his word. Today might squeeze his already broken heart a little tighter, but he’d found out by experience that the heavy sadness wouldn’t kill him.
He looked up from his cup just as Mari came through the door. Today she’d dressed less flamboyantly, but even with the darker—more common—outfit of slacks and a sweater, her wavy hair and the sparkle in her eyes lit up the small shop.
She quickly crossed the room and settled herself across from him, dropping her bag on the floor at her feet. “Good morning.”
Max smiled. “ Z a o shàng h a o .”
Mari nodded, and her first smile of the day found its place. “Very good. Your tones are getting much better.”
He found a bit of courage. “ Chī le ma ?”
Mari let out a laugh, and Max felt a burst of happiness at the sound, then felt ridiculous for it.
“No, I haven’t eaten. Have you?” Mari answered.
Max shook his head. “That’s all I got for now—it’s exhausting to think in Chinese. But I think the old man has sent for some congee. You want a bowl?”
As if on cue, the old man approached their table, and he and Mari began a conversation too fast for Max to keep up with. The man bowed, nodded, then backed away and headed for the kitchen.
“That’s an awful lot of talking to ask for a bowl of congee,” Max said.
“I told him to forget your order and bring us some something different.”
“And that is…?” Max was usually open to trying anything, but with his stomach so sensitive lately, he thought he’d better ask.
“Just wait. You’ll love it. We call it yóutiáo . The owner said it’s his treat today because you’ve become a regular here.”
Max’s couldn’t help it, he felt something wasn’t exactly right about that. He hadn’t known too many Chinese to just give anything for free.
His expression must have shown his reluctance because Mari chuckled. “You’re right to be suspicious. The truth is that he assumes you only know how to ask for congee, so he wants to introduce you to a more expensive breakfast. If you like yóutiáo , he’ll make more money later when you return for it each morning. He’s not making a whole lot on your simple breakfast of congee and tea.”
Max nodded. Now that made more sense. And if he did like it, he’d ask for it again because, to be honest, the thought of more congee didn’t do much to tempt his waning appetite.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
He looked away then back at her. “Well enough.” And that was true. He didn’t deserve to sleep any better.
“So are you ready to tell me where you want to go today?” Mari took out a small book and started flipping through it. “I bought a Beijing tourist guide. We can choose something popular from here if you like.”
“I want to see a hutong,” Max answered.
Mari continued to look through the book. “ Hao le , a hutong. They have listed several historically preserved ones in here. Let me see—”
Max reached across the table and put his hand on hers to stop her from flipping more pages. “No, I don’t want to go to one set up for tourists. I know which one I want to see.”
She stopped moving and closed the book. “Oh, okay. Which one?”
Max wanted to maintain eye contact, but he couldn’t. He looked over her head and watched the people scurrying by on their way to their next life moment as if they were losing precious seconds. And if they only knew what he knew, they’d know they were.
Finally, he found his voice. “The one where my daughter was found when she was a few days old.”
Max helped Mari up into the rickshaw, then took his place beside her. Mari leaned forward and gave the driver his instructions, then she settled back against the seat, not completely relaxing. Max thought she looked as if she wanted to leap from the moving pedicab.
“It’s a good thing we’re nearby. That’ll save us a lot of transportation money today, since we don’t have to hire car taxis.” Mari said, then scooted over
He looked up from his cup just as Mari came through the door. Today she’d dressed less flamboyantly, but even with the darker—more common—outfit of slacks and a sweater, her wavy hair and the sparkle in her eyes lit up the small shop.
She quickly crossed the room and settled herself across from him, dropping her bag on the floor at her feet. “Good morning.”
Max smiled. “ Z a o shàng h a o .”
Mari nodded, and her first smile of the day found its place. “Very good. Your tones are getting much better.”
He found a bit of courage. “ Chī le ma ?”
Mari let out a laugh, and Max felt a burst of happiness at the sound, then felt ridiculous for it.
“No, I haven’t eaten. Have you?” Mari answered.
Max shook his head. “That’s all I got for now—it’s exhausting to think in Chinese. But I think the old man has sent for some congee. You want a bowl?”
As if on cue, the old man approached their table, and he and Mari began a conversation too fast for Max to keep up with. The man bowed, nodded, then backed away and headed for the kitchen.
“That’s an awful lot of talking to ask for a bowl of congee,” Max said.
“I told him to forget your order and bring us some something different.”
“And that is…?” Max was usually open to trying anything, but with his stomach so sensitive lately, he thought he’d better ask.
“Just wait. You’ll love it. We call it yóutiáo . The owner said it’s his treat today because you’ve become a regular here.”
Max’s couldn’t help it, he felt something wasn’t exactly right about that. He hadn’t known too many Chinese to just give anything for free.
His expression must have shown his reluctance because Mari chuckled. “You’re right to be suspicious. The truth is that he assumes you only know how to ask for congee, so he wants to introduce you to a more expensive breakfast. If you like yóutiáo , he’ll make more money later when you return for it each morning. He’s not making a whole lot on your simple breakfast of congee and tea.”
Max nodded. Now that made more sense. And if he did like it, he’d ask for it again because, to be honest, the thought of more congee didn’t do much to tempt his waning appetite.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
He looked away then back at her. “Well enough.” And that was true. He didn’t deserve to sleep any better.
“So are you ready to tell me where you want to go today?” Mari took out a small book and started flipping through it. “I bought a Beijing tourist guide. We can choose something popular from here if you like.”
“I want to see a hutong,” Max answered.
Mari continued to look through the book. “ Hao le , a hutong. They have listed several historically preserved ones in here. Let me see—”
Max reached across the table and put his hand on hers to stop her from flipping more pages. “No, I don’t want to go to one set up for tourists. I know which one I want to see.”
She stopped moving and closed the book. “Oh, okay. Which one?”
Max wanted to maintain eye contact, but he couldn’t. He looked over her head and watched the people scurrying by on their way to their next life moment as if they were losing precious seconds. And if they only knew what he knew, they’d know they were.
Finally, he found his voice. “The one where my daughter was found when she was a few days old.”
Max helped Mari up into the rickshaw, then took his place beside her. Mari leaned forward and gave the driver his instructions, then she settled back against the seat, not completely relaxing. Max thought she looked as if she wanted to leap from the moving pedicab.
“It’s a good thing we’re nearby. That’ll save us a lot of transportation money today, since we don’t have to hire car taxis.” Mari said, then scooted over
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