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  “I don’t think you will hear from zem,” Nan said to Janet, and put down his coffee cup on the glass end table.

  “What use to know her ex-parents?” asked Pingping. “You and Dave are her parents.”

  “That’s right,” Dave chimed in.

  But Janet couldn’t be persuaded. “I want to see what her biological parents look like and also to know the medical history of the family.”

  “They don’t have medical history,” said Pingping.

  “What do you mean?” Janet looked puzzled, her eyes blinking.

  “People in Chinese countryside don’t write down their disease,” Pingping explained.

  “They don’t have a medical record,” added Nan.

  “But certainly they know who died of what disease in the family,” said Janet.

  Nan answered, “You shouldn’t bozzer to look for her biological parents. Even if you find zem, they might give you a lawt of trouble down zer road.”

  “That’s what I think too,” said Dave. “Hailee is our daughter, period. No matter what happens, she’s ours and we’ll take care of her. I don’t have to know the medical history of her biological family.”

  “I don’t mean we might give her up if anything bad happens,” Janet said. “You’ll have to kill me before you can take her away from me.”

  They kept talking about parenthood. To the Wus’ surprise, the Mitchells asked them to be their daughter’s godparents. Pingping said, “I don’t go to church, how can I be godmother? I can be her stepmother.”

  The Mitchells were astonished, while Nan laughed. He told them, “Pingping means she can be a nominal mozzer. That’s zer Chinese way and has nothing to do wiz religion. A child can have nominal parents in China.”

  Janet said, “I heard of nominal parents in Nanjing.”

  So Pingping agreed to be Hailee’s nominal mother, but Nan was reluctant, saying he couldn’t be a good father. Both Janet and Dave looked dismayed. Indeed, they had promised to be Taotao’s legal guardians if his parents died. Why wouldn’t Nan reciprocate the favor? Pingping explained, “Nan can never be good father. You see, Taotao and he is not close.”

  “That’s because I didn’t spend a lawt of time wiz him when he was little,” said Nan.

  Ignoring his words, Pingping went on, “After Taotao was born, he doesn’t sleep with us for three month. He sleep in his father’s office every night.”

  Nan kept silent, awash in shame. Pingping had often dredged that up and he’d defend himself by insisting that he’d have to attend seminars in the mornings and must sleep well at night. Now, in front of their friends, he felt it futile to argue with her. He told the Mitchells about the nominal fatherhood, “Let me think about zat, okay?”

  “Sure, no rush,” said Janet. “We thought it would be wonderful if Hailee has Chinese godparents or nominal parents.”

  “I’m not sure eef I can bring her up like my own child,” admitted Nan, as if mumbling to himself.

  “You wouldn’t have to do anything for Hailee if Dave and I were both gone.”

  “All right, I will let you know my answer soon.”

  After the Wus left, Janet carried Hailee upstairs to the nursery, Dave following her. Dave liked Nan but sometimes found it hard to communicate with him. Undoubtedly Nan was a decent man, but he was too introverted and often as aloof as if he were in a kind of trance. It was impossible to talk with him about fishing, sports, dogs, cars—not to speak of women and girls. He’d call an SUV “a big jeep” and wouldn’t listen carefully when Dave explained to him the rules of football, though he bragged that he used to play soccer in college, a halfback. By nature Nan was a bookish man who could have thrived in an academic environment, yet somehow the restaurant business suited him as well—he was an excellent cook and knew how to please customers. What Dave didn’t like about him was that at times Nan acted like a spoilsport. Dave had once heard him telling Janet, Pingping, and Niyan that all soap operas were trash. That was really embarrassing.

  “Nan’s such a flake,” Dave said to Janet, who placed their baby in the crib.

  “I was surprised too that he didn’t want to have anything to do with Hailee.”

  “He doesn’t like kids, I guess.”

  “Then why did he get married and start a family in the first place? Wasn’t that unfair to Pingping and Taotao?”

