A Chinese Affair Read online

  The woman weighs the ginger in a hanging scale. ‘Three dollar twenty.’ She speaks English with a strong accent, and in a hissing voice, as if she is squeezing out the last breath from her lungs. She tears off a plastic bag, waves it open and throws in the ginger.

  ‘Tree dollar, okay?’ Hua says in English.

  ‘Here is not China, sir. No bargains here.’ The woman responds in Mandarin with an equally strong accent, grinning at him, exposing her lopsided front teeth.

  Crystal takes out the exact amount from her coin purse.

  ‘All we need now are some crabs.’ Hua adjusts the straps on his shoulder to stop the shopping bag from slipping, while the bottles inside clink and rattle.

  The fish shop is at a corner of the market. They tread carefully to avoid water puddles on the tiled floor. A large variety of seafood is on display under the fluorescent lights.

  Hua examines the mud crabs by poking them one by one. ‘How many people do we have tonight?’

  ‘Nine.’

  He starts picking out five male and five female crabs.

  Crystal’s face has turned ashen. ‘Dad, I’m feeling a bit sick,’ she says, while pressing the focal point on the inside of her wrist. ‘I’ll wait outside.’ She stumbles out.

  She stops behind a spice stall, holds on to the pillar, and shuts her eyes. After a few deep breaths, she regains her colour and wipes her face with a silk handkerchief.

  Hua emerges between the heavy plastic strips.

  ‘How are you feeling? It’s very crowded here. You shouldn’t come by yourself.’

  Crystal tries to take the pink plastic bag of crabs, but he insists on keeping it and swings it behind his back.

  They walk out of the market into the warm morning sunshine.

  ‘Who are the guests?’

  ‘John’s three children and their partners.’

  ‘Do you have your own friends?’

  ‘Yes, mostly my ex-classmates and ex-colleagues. The others I know through the interpreting work. One of them is a very talented artist, who’s received a prestigious scholarship to the Russian Academy of Arts.’ Crystal’s voice becomes faint, as if she’s talking to herself. ‘He’s flying from Beijing to St Petersburg today.’

  Hua suddenly comes to a halt. ‘The mooncake!’

  They divert into a street for pedestrians only, strewn with Chinese jewellers, Chinese medicine shops, gift shops selling shark oil for longevity, emu oil for arthritis, and kangaroo essence for male vitality. A group of Chinese tourists are scrutinising the opals. Some of the restaurants have menus written in Chinese on stands outside their doors. Young waiters and waitresses speak Mandarin to the passing Chinese tourists, pointing to the colourful menus in hand. Hanging inside some shop windows are soy chicken, barbecue duck and roast pork, glinting under the red lights. Beneath them, chefs with white caps and aprons chop and stack the meat in plastic takeaway boxes, for the locals queuing on the pavement.

  They stop in front of a sign that reads ‘Mid-Autumn Mooncake—the ideal gift for family and friends’. A stereo is playing a famous Chinese song by a children’s choir:

  Outside the long pergola, beside the ancient road Fragrant grass green to the horizon

  ‘Lotus seeds with double egg yolks are the most popular ones,’ Hua says. He picks up each box, reads the labels at arm’s length and checks the expiry dates. Finally he decides on a red box with a fairy floating to the moon.

  But Crystal is still listening, her eyes vacant, her lips parted.

  Evening breeze caressing the willow, flute tune broken A setting sun behind the hills, beyond hills’ end

  It is quiet at the subterranean pedestrian tunnel. In the distance, someone is busking on a saxophone. Crystal and Hua walk in front of a large mural in ochre with black lines and white dots. A boy rollerskates by.

  ‘Ah! This is Aboriginal art.’

  ‘I’ll take you to the art gallery.’

  ‘Do not trouble yourself for my sake.’

  ‘All the permanent exhibitions are free, Dad.’

  ‘You know, when you were small, I often borrowed art books from the gallery. You kissed the women and children and spat on the men with a moustache.’

  Beside the staircase at the exit, a black dog is sleeping on a camping mat, his head resting on his front paws. Crystal places a two-dollar coin in the bowl in front of the dog. He opens his eyes briefly.

  ‘Silly child—you don’t see how fat the dog is? I’ve never seen a fatter one in my life!’

  They both laugh, and walk up the staircase towards the sunlight.

  At six o’clock the guests start to arrive, and settle into the spacious living room furnished with handsome timber furniture.

  Tim, the eldest son, swaggering his broad shoulders and thick chest, raves about the contract he has just won to install home security devices for the customers of a telecommunications company.

  Justin, the second son, pushing up his silver-framed spectacles, injects some pertinent advice on the timing of income and expenditure and the corresponding tax implications.

  The two wives, Kylie and Christine, who look like sisters with the same glossy face, are having a chat about schooling, including the importance of early enrolment.

  In the open kitchen, Crystal is smashing garlic cloves with a Chinese chopper. She then peels them, and pounds them in a granite mortar with a matching pestle.

  Something is crackling in a covered pan on the stove. Hua lays chunks of crab on a steel plate, and places it on top of a metal steamer inside a wok. He opens a clay pot and the smell of lion’s head stew escapes.

  John’s daughter Nadine and her boyfriend Digby walk into the kitchen. Nadine peeps into the pot: six fist-sized meatballs on top of softening Chinese cabbage in a bubbling soup.

  ‘That smells divine.’ She pats Hua’s shoulder, a sweet dimple appearing in her cheek.

  Crystal translates for her father while washing the shallots.

  Hua bows. ‘Dank you. You are beautiful.’

  ‘Your dad has learned all the right words,’ John says while choosing a bottle from the wine rack outside the kitchen. He is in his sixties, still in good form, with all his children’s prominent features combined.

  Hua washes his hands and disappears into the guestroom. A minute later, he comes back with a scarlet box. He shows John the raised golden calligraphy on the side of the box. ‘Chinese wine. Try.’

  ‘That’s Five Grain Essence, one of the best wines in China,’ Crystal says, pausing from chopping the ginger.

  ‘Oh, that stuff’s vicious!’ says Digby, stroking his shapely goatee.

  Crystal shoots him a deliberate look.

  Digby catches her eye and strolls to the kitchen bench. ‘Hey, what’s new? How’s the conference going?’

  ‘It’s finished,’ she says, mixing the ginger with vinegar. She licks the tip of the chopstick, then adds more vinegar, and tastes again.

  ‘Gotcha! That’s what we call double dipping. But trust me, I won’t tell anyone.’ He winks.

  ‘You missed out some detail. There’s an advantage in using a pair of chopsticks.’ She separates the chopsticks with one hand like a conductor, her fingers dancing.

  The timer rings. Hua returns to the stove and opens the wok. A cloud of steam rises.

  Dinner is about to start. The large wooden table is covered with sumptuous food.

  ‘Crab is very cooling. So we use ginger and vinegar sauce to balance: ginger warms the stomach and vinegar kills germs,’ Crystal says. She has tied her hair up into a neat bun. A string of pearls accentuates her long neck, and matches her silver dress and white cardigan.

  John shakes his head in admiration. ‘It’s amazing that every food in China has some medicinal property. And Crystal knows them all.’

  Crystal tells Hua that the conversation is about food dynamics.

  ‘I want to say a few words. Please translate for me.’ Hua stands up and holds out his shot glass. ‘This is my first visit to your estee
med country and I have fallen in love with this magnificent continent.’

  ‘This is my dad’s first visit and he likes Australia very much.’

  ‘This is a country of colours: blue skies, green trees, turquoise seas and white sails. This is a paradise of sounds: winds, waves and birdsongs.’ He adds, ‘Did you translate everything?’

  Crystal translates accurately this time.

  ‘You are distinguished representatives of a magnanimous nation, diligent, courageous and peace-loving.’

  ‘My dad finds all of you warm and hospitable.’ She adds in Chinese, ‘Dad, keep it short, please.’

  Hua smiles and carries on. ‘Mid-Autumn Festival is an occasion for family reunion. In Chinese we say, “Whenever it is a merry festival, one especially longs for loved ones.” My heart is consoled witnessing Xueqing’s privileged life in her new country.’ He nods to Crystal, his eyes glistening.

  A shadow casts over Crystal’s high cheekbones. She looks down and her fringe falls onto her face. All eyes are on her. ‘The Mooncake Festival is an occasion for family reunion.’ She continues, ‘My dad is delighted to be here.’

  Hua holds out his glass with two hands. ‘Cheer.’ He gulps down the Five Grain Essence in one go and shows his empty glass.

  ‘Cheers …’ John and Tim finish theirs, and the others all take a sip. This is followed by animated discussion about the potency of the wine.

  Hua pours more for John and Tim before sitting down.

  John stands up.

  Nadine nudges Tim and whispers in his ear, ‘I’ve never seen Dad giving a speech, not even at his own wedding!’

  John clears his throat. ‘It’s been a great pleasure to get to know you, Hua. Thank you for visiting us and you are always welcome in this house.’

  Crystal translates for Hua.

  Hua stands up and holds out his glass again. ‘Dank you. Dank you.’

  Another round of raised glasses and clinking sounds.

  ‘Let’s eat the crab while it’s warm,’ Crystal says.

  No-one talks as everybody tries to get the crab meat out of the shells using an ensemble of knives, forks and chopsticks.

  ‘Oh, I forgot the nutcracker.’

  ‘I’ll get it.’ John pushes Crystal down and walks towards the living area. Soon there’s the sound of drawers opening and closing, and also the television.

  A piece of crab flies through the air and hits Justin. Kylie apologises while Christine tries to wipe his shirt with a napkin.

  Crystal gets up.

  In the living area, she catches John standing there, watching the news. ‘Just a quick one.’ He waves at her with the nutcracker in hand.

  A male newsreader is on the television. ‘Those are the headlines for today. And now to breaking news. A passenger plane en route to St Petersburg from Beijing has caught fire mid-air and crashed into remote Siberian woodland.’

  John raises the remote control.

  ‘Leave it,’ Crystal says in a hoarse voice, as if she is choked. Her eyes are fixed on the screen.

  Amateur video footage shows the plane making a sharp nosedive, followed by a spiral descent.

  ‘Emergency services have arrived at the scene, but there remains little hope for the 145 passengers and crew on board the aircraft.’

  Crystal rushes to the ensuite bathroom, kneels on the floor and heaves into the toilet bowl. After rinsing her mouth and splashing herself with cold water, she pats her face dry. But new tears keep streaming out. She checks her profile in the mirror, caresses her belly and hugs it. She weeps silently.

  John walks into the unlit bedroom. Through the door ajar, he catches a glimpse of Crystal, cupping her eyes, her long neck bent over. He hesitates for a moment, then quietly walks away.

  Crystal returns to the table, her eyes down.

  ‘What’s the news?’ Justin asks, while passing the nutcracker.

  ‘The US’s policy on space, declaring their rights and the defence of their rights,’ John says. ‘And a Chinese plane has just crashed in Russia.’

  He puts some food on Crystal’s plate but she doesn’t seem to notice.

  ‘On our way from Shanghai to Guangzhou, the pilot was late and delayed the flight. Then there were problems with the engine and we had to make an emergency landing,’ Nadine says.

  ‘Their eggs were brown! No kidding,’ Digby adds.

  Hua watches the conversations with a polite smile, while observing Crystal.

  Crystal translates for him. ‘They travelled to China recently. They did not feel the planes were safe.’

  Hua wants to say something but decides against it.

  Tim offers the last half meatball around the table and puts it on his own plate. He gives Hua a thumbs-up.

  Nadine speaks again. ‘I love the food there, and shopping’s great as long as you slash the price by two-thirds. And we got the hang of it. But the air in Beijing is so polluted. I felt sorry for the people there.’

  ‘Ditto. The Australian Government is silly to enter into any carbon emission protocols if China and America don’t play ball,’ Justin says.

  Kylie asks, ‘What about the one-child policy? Do they still force pregnant women to have abortions?’

  ‘In the rural areas, if the parents are both a single child, they can have two children,’ Crystal says slowly.

  ‘I can’t imagine not having Felicia,’ Christine says. ‘It’s a crime against humanity to enforce such a policy. The Australian Government is so two-faced when it comes to human rights.’

  Crystal straightens her back and puts down her chopsticks. ‘When I was growing up, my family shared a unit with another family: eleven people using one toilet, one washing basin, one kitchen.’

  John pats her arm.

  ‘China has the highest suicide rate in the world. Suicide is the leading cause of death for people between the ages of fifteen and thirty-four.’ Her voice trembles.

  Everyone has stopped eating.

  ‘Crystal knows a lot of statistics. She gets excited when it comes to the social conditions in China,’ John says.

  ‘More statistics: China also has the highest coalmine fatality rate. In my hometown, a second-tier city, the unemployment rate is eighteen per cent. Most people have no medical benefits or social security. There is simply no room for more people.’

  There is a long pause, when no-one speaks.

  ‘What’s the population of your hometown?’ Justin asks tentatively. ‘Over a million?’

  ‘Eight million.’

  Some nods and awkward chuckles.

  ‘It must be the Five Grain Essence. One moment Crystal’s all quiet; the next moment she’s exploding with numbers,’ Tim says.

  Digby raises his glass. ‘Cheers to China.’

  ‘Cheers to China …’

  ‘What are you all talking about?’ Hua asks.

  ‘Some statistics about modern China.’

  ‘What are we toasting?’

  ‘China’s prosperity.’

  After dinner Crystal prepares chrysanthemum tea and cuts each square mooncake into eight triangular pieces. She brings the tea set and the mooncake to the dining table.

  ‘What’s the story behind the mooncake, Crystal? The reason for the festival?’ Christine asks eagerly.

  Crystal points to the fairy on the mooncake box. ‘The story is about her. Her name is Chang’e. She eats her husband’s spirited herb when he is away on Jade Emperor’s orders. Her body loses its mass and rises up into the night sky until she reaches the moon. She can no longer return.’ There is a velvety quality to Crystal’s voice. The candlelight flickers. ‘She lives in a marble palace. When she feels lonely, she dances with her shadow, swirling her long sleeves across the sky. She misses her ordinary life on Earth. Her husband can only visit her once a year on the Mid-Autumn Festival, which is today, the fifteenth of the eighth lunar month.’

  ‘It’s spring now. But I suppose you celebrate according to the northern hemisphere seasons,’ Kylie says.

&
nbsp; ‘So what’s the moral of the story?’ Justin asks.

  ‘No stealing,’ Digby says.

  A few conversations start all at once. Hua is practising his English with Tim.

  Crystal does not seem to hear. She pours tea for herself and takes a small bite of the mooncake.

  After the guests have left, Hua finds Crystal alone on the balcony, a red shawl trailing over her shoulders.

  ‘The night dew is cold. Don’t stand outside for too long.’

  ‘Dad, we forgot to look at the moon.’

  He stands next to her. ‘My child, don’t be so sentimental.’

  They look up to the sky. The moon is perfectly round, and almost too bright for the eyes.

  Shower of Gold

  Behind the bus stop stood a small church, its sandstone walls eroded by rain and covered with different shades of ivy. Adjacent to the church, the flower shop always had a theatrical display of the season’s colours. After that was a second-hand bookshop, its shabby owner permanently sitting outside, sipping coffee, ready to strike up a conversation with any passer-by. Then a butcher. A chemist. Behind the jacaranda trees, second to the right, was the terrace house where Crystal used to visit Lin.

  His wife was pregnant and had stayed in China, being looked after by his parents. He told Crystal little about her, except that she spent a couple of hours a day painting silk-wrapped buttons and arranging them into patterns, and sold them as wall hangings or framed artworks. He had a photograph of her, wearing a white blouse and blue jeans, long hair, no makeup, serene and relaxed, standing in front of her award-winning artwork of a peacock in vivid blue and green. The photo was casually pressed on the fridge with a magnet.

  His downstairs studio had no furniture except a sturdy old-fashioned leather couch. The window faced a small backyard with a patchy lawn and clothesline. He used a piece of thin cloth for a curtain, brown with golden hues, light and transparent, billowing, as though the studio was constantly inviting in the breeze, the sun and the melancholy tunes from a neighbouring music student.