drink poison would beg the question “Why?” which, in turn, would lead to lost
face. Since Mrs. Dixie had elected not to entangle parents or the authorities, her students accepted her justice—and the mild
runs induced by the coffee elixir.
Henry was just glad he hadn’t had to deal with the two-step of Mum’s rage and Dad’s resignation. After all, it was only a
joke.
“What if old Dixie-belle had really gotten the hots for that rooster?” he said. “That would’ve been worth getting caught!”
He and Tommy sprawled on Henry’s bed, sorting baseball cards. I was allowed to sit and watch because, as long as I kept quiet,
my presence didn’t count.
“Better it didn’t work,” said Tommy, whose father had been so astounded to see his prize bantam in the arms of the school’s
black janitor that that night he lectured Tommy about thieving and ordered him to spend the next week memorizing Dr. Sun Yat
Sen’s
First Steps in Democracy.
“Aw, c’mon. It would’ve been a pisser. Gimme Roger Maris.”
Tommy tossed him the card. “I mean it. Jimmy thought it was a joke, too, but if the stuff had really worked, his dad would
have lost too much face.”
“But if it worked, it should be great for business!”
“It’s not supposed to work on people, you jerk. It’s meant for chickens. And it’s Jimmy’s dad’s job to see his medicines are
used right. If his own kid fools around with the powder, it doesn’t make him look too good.”
“So?” Henry said.
“So people stop talking to him. The tongs tell everybody stay away from his shop. He’s got to give them big money to get his
face back. And Jimmy’s got to pay, too.”
“Yeah? How?”
“You know. Going to Chinese school. Helping in the store instead of hanging out at the arcade. Being a dutiful son.”
“Sounds pretty dumb to me. There.” Henry patted one last card into the box before him. “American League, 1961. A full set
of Topps. Bet you can’t beat that.”
“Bet you don’t have a single card with a Chinese ballplayer.”
“There aren’t any.”
“So why d’you think I’d even want a full set of Topps American League 1961?”
“Because in a couple of years it’ll be worth a lot of money, you dodo.”
Tommy got up and crossed the room. When he reached the door, he turned and said, “Why you don’t understand about face is because
you have no face to lose.”
I’ve been spotting him ever since I moved back. A wide, dark head bobbing up behind the peaches in the Bedford Street fruit
stand. The chiseled face with Ray-Bans in a parked Cadillac on Broadway, or that Asian couple leaning close over engagement
rings in a midtown diamond store. A man in a kung fu studio, eyes fixed with such complete concentration that I was absolutely
positive. But people change between age fifteen and twenty-nine. I held my distance because I knew I wouldn’t be sure of Tommy
Wah if he tapped me on the shoulder.
When I called this morning, though, I knew his voice at once. Smooth and cautious, like waves against long grass.
“Maibelle. Where are you?”
“New York.”
“When you didn’t answer my letter, I thought—”
“You thought correctly. I guess you haven’t found anyone yet.”
“I’ve only just signed the publishing contract.” The waves rippled into whitecaps. “I was hoping you’d turn up.”
“I’ve moved back.”
“Oh.” He sounded confused. Possibly disappointed. “Your address sounded so perfect. Sunridge Street. Playa del Rey. It sounded
rich. Happy.”
“It sounded like planes taking off and landing. And used condoms washed up on the beach. I moved from there years ago.”
“I see.” He clearly didn’t at all.
“Look, I don’t know what pictures of mine you saw—”
“Landscapes. Snow.”
“I thought so. No people. You want people, don’t you? I don’t do people.”
“I have a feeling about this, Maibelle. Or I wouldn’t have written
face. Since Mrs. Dixie had elected not to entangle parents or the authorities, her students accepted her justice—and the mild
runs induced by the coffee elixir.
Henry was just glad he hadn’t had to deal with the two-step of Mum’s rage and Dad’s resignation. After all, it was only a
joke.
“What if old Dixie-belle had really gotten the hots for that rooster?” he said. “That would’ve been worth getting caught!”
He and Tommy sprawled on Henry’s bed, sorting baseball cards. I was allowed to sit and watch because, as long as I kept quiet,
my presence didn’t count.
“Better it didn’t work,” said Tommy, whose father had been so astounded to see his prize bantam in the arms of the school’s
black janitor that that night he lectured Tommy about thieving and ordered him to spend the next week memorizing Dr. Sun Yat
Sen’s
First Steps in Democracy.
“Aw, c’mon. It would’ve been a pisser. Gimme Roger Maris.”
Tommy tossed him the card. “I mean it. Jimmy thought it was a joke, too, but if the stuff had really worked, his dad would
have lost too much face.”
“But if it worked, it should be great for business!”
“It’s not supposed to work on people, you jerk. It’s meant for chickens. And it’s Jimmy’s dad’s job to see his medicines are
used right. If his own kid fools around with the powder, it doesn’t make him look too good.”
“So?” Henry said.
“So people stop talking to him. The tongs tell everybody stay away from his shop. He’s got to give them big money to get his
face back. And Jimmy’s got to pay, too.”
“Yeah? How?”
“You know. Going to Chinese school. Helping in the store instead of hanging out at the arcade. Being a dutiful son.”
“Sounds pretty dumb to me. There.” Henry patted one last card into the box before him. “American League, 1961. A full set
of Topps. Bet you can’t beat that.”
“Bet you don’t have a single card with a Chinese ballplayer.”
“There aren’t any.”
“So why d’you think I’d even want a full set of Topps American League 1961?”
“Because in a couple of years it’ll be worth a lot of money, you dodo.”
Tommy got up and crossed the room. When he reached the door, he turned and said, “Why you don’t understand about face is because
you have no face to lose.”
I’ve been spotting him ever since I moved back. A wide, dark head bobbing up behind the peaches in the Bedford Street fruit
stand. The chiseled face with Ray-Bans in a parked Cadillac on Broadway, or that Asian couple leaning close over engagement
rings in a midtown diamond store. A man in a kung fu studio, eyes fixed with such complete concentration that I was absolutely
positive. But people change between age fifteen and twenty-nine. I held my distance because I knew I wouldn’t be sure of Tommy
Wah if he tapped me on the shoulder.
When I called this morning, though, I knew his voice at once. Smooth and cautious, like waves against long grass.
“Maibelle. Where are you?”
“New York.”
“When you didn’t answer my letter, I thought—”
“You thought correctly. I guess you haven’t found anyone yet.”
“I’ve only just signed the publishing contract.” The waves rippled into whitecaps. “I was hoping you’d turn up.”
“I’ve moved back.”
“Oh.” He sounded confused. Possibly disappointed. “Your address sounded so perfect. Sunridge Street. Playa del Rey. It sounded
rich. Happy.”
“It sounded like planes taking off and landing. And used condoms washed up on the beach. I moved from there years ago.”
“I see.” He clearly didn’t at all.
“Look, I don’t know what pictures of mine you saw—”
“Landscapes. Snow.”
“I thought so. No people. You want people, don’t you? I don’t do people.”
“I have a feeling about this, Maibelle. Or I wouldn’t have written
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