“Fifty million dollars.” Ming peers sharply at James. “Hear me out. Invested at only five percent, that equals an annual income of two-point-five million dollars. Fifty million dollars would mean complete freedom. And I wouldn’t be the only Chinese man who’s put my hopes into my ‘Life Savings.’”
Ming signals to the server. “We should order dessert. Just so they know we’re still paying customers. But James, little brother, if you can find or earn enough money, you never need to squeeze onto a crowded subway car. Never eat at a bad restaurant. Never worry about anything that can be solved by purchase or payment. I’m working on a deal in Phoenix that’ll make my career, I’m aiming for managing director.”
James asks cautiously, “What about dating an Asian woman?”
“You know I never date Asian women.” Ming raises his hand. “Pie! That’s what we need right now.” The server approaches the table, and he raps out, “Two slices of pie. What do you have? Apple? German apple? All right. Listen, James,” he says when the server is gone. “Here’s why I invited you here to talk. Your good deed hasn’t gone unpunished. The dying man you gave CPR to? He was carrying his Life Savings. In his luggage. His relatives somehow know the money has disappeared. Instead, they were given a gift of jia li jiao.”
Their two pieces of pie arrive, warm, each with ice cream. Ming scrapes the ice cream off of his pie and sets it to the side. He fixes his heavy-browed gaze again on James.
“The man in Union Station was apparently carrying some money—not a huge sum of money, but quite a great deal for him. An EMT told his family about the nice boy who tried to help him. She remembers the boy’s name, Chao. What on God’s earth made you tell her your name?”
“I picked up his bag,” James says. “I was going to check inside for his contact information but forgot about it. I’m almost positive I switched it from your rental into the Ford when you dropped me at the restaurant. Do you remember me putting it in the trunk?”
“It was dark,” Ming says. “I was on the phone.”
“Where is it? What do I do now?”
“Finders, keepers.”
“I have to give the money back to the family.”
“Then whatever you do, don’t tell Dad. You need to find the bag before he does. Check at home. Check inside the Ford. He took the other car to work today.”
James stares at his plate. “Ming, I’m scared.”
“What’s to be scared of?”
“What if it turns out that, entirely by accident, I stole someone’s life savings?”
“Fair exchange for trying to save his life.”
“What if Ba finds it first and won’t—won’t let me give it back?”
“Well, then, make sure you make Dad give you half.” Ming shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I’m getting out of here. I have a flight tonight. I want to beat the snow.”
James remembers the snatches of Ming’s conversations with O-Lan. “Is that what you and O-Lan were talking about?”
Ming appears startled, then impressed, as if he’s surprised James can eavesdrop. “She warned me a storm was coming,” he said. “She said if I left tonight, I might get stuck in the snow. I told her it was fine, I’d rent a car and drive back to New York if I have to. I don’t want to be stuck here for Christmas.”
“What’re you doing for Christmas?”
“I’m going to take the day off. I just don’t want to do it here.”
“Do you hate it here that much?”
Ming looks directly into James with his implacable black eyes. James averts his gaze. