Fiona and Jane(4)

* * *



? ? ?

It was past eleven, but the night market still thronged with people at this hour. Baba and I picked our way through the crowd, both of us silent. We passed into an alley that led to a turnout to the main road; neon signs lit up the storefronts along the boulevard. We paused at the corner, waiting for the traffic light to change. Now that we were a ways off from the night market din, the sound of cicadas chirping filled the air all around us, teeming thousands nested in the camphor trees.

I thought about Mah. Was she missing me? Baba? Or was she glad to be free of us? Her way of loving was sharp, never tender. She needled us about every little thing, blamed us for every strand of gray hair on her head, every frown line that settled on her face. I missed her all of a sudden. I realized I’d barely thought of her at all, my whole time here.

As if reading my thoughts, Baba began to tell a story about her.

“After college,” he said, “Mah worked as a clerk at the department store. They only hired the most beautiful, elegant girls. Ones who knew how to dress, how to talk to customers. Everyone—I mean everyone—admired her. She could have picked any young man to marry.” He paused for a moment. “But she chose me.”

I thought of the photos I’d seen of them from those days, preserved behind vellum in an album back home. They’d looked like actors in a movie to me: Baba all Bruce Lee bravado in yellow aviators and polyester button-down shirts with huge collars, Mah rocking bell-bottom jeans and platform sandals, her waist tiny, hair curled into lustrous ringlets.

Mah had always blamed the pregnancy for ruining her trim shape. One time, in a moment of rage when I was a kid, Mah unzipped her pants and let her gut hang out, the loose flesh puckered with purple stretch marks. She’d grabbed me by the neck and smashed my face against her belly. “You did this to me. You! Are you happy?”

“Before I left Taiwan,” Baba said, “she made me promise not to meet any American girls. I gave her my word.” He smiled. “That was our engagement.”

“No ring?”

“It was a secret between us,” he said. “And then I went to the US for graduate school.”

The traffic signal flashed green. Baba reached for my hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. We crossed the street linked together that way. Past the median, a dozen scooters flew within inches of us, mufflers rattling as the riders sawed through the night.

“I want to talk to you about Lee,” he said. We were on the other side of the street now.

“Tell me more about you and Mah,” I said. “You never—”

“She’s a part of this story.”

“Lee had a problem with me,” I said. “He was trying to pick a fight.”

“Twenty years ago, we were inseparable,” Baba said. “Best friends, like brothers. But we lost touch after I moved overseas.” He paused a moment before continuing. “When I came back here, I asked around. I found him, through old friends.”

“I thought you said— The badminton court—”

“I went looking for him,” Baba said. “When I saw him again”—he stopped, as if to catch his breath—“I realized something about myself.”

His words hung in the air between us. I looked at him carefully. Baba wore his hair longer than he used to, or maybe it was that he was overdue for a cut. He’d gained back the weight he lost before, the year he stayed in bed. I studied his golden-brown skin, his dark amber eyes.

We’d reached the entrance to the subway station. Under the fluorescent bulbs, my father looked exhausted, as if all the talking had worn him out.

“What did you realize?” I asked. A block of ice had settled in my stomach. I knew what my father was trying to tell me but I couldn’t hear it. There was no room for it inside of me.

“Jane,” he said. “My daughter. My dear daughter.”

“You’re staying here for good,” I said. “That’s what you’re saying to me.”

“I didn’t know this would happen,” he said. “Lee and I—”

“Does Mah know you’re not coming back?”

“We’ll always be a family,” he said. “Nothing can change that.” Then he said, haltingly: “I’m in love—with . . .”

“No.” I met his gaze and held it for a long time. “No,” I said again. “You’re supposed to— You can’t just—”

“I care for him. Very much.” He was quiet for a moment, before adding, “And he cares for me.”

“What about Mah?” I said. “What about me?” I shook my head. “So you don’t care about us, then? You haven’t been thinking about anyone except yourself.” The words left my mouth before I knew what I was saying. “You’re selfish—”

“I wanted to tell you the truth,” he said. “You’re eighteen years old.”

“We don’t need you,” I said. “I don’t need you.”

“You’re angry,” he said. “Let’s talk when we get home.”

“You’re right, Baba. I’m not a little kid anymore,” I said.

“Jane.”

I fumbled for my subway card and held it out against the sensor. The gate glided open with a pneumatic hiss. I walked ahead. He kept his distance, five or six paces between us. I rode the escalator down and stood on the platform, my eyes on the white line painted on the ground. A gust of wind announced the train’s arrival, followed by two short whistles as the leading car thundered toward the station.