the guest did, expressed herself by filling his cup, thought in terms of matching, balancing, connecting, completing. In terms, that is, of family, which wasn't so much an idea for her, as an aesthetic. Pairs, she loved, sets, and circles. Shoes, for instance (he was right), and cartons of eggs — and, as it happened, can openers that rolled easily around a lid, never sticking. Not too
much later, a clean Ralph, with all-new clothes, left a deluxe model on the kitchen counter, with a red bow.
Helen opened every can in the cupboard.
Theresa reported this back to Ralph.
Then it was belts, circle pins. Ransacking his trunk, Ralph found a tam-o'-shanter; socks; booties; a pen-and-pencil set; a hairbrush, hand mirror, and comb. All of these Helen used, displayed, wore, not once in a while, but every day, blushing. He spoke her dialect, that's to say; and she, certainly, his. Oxtail soup, she made him, steamed fish with scallions. Now that there were no servants, Helen was learning to cook. Would he taste-test for her?
He would, although, paradoxically, it inflamed more than abated his homesickness to try a mouthful of a dish and pronounce, after some prodding, that it was too salty, too sweet, too spicy-hot. Her cooking was so agonizingly close to that of his family's old cook that his stomach fairly ached with the resemblance, even as his mouth thrilled. More ginger, he coached. Less vinegar. More soy sauce.
One day, she had her crystal chicken just right, and her red-cooked carp too. Ralph proposed with a family ring Theresa had brought over, a single piece of spinach-green jade set in white gold. Not that he couldn't have afforded a new ring by then. From their friends at English language school, Theresa and Helen had discovered that most companies didn't care what papers their draftsmen came with; and just like that, Ralph had a job in an airy room, with his own tilted drawing board. Other people complained. The long hours, those hard wooden stools. If only the stools had backs, they said, then after hunching and hunching, they'd be able to rest a bit. And what were their prospects? Already they were beginning to discern what would be abundandy clear in another decade — that at the end of every project, they would all get laid off, and have to find new work at another firm, where, just as they were beginning to rise in the ranks, they'd be laid off again.
Ralph didn't mind, though. He was grateful enough to have
a place to go in the morning (with a doughnut shop on the way, no less), and every week, a paycheck.
Then came the possibility of Ralph's finishing his Ph.D. after all. This was serendipity itself; with the fall of the Nationalists, other Chinese students had become as illegitimate as he. "No status" — that was how they stood with the Immigration Department, suddenly naked as winter trees. What now? They waited. Rumor had it that, having kept the technical students here, the Americans were going to have to do something with them — probably send them all back to school. Sign-up sessions. Ralph went along with everyone else. No, he wasn't a Communist. Yes, his status was "no status." As for how he got that way, "English not so good, excuse please?"
"Say again, please?"
"Whaaa?"
The volunteer let it go.
So much to celebrate!
To save money, Helen rented a Western-style, white gown with a matching veil. The ceremony was in the side chapel of a college church; the reception in a small, carnation-wreathed social hall. Pipes clanked. Tables wobbled. Outside, it sleeted. Yet Ralph and Helen, in the simple way of newlyweds, were delighted with the food, with the decorations, with the guests, with each other; even, later, with the pictures, though in truth the majority were out of focus and overexposed. The photographer was a drunkard. But who wanted to say so? Helen hung the pictures up anyway. A shot of her and Ralph. A shot of each of them with Theresa. She even hung the shot of all three of them
much later, a clean Ralph, with all-new clothes, left a deluxe model on the kitchen counter, with a red bow.
Helen opened every can in the cupboard.
Theresa reported this back to Ralph.
Then it was belts, circle pins. Ransacking his trunk, Ralph found a tam-o'-shanter; socks; booties; a pen-and-pencil set; a hairbrush, hand mirror, and comb. All of these Helen used, displayed, wore, not once in a while, but every day, blushing. He spoke her dialect, that's to say; and she, certainly, his. Oxtail soup, she made him, steamed fish with scallions. Now that there were no servants, Helen was learning to cook. Would he taste-test for her?
He would, although, paradoxically, it inflamed more than abated his homesickness to try a mouthful of a dish and pronounce, after some prodding, that it was too salty, too sweet, too spicy-hot. Her cooking was so agonizingly close to that of his family's old cook that his stomach fairly ached with the resemblance, even as his mouth thrilled. More ginger, he coached. Less vinegar. More soy sauce.
One day, she had her crystal chicken just right, and her red-cooked carp too. Ralph proposed with a family ring Theresa had brought over, a single piece of spinach-green jade set in white gold. Not that he couldn't have afforded a new ring by then. From their friends at English language school, Theresa and Helen had discovered that most companies didn't care what papers their draftsmen came with; and just like that, Ralph had a job in an airy room, with his own tilted drawing board. Other people complained. The long hours, those hard wooden stools. If only the stools had backs, they said, then after hunching and hunching, they'd be able to rest a bit. And what were their prospects? Already they were beginning to discern what would be abundandy clear in another decade — that at the end of every project, they would all get laid off, and have to find new work at another firm, where, just as they were beginning to rise in the ranks, they'd be laid off again.
Ralph didn't mind, though. He was grateful enough to have
a place to go in the morning (with a doughnut shop on the way, no less), and every week, a paycheck.
Then came the possibility of Ralph's finishing his Ph.D. after all. This was serendipity itself; with the fall of the Nationalists, other Chinese students had become as illegitimate as he. "No status" — that was how they stood with the Immigration Department, suddenly naked as winter trees. What now? They waited. Rumor had it that, having kept the technical students here, the Americans were going to have to do something with them — probably send them all back to school. Sign-up sessions. Ralph went along with everyone else. No, he wasn't a Communist. Yes, his status was "no status." As for how he got that way, "English not so good, excuse please?"
"Say again, please?"
"Whaaa?"
The volunteer let it go.
So much to celebrate!
To save money, Helen rented a Western-style, white gown with a matching veil. The ceremony was in the side chapel of a college church; the reception in a small, carnation-wreathed social hall. Pipes clanked. Tables wobbled. Outside, it sleeted. Yet Ralph and Helen, in the simple way of newlyweds, were delighted with the food, with the decorations, with the guests, with each other; even, later, with the pictures, though in truth the majority were out of focus and overexposed. The photographer was a drunkard. But who wanted to say so? Helen hung the pictures up anyway. A shot of her and Ralph. A shot of each of them with Theresa. She even hung the shot of all three of them
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