as far as she could.
Max appreciated that she’d picked up that the subject he’d started in the noodle shop was too sensitive and personal to continue until he was ready. “Yes, that’s why I took the small apartment in this area. I wanted to be close. Anyway, I’m glad you’re fine with taking a pedicab, as I’m down a few hundred renminbi. I lost my wallet in the train last week.” It looked to him like the touch of his leg made her nervous, so he moved as far over to the right as he could. With a small distance now between them, she seemed more at ease.
The driver yelled out to offer them a small lap blanket, and Mari replied they didn’t need it. It was a little chilly, but it felt good. Along with the satisfaction in his belly from the tasty yóutiáo— deep fried dough sticks that she’d shown him to dip in huge bowls of steaming milk — it was nice to have some company for the day, and if he was being truthful, it was an added bonus that the company was Mari. He didn’t want to admit it, but lately, even being in the middle of thousands of people, he felt so alone. And who was he kidding? It wasn’t even just because he was in a foreign country—he’d felt alone for a long time, now, anywhere he’d gone.
“Was your wallet snatched by a pickpocket?” Mari asked.
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I didn’t see anyone.”
He didn’t know how or by whom; he only knew that when he’d gotten off the train from his short trip to Shanghai, his wallet had been gone. Luckily he didn’t carry his credit cards in it—he’d learned a long time ago to keep his cards and some backup cash in a money clip, safely in his front pocket. And he never carried his passport; instead he kept a folded-up copy in his wallet. But the biggest loss had been worse than losing money—all his photos were gone. He didn’t even have any saved on his phone. Now, far from home, he had to rely on his memory to picture her face.
Thinking of faces, he scrutinized Mari’s profile. While he could tell she was a usually happy person, it appeared to him that she hid a certain sadness. Maybe even something like his. He didn’t mind the silence, but she looked uncomfortable, and Max didn’t want her to feel that way.
“So can you tell me a little about the hutong?” he asked.
“I can’t say I know much about this particular hutong, as I’ve never been there. They are all different, but in a way, the same. They are a much better place to live than the towering apartment complexes most Chinese live in now. I was lucky—I grew up in a hutong in Wuxi.” A small contented smile eased across her face, and Max could see a good memory had been unearthed because of their conversation.
“Well, that’s a surprise. I thought you were a big-time Beijing city girl. Wuxi’s quite small, isn’t it?” If Max remembered right, Wuxi was famous mostly because of its sprawling Lake Taihu.
Mari nodded. “Compared to Beijing or Shanghai, it’s definitely small. But Wuxi is growing now, with all the foreign companies bringing their businesses there. When I was little, though, I truly only knew the boundaries of our hutong and just the few streets around it. So it felt like living in a village.”
Since the day Max had read that his daughter was found in one of the small winding alleys of a hutong, he’d been enthralled with them.
“Tell me more.”
Mari sighed, then visibly relaxed against the back of the hard seat. “The hutong was a charmed place to be a kid. We lived in a one-room house, but I never felt we were lacking for anything. I remember our little stove fighting the cold in the winters, and our open windows when we were hot in the summers, but within those walls, I felt safer than I ever have in my life, before or since.”
“Was there any crime in the hutong?”
Mari laughed softly. “Not really. Just little stuff. But my baba was Chairman of the Neighborhood Conciliation Committee, so we probably knew more about what
Max appreciated that she’d picked up that the subject he’d started in the noodle shop was too sensitive and personal to continue until he was ready. “Yes, that’s why I took the small apartment in this area. I wanted to be close. Anyway, I’m glad you’re fine with taking a pedicab, as I’m down a few hundred renminbi. I lost my wallet in the train last week.” It looked to him like the touch of his leg made her nervous, so he moved as far over to the right as he could. With a small distance now between them, she seemed more at ease.
The driver yelled out to offer them a small lap blanket, and Mari replied they didn’t need it. It was a little chilly, but it felt good. Along with the satisfaction in his belly from the tasty yóutiáo— deep fried dough sticks that she’d shown him to dip in huge bowls of steaming milk — it was nice to have some company for the day, and if he was being truthful, it was an added bonus that the company was Mari. He didn’t want to admit it, but lately, even being in the middle of thousands of people, he felt so alone. And who was he kidding? It wasn’t even just because he was in a foreign country—he’d felt alone for a long time, now, anywhere he’d gone.
“Was your wallet snatched by a pickpocket?” Mari asked.
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I didn’t see anyone.”
He didn’t know how or by whom; he only knew that when he’d gotten off the train from his short trip to Shanghai, his wallet had been gone. Luckily he didn’t carry his credit cards in it—he’d learned a long time ago to keep his cards and some backup cash in a money clip, safely in his front pocket. And he never carried his passport; instead he kept a folded-up copy in his wallet. But the biggest loss had been worse than losing money—all his photos were gone. He didn’t even have any saved on his phone. Now, far from home, he had to rely on his memory to picture her face.
Thinking of faces, he scrutinized Mari’s profile. While he could tell she was a usually happy person, it appeared to him that she hid a certain sadness. Maybe even something like his. He didn’t mind the silence, but she looked uncomfortable, and Max didn’t want her to feel that way.
“So can you tell me a little about the hutong?” he asked.
“I can’t say I know much about this particular hutong, as I’ve never been there. They are all different, but in a way, the same. They are a much better place to live than the towering apartment complexes most Chinese live in now. I was lucky—I grew up in a hutong in Wuxi.” A small contented smile eased across her face, and Max could see a good memory had been unearthed because of their conversation.
“Well, that’s a surprise. I thought you were a big-time Beijing city girl. Wuxi’s quite small, isn’t it?” If Max remembered right, Wuxi was famous mostly because of its sprawling Lake Taihu.
Mari nodded. “Compared to Beijing or Shanghai, it’s definitely small. But Wuxi is growing now, with all the foreign companies bringing their businesses there. When I was little, though, I truly only knew the boundaries of our hutong and just the few streets around it. So it felt like living in a village.”
Since the day Max had read that his daughter was found in one of the small winding alleys of a hutong, he’d been enthralled with them.
“Tell me more.”
Mari sighed, then visibly relaxed against the back of the hard seat. “The hutong was a charmed place to be a kid. We lived in a one-room house, but I never felt we were lacking for anything. I remember our little stove fighting the cold in the winters, and our open windows when we were hot in the summers, but within those walls, I felt safer than I ever have in my life, before or since.”
“Was there any crime in the hutong?”
Mari laughed softly. “Not really. Just little stuff. But my baba was Chairman of the Neighborhood Conciliation Committee, so we probably knew more about what
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