  “A guy like him thinks too much.” Dave tucked in an edge of the baby’s red blanket.

  “I hope he’ll change his mind about Hailee.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We have lots of others willing to be her godfather.”

  “I’m glad Pingping agreed, though.”

  “Me too. She’s always been more helpful than Nan.”

  9

  NAN truly felt he couldn’t be a good nominal father. He wasn’t sure if he’d be capable of assuming all the parental responsibilities if Dave and Janet really died. If that happened, by the Chinese custom, he’d be obligated to raise Hailee as his own. Different from Dave, he wasn’t very fond of children and felt that in his heart he was unwilling to make the sacrifices needed for raising another child. His friend Dick Harrison often went to New York to see his godson, attending the boy’s birthday parties, cello performances, soccer tournaments, bar mitzvah. Nan wouldn’t want to be like Dick. He already had his hands full with Taotao.

  Another problem bothering him was that if Pingping and he were supposed to raise Hailee in the event that her parents died, the Mitchells had never mentioned whether Nan and Pingping would inherit their property, whereas the Wus had entrusted them with everything they owned. Dave had a lot of family and relatives in the South, and perhaps he and Janet didn’t intend to leave Hailee in the Wus’ care, not wanting their property transferred to them. That must have been why Janet said, “You wouldn’t have to do anything for Hailee if Dave and I were gone.” Nan, making little distinction between a nominal parent and a legal guardian, gathered that Dave and Janet would want them to be only a lesser kind of nominal parents, probably because the Mitchells were rich, unwilling to share their property with them. Pingping hadn’t considered the matter in this light and now could see Nan’s point. She wouldn’t reproach him for refusing to be Hailee’s nominal father right away. It was unfair for the Mitchells not to reciprocate the kind of absolute trust the Wus had placed in them. “Is it because we’re yellow and they’re white?” Pingping asked Nan.

  “Their daughter is Asian too. I think it’s more likely because they’re rich and have more family, not loners like us.”

  Then husband and wife wondered if they should cancel the agreement on Taotao’s guardianship they’d signed with the Mitchells. They decided not to, because they were uncertain who, beside Janet and Dave, could treat Taotao better if both of them died. They had best let the matter stay as it was. This wasn’t equal, they both agreed, a little mortified, but they had no choice. To make the whole thing worse, Mr. Shang, the attorney who had prepared the papers for them, had left Chinatown and nobody knew his whereabouts. The Wus had thought of informing the Mitchells of Mr. Shang’s disappearance, but now they changed their minds and preferred to put the matter on the back burner for the time being. They only hoped that nothing fatal would happen to them before their son reached eighteen.

  At the restaurant two weeks later, when Nan told Janet that he couldn’t be Hailee’s nominal father, she said, “Don’t worry. Hailee has three godfathers already.” Janet had been so happy these days that her eyes couldn’t stop smiling, making them less round than before.

  The mention of the triple godfatherhood surprised the Wus. Pingping asked her friend, “How many godmothers she has?”

  “Four, yourself included.”

  “My goodness, why so many?”

  “We want to share Hailee with friends.”

  A lull ensued. Both Pingping and Nan were perplexed, as the idea of sharing one’s child with other people was utterly alien to them. This multiple godparenthood also indicated that the Mitchells hadn’t been
serious about the nominal parents they wanted the Wus to be, because, by definition, a nominal father or mother was almost like a child’s other parents and at least should be treated as a family member. That’s why a child mustn’t have more than one nominal mother or father. Pingping was glad Nan had declined the Mitchells’ request.

  A young mestizo, a temporary roofer, came up to the counter, and Nan turned to take his order.

  “I want to show you something,” Pingping said to Janet.

  “What?”

  Pingping went behind the counter, pulled open a drawer, and took out a thin notebook. She came back to Janet and opened the first page, proudly displaying a red cut-paper duck. “I made this for you. It’s my mother’s type.”

  “My, this is gorgeous! Is it really for me?”

  “Yes.”

