The Third Son (27 page)

My eyes ached with held-back tears. If only I could let them fall, they would sweep aside all the armies of Asia.

I walked, my toes squishing in the wetness of my socks, my shoes scuffing against the concrete in the dark. My shirt stuck to my back. I approached a streetlamp, and as I passed into its aura, I saw my shoes making wet footprints on the sidewalk, the muddy hems of my pants plastered to my ankles. The elevated train approached from the west, its roaring clatter echoing through the dark, and I suddenly felt, exposed as I was in the lamplight, that those on the train would see me as I myself had once seen the Taiwanese farmer in the conical hat—head down, stepping through the flooded paddies behind his water buffalo. I had felt myself above that farmer, had felt that by flying to the other side of the world, I would transcend his rote existence. And yet here I was.

The train disappeared and I walked on, neon signs reflecting in the puddles around me in the night as the sun glimmers on the paddies:
ALL-NITE CAFÉ. MOWIMY PO POLSKU. JULIO’S COCINA.

It began to rain. I walked for blocks, letting the rain rinse away the mud and the sewer smell from my clothes. I took a reprieve under the striped awning of a groceteria that was still partially lit inside. Water dripped off the edge of the awning and collected in broken sections of the sidewalk.

I got the money for you, but it comes with certain obligations.

I thought of my father dropping a red envelope into the Mainlander’s palm, Kazuo burning
The Earth
.

Japanese characters flickered in the puddles, neon pink. It was my mind, my memories, playing tricks on me. And then I looked up and saw the sign in a restaurant window across the street, in both English and Japanese: Sakura. The restaurant where Li-wen and the agents were eating.

Curiosity drew me, and I crossed the street.

I leaned close to the glass and spied Li-wen at the back of the restaurant with the security general’s son at his side. Another man sat opposite him with his broad back toward me. He reached out his chopsticks to grab a piece of
nigiri
sushi with a movement almost as familiar as my own.

Before I realized what I was doing, I had opened the door and walked all the way to their table.

“Look who’s here!” I heard Li-wen say nervously.

But I was not looking at him. I was looking at the man facing him—at the broad, round face of my brother Kazuo.

His thick lips were open in shock, and his eyes, usually cold and slit-like, were wide open. He wore a gray button-down shirt, and his belly swelled so that I could see slivers of his pale skin between the buttons.

The half-eaten piece of sushi dropped off his chopsticks, and he looked at Li-wen. “How did he know we were here?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t tell him where.”

“You look like a drowned rat,” Kazuo said to me, recovering his air of superiority. He picked up the piece of sushi that had fallen and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed, the mole on his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He looked at his plate, avoiding my glare.

My pulse pounded in my ears. I could hardly see.

We’re meeting my old classmate. Here on vacation.

So this explained Li-wen’s sly smile.

“Enjoying your holiday?” I said, a bit louder than was necessary.

“Have a seat, little brother,” Li-wen said. “Have some sashimi. The tuna is very good. Just like home. Or perhaps you’ve eaten here before?”

“I don’t eat in such expensive restaurants,” I said. “I’ve been saving money to send home.”

Kazuo looked embarrassed and took a drink of sake.

Even with the Nationalist agents there, perhaps because of them, because of all they represented, the anger surged up inside me and burst out. “So this is why my wife can’t go to the hospital?” I said, my voice shaking. “So you can come here for vacation?”

Kazuo set down his sake and looked up at me coldly. “I’m not the one who makes those decisions. It’s
Oto
—” He glanced at the security general’s son, who was watching us with interest while he piled pieces of sushi onto his plate. “Our father and mother. I had an opportunity of a lifetime and I took it. The amount of money is a pittance compared to what they’re paying for you. I’m only here for two weeks.”

“I’m sure it’s less expensive than a few weeks at the hospital, too.”

“It is, actually. That hospital is damn expensive.” He folded his arms and looked up at me. “Li-hsiang is getting treatment at home. She’s fine.”

“That’s not what I hear.” I glanced at Li-wen, who was looking sheepishly at his plate. He had set a piece of sushi for me on a little plate and set it out in front of me with a dollop of wasabi and soy sauce.

“Take it up with our father.” Kazuo unfolded his arms and reached for another piece of sushi. Salmon with roe on top. “It has nothing to do with me.”

I said nothing but watched him chew, the mole bouncing up and down, a piece of seaweed sticking out between his lips. I hated him at that moment more than I ever had.

But he was right. Loathsome as he was, he was no more than an instrument of our parents. I hated him because of them.

I turned on my heel and walked out of the restaurant.

“
Eh
, you forgot your sushi!” Li-wen called.

I turned back and saw him standing at the table, holding out the plate with its piece of tuna.

“I wouldn’t trust the fish here,” I said. “The ocean is hundreds of miles away.”

Kazuo waved dismissively. “Don’t forget about the Great Lakes, stupid.”

I
STEPPED OUT
of the restaurant and into the street, my feet falling ankle-deep into the water coursing along the curb. As I crossed, the rain came down hard on my head, cold and elemental, pouring down my neck and over the scars on my chest.

The sight of Kazuo dining on fine food and sipping sake while my stomach was empty and Yoshiko succumbed to tuberculosis at home enraged me to no end. But I let my resentment fall, washed away by the rain. It was my parents, not him. It had been them all my life.

A taxi pulled up next to me, splashing me from the chest down. “You goin’ somewhere? Wanna get dry?”

I looked at the driver, a thin black man wearing a beret and large plastic glasses. From what I had seen of the United States, he had surely known a lot more hardship than I had. And yet here he was, cheerful, eking out a living, helping a poor drowning Chinese man who would get the backseat completely soaked.

