Her mother’s bedroom looked out at a brick wall only three feet away. Su returned with her husband, Harry, and their two young sons. The boys rushed to give their grandmother a hug. May-Yen absent-mindedly patted them on their shoulders while she watched her daughter and her son-in-law dismantle her fortress of worldly possessions, carrying everything down a long flight of wooden stairs.
Su’s fingers tapped out a quiet rhythm as she held the car door open for her mother. May-Yen slowly brought her legs around the back seat, and with her daughter’s help, edged her feet on to the sidewalk. She held Su’s arm and carefully walked up the path to the large red brick house. May-Yen was surprised to see yellow and red leaves scattered all over the lawn. There were no trees around the restaurant and she rarely stepped outside. Harry and her grandsons walked quickly past several times, each time carrying another package.
Su had cleared out a room next to the bathroom in anticipation of her mother’s arrival. May-Yen, exhausted from climbing the stairs, sat slumped in a chair. Su looked around indisbelief at her mother’s belongings – a careless collection of cardboard boxes, suitcases, and bulging green garbage bags. A mingling of smells from her childhood, of camphor, spearmint, and mothballs was beginning to permeate the room.
May-Yen watched her daughter walk over to a stack of boxes and lift the lid off the top one. Inside, carefully folded, was a pink chiffon gown with a full skirt of many layers. Su took the dress out, shook it, and held it in front of her with arms extended, and looked at her mother in disbelief. “Mah, why are you keeping this? This thing is twenty years old. I wore it when I was the bridesmaid at Kenny’s wedding.”
May-Yen sat up straight.
Su got up and returned to the packing. She vacuumed up the dust and finished stacking the cardboard boxes, old vinyl suitcases, and green garbage bags into a cohesive pile, while May-Yen sat forlornly on a green chesterfield, watching her daughter’s every movement, wringing her hands like a set of giant worry beads.
May-Yen remembered thinking that cancer was a Western disease, but now Chinese people were getting it. The people who had been careless about eating all that
lo fon
food. Didn’t they know any better? We Chinese are raised on rice – rice that’s hot and soft and cushions the inside of your stomach, radiating a gentle source of heat. But the ice cream, the potato salad – so cold and heavy. You could tell by the way that it coated the inside of your mouth with a thick film that it was bad for you. Food should be clear and savoury and leave your mouth feeling cleansed but your stomach full and warm.
But now the doctors were saying that she had cancer. Three days earlier, May-Yen had been on the phone to tell her daughter what her doctor had told her – or at least what Kenny had told her the doctor had said. When May-Yen finished, Su insisted on speaking to Kenny. Between them they decided that May-Yen should go and stay with Su in Toronto. Of course it made sense. Kenny wouldn’t have time for all those doctor’s visits. He and his wife ran the Lucky Star bythemselves without hired help. It wasn’t that May-Yen wasn’t grateful to her children, especially to her daughter, who spoke English so well and who had a university education. She just couldn’t help thinking, I wasn’t even asked.
Su finished the packing, checked her watch, and went downstairs to the restaurant. She was anxious to leave her brother’s apartment. She found the low ceilings and lack of light depressing and oppressive. Her mother’s bedroom looked out at a brick wall only three feet away. Su returned with her husband, Harry, and their two young sons. The boys rushed to give their grandmother a hug. May-Yen absent-mindedly patted them on their shoulders while she watched her daughter and her son-in-law dismantle her fortress of worldly possessions, carrying everything down a long flight of wooden stairs.
Su’s fingers tapped out a quiet rhythm as she held the car door open for her mother. May-Yen slowly brought her legs around the back seat, and with her daughter’s help, edged her feet on to the sidewalk. She held Su’s arm and carefully walked up the path to the large red brick house. May-Yen was surprised to see yellow and red leaves scattered all over the lawn. There were no trees around the restaurant and she rarely stepped outside. Harry and her grandsons walked quickly past several times, each time carrying another package.
Su had cleared out a room next to the bathroom in anticipation of her mother’s arrival. May-Yen, exhausted from climbing the stairs, sat slumped in a chair. Su looked around indisbelief at her mother’s belongings – a careless collection of cardboard boxes, suitcases, and bulging green garbage bags. A mingling of smells from her childhood, of camphor, spearmint, and mothballs was beginning to permeate the room.
May-Yen watched her daughter walk over to a stack of boxes and lift the lid off the top one. Inside, carefully folded, was a pink chiffon gown with a full skirt of many layers. Su took the dress out, shook it, and held it in front of her with arms extended, and looked at her mother in disbelief. “Mah, why are you keeping this? This thing is twenty years old. I wore it when I was the bridesmaid at Kenny’s wedding.”
May-Yen sat up straight.
Similar Books