  Janet touched the duck gently with her forefinger as if afraid to break it. Indeed, the duck was not only delicate and lifelike but also in motion, with its feathers ruffled by a breeze and with waves of water beneath it. More striking, it carried a pair of tiny ducklings under its wing. Anyone could see that the scissor-work in this piece was clean and elegant, much superior to that in the paper cuttings the Mitchells had. Janet enthused, “Look at the duck’s eye! Even with exquisite lids. You’re a true artist, Pingping.”

  “I wish I can make more. My sister can do better than me because my mother like to teach her more often. I’m oldest daughter, so I always work.”

  “Here’s an idea, you should open a studio.”

  “For what?”

  “Teaching people how to create art with paper and scissors.”

  “I don’t like to teach, you know that. Before I leave China, I swear I will never be teacher again.”

  When Nan returned, he put a carton of roast pork rice into a plastic bag, placed it on the counter, and threw in a few napkins and a spork for the customer. Instead of rejoining his wife, he sat down and resumed looking through Consumer Reports while listening in on the ladies. After they talked awhile about the art of paper cuttings, Janet told Pingping, “I’ve enrolled in the Chinese class at Emory. God, the language is so hard to learn. No wonder you Chinese are so patient and industrious.”

  “Why you want to study it?”

  “I want to teach my daughter. She should know her mother tongue.”

  “Why? She will grow up speak English like American.”

  “But Chinese is her heritage. We ought to help her keep it.”

  “I have idea. Why don’t you hire Chinese babysitter? Hailee can learn the language with her easily?”

  “No. According to the experience of some adoptive parents, that’s the last thing you should do.”

  “Why? It’s good way to learn Chinese, I’m sure.”

  “You know, the adoption of a child is actually mutual. Hailee has also adopted us, so Dave and I must also try to adjust. Dave wants to learn some Chinese too. From now on we’ll celebrate the Moon Day and the Spring Festival.”

  Pingping didn’t know how to respond to that. Later the Wus talked between themselves about the idea of “mutual adoption,” and Nan believed that the Mitchells were right, though he doubted if they could ever speak Chinese, not to mention read and write the ideograms, which were almost impossible for non-native speakers to master.

  10

  ON THE NIGHT of July Fourth the Gold Wok was closed. Some people in the neighborhood went downtown to watch fireworks in spite of the overcast sky. The Wus stayed home, glad to have a break. Nan was lying in bed reading Frost’s poetry. He was moved by the wise ending of the poem “Provide, Provide” and was contemplating how truthful the phrase “boughten friendship” was. Suddenly Pingping burst in and threw a sheet of brittle paper on his face. He sat up with a start and asked, “What’s this about?”

  “About you and your sweetheart. Disgusting!” Her mouth twisted as she was speaking. Then she spun around, marched out, and slammed the door shut.

  Nan glanced at the paper and recognized it was a letter from Beina. He had kept it in the unabridged Webster’s and had almost forgotten it. What must have maddened Pingping was that the letter was dated on November 12 without a year, as if it had been written recently. In it Beina asked him to help her with the application fees at three American graduate schools. He had paid $140 for her but hadn’t heard a word from her afterward.

  He went into the living room, where his wife, lying on a sofa, had been singing in English repeatedly, “I love you. You love me. We’re a happy family!” Though she covered her face with a towel that had just come out of the dryer, her voice was sharp and crazed. Nan stepped over and touched her upper arm, shaded by downy hair that he always liked to caress. He said, “Come now, don’t be so paranoid. That’s an old letter. I haven’t heard from her for almost eight years.”

  She paused to stare at him. He kept on, “I really have no contact with her.”

  “But you tried to bring her to America!” Pingping raged, dropping the towel to the floor. “Who knows? You’re a big liar. Maybe you’re still thick with her like before. You always do things behind my back.”

  “Honestly, I’m not in touch with her and have no idea where she is.”

  “Leave me alone! You spent our sweat money on that heartless woman. If she were good to you, I wouldn’t complain. You’re just bewitched by that fox spirit.”

  “Like I said, this was before you came to America.”

  “I see, you really meant to bring her here. If I hadn’t come and joined you, you would’ve lived with her instead.”

  “This is crazy. She just used me.”

  “But you like being used by her and always miss her. You’re so cheap that the worse she treats you, the nicer you’ll be to her.”

  Their son stepped into the living room and listened to them. Nan told Taotao to go away, but the boy wouldn’t leave. Nan begged Pingping, “Don’t be so nasty. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept the letter.”

  “Why not? That’s your receipt for the favor she owes you. She’ll do something in return one of these days. But why didn’t you hide it in a secret place? I don’t care what you do on the sly as long as you don’t let me know.”

  “Honestly, I’m not carrying on with her.”

  “Go away! I don’t want to see your face.”

  Wordlessly Nan flounced toward the door while Pingping resumed singing behind him, “I love you. You love me. We’re a happy family!…”

  Nan wandered away from their house, alone with his numb heart. On occasion when he and Pingping quarreled, he’d get away awhile. His absence from home often enraged her more, but today she had chased him out. If only there were a place where he could stay a few days when his house got too raucous and too maddening. If only there were a friend to whom he could unburden himself. Dick Harrison lived fifteen miles away in Buckhead, but Nan felt Dick might be bored and look down on him if he went to him for consolation, which was the last thing he’d do. Every time after he and Pingping fought, he’d go either to the town library or to a bookstore for an hour, or just work off his anger in the kitchen of the Gold Wok. But this evening he had nowhere to go, so he walked along the lakeside alone. In the air hovered the effluvium of skunks, which had grown more intense as the summer deepened. Insects were shrieking explosively as if a large battle were in full swing, and time and again some waterfowl let out a sleepy cry from the dark woods of the other shore. Fortunately, the air was damp and few mosquitoes were flying about. In the southern sky a helicopter was ticking faintly, now buried in the clouds and now flickering like a drifting lantern.

  Nan’s mind was teeming with thoughts. Deep inside he knew he was at fault. Pingping had lashed out at him not so much because of the money he had spent on Beina as because he had kept her letter as a kind of memento. Before they married, she had let him read all the love letters the naval officer, her former boyfriend, had written her, and then she burned them all in his presence. Oddly enough, he didn’t have any letter from Beina at that time and couldn�
��t convince his bride-to-be that there had been no correspondence between him and his former girlfriend since they had lived in the same city. To make her believe him, he showed her a photo of that woman, then dropped it into a stove. Now his wife must have thought he had been in touch with Beina all these years and that from the very beginning he hadn’t leveled with her. To her, he was a double-faced man.

  It took him almost an hour to walk around the lake, which should have taken at most half the time. Approaching his house, he wondered if he should enter it now. All the lights were off in there, and the windowpanes kept reflecting the slashes of the lightning in the north, where the sky was beginning to jump a little. It threatened rain, the oak leaves fluttering in the gathering wind, so he decided to go in.

  As he stepped into the living room, a pair of arms wrapped around him and Pingping’s hot face came against his cheek. She whispered, “Nan, forgive me. I can see the letter is old, the edges of the paper already yellowed. I was nasty just now. Can you…?” Her words were muffled as he pressed his lips on her mouth. In response, she began kissing him as hard as if she wanted to breathe with his lungs. He could feel her heart knocking against his half-numbed chest. He touched her breasts, which were warm and heaving. A knot of feeling was quickly unfolding in him, and his hand slipped behind her to unbutton her dress.

  “Don’t. Taotao can hear us,” she said.

  He stopped and went into their son’s room. The boy was dozing on his bed, his feet rested on the floor and his face toward the ceiling. Nan covered Taotao’s stomach with a shirt, closed the door, and returned to Pingping. “He’s sleeping. I’ll be careful,” he said, and his hands resumed caressing her.