“Where you goin’?” he repeated. “You comin’?”

The Formosan Club was locked. The factory was closed.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m coming.”

T
HE WALKWAY SMELLED
of roses.

Chen opened the door and watched me dripping onto his doormat. His glasses blinked as a car passed by on the street, and I saw that he had brown stains on his T-shirt. “Saburo. You’re back.” He said my name, I thought, with some derision.

“I’ve been locked out. I need to use the phone.”

“Ah. That explains it. Chinese usually flee from the elements.”

The rain fell on my head as he considered me. He had already fulfilled his obligation to Toru by inviting me in once. I had the feeling this was the most his doorbell had rung for a long time.

He stepped back and waved me in. He put a couple of folded newspapers on a dining chair and indicated for me to sit. “Why were you locked out?”

“There were Nationalist agents there.”

“At the Formosan Club? Why?” He settled into his own chair, facing me. It was as though I had never left, although I saw that he had brought the midnight orchid inside and it was sitting in a clearing between stacks of papers by the bay window. The giant white blooms had begun to open, and the room was filled with the powerful, sweet smell. The fragrance, seductive enough to ensure pollination during the eight hours the plant was in bloom per year, transported me back to the self-important parties in my parents’ great room, where I would see the Taoyuan magistrate admonishing my father to be more optimistic, where my uncles would drink warmed sake and sing one sad Taiwanese folk song after another. My stomach grumbled in remembrance of the trays of
shio mai,
taro cakes, fried shrimp balls—foods normally forbidden to me but at parties up for grabs for all comers.

“They were waiting for me,” I said.

“Why, what have you done?”

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Did they see you come here?”

“No. They went out for sushi.”

“How ironic.”

Once again, seeing that he eschewed courtesy, I did, too. “I’m hungry,” I said. “And I need to call Taiwan.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Let’s start with dinner.” He got up and went to the kitchen, returning with a plate, on which he’d placed rice and a leg of chicken in some kind of sauce with an unfamiliar, deeply savory smell. He pushed aside a stack of papers on the dining table to make room for the plate. “Coq au vin.”

I was so hungry that I did not argue. I ate with a knife and fork, the rich, unfamiliar flavors melting in my mouth. He set a cup of jasmine tea by my plate.

“You like it?” he said. “That’s red wine. Chinese don’t use that.”

When I was done, I sat back. He was still watching me, sipping his tea, and I was acutely aware of his penetrating gaze, of the powers of his observation, his everyday brilliance. I wanted to call home, but I knew he already knew I did, and he was waiting for something before he offered. What that was, I had no idea.

“Why did you say Toru is burdened by convention?” I said. “Why do you say he’s unhappy?”

Chen set his tea on the dining table and clasped his hands around his knee. “I’ve known Toru for a long time, since he was a young man. Always a good boy. Like you. He noticed things but kept his head down. Stayed out of trouble. A brilliant student. He had talent in math, but his parents wanted him to go to medical school, so he did. Of course, that’s not unusual.”

“Not at all.” I felt a bit defensive about the man who had saved my life and my son’s. “He’s a good doctor,” I said.

Chen nodded. “Of course. But he would have been good at many things. That doesn’t mean he would have been equally happy doing them all. But this is not the point of my story.” He took a sip of tea and wiped a jasmine petal off his lip.

“When he was in medical school, he met a lovely young nurse and fell in love with her. He wanted to marry her, but she was from a poor family. Her mother was the second wife of a merchant and had divorced her husband. Toru’s parents did not approve of the match and said they would disinherit Toru if he married the girl.”

I had wondered why Toru wasn’t married. “So he didn’t.”

“He didn’t. He’s told you this before?”

“No,” I said. “But he told me once, I had only one chance at life.”

“And did you listen?” Chen looked at me intently.

I hesitated. “Yes.”

“Good. Because I said much the same to Toru and he did not listen to me.”

“He’s alone,” I said.

“He is.”

“What happened to the nurse—the girl?”

“She married Toru’s best friend.”

For so many years I had thought of Toru as only a doctor. Of course he was a man, too. I remembered his agitation when I told him about Yoshiko.

“What about you,” I said. “Why are you alone?”

“My wife died ten years ago,” Chen said. “Pancreatic cancer. There was nothing to do. So you see I know both, having and losing.” He got up and took my dishes into the kitchen, his flip-flops slapping against his feet.

I followed him into the kitchen. He stood at the sink, filling it up with soapy water.

“Did you know my wife has tuberculosis?” I said.

He looked over his shoulder. “Yes.”

I stepped forward. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

“I thought you knew.”

“What about Toru? Why didn’t he write me or wire me or something?”

Chen shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he was told not to?”

Blood rose to my face. I was angry at Chen. Angry at Toru. Angry at Kazuo. And then I felt my anger melt away. They were not the ones at fault.

Chen finished rinsing the dishes, turned off the water, and dried his hands. He glanced shrewdly at my face. “Come. The orchid is still opening.”

I followed him out to the dining room, where we sat in facing chairs by the flowerpot. The blossoms had indeed opened slightly more, revealing the long, powdery stamens at their core, the scent of the orchid blooms mingling with the traces of savory red wine.

“My parents won’t pay for my wife to go to the hospital,” I said. “But they paid for my eldest brother to come to the United States for vacation.”

“Hm.” Chen struck a match and lit a pipe, his toes tensing in his flip-flops. He puffed, waving out the match, and wiggled his toes. “Why do you think that is?”

I considered. “Because they think he’s worth everything and I’m worth nothing.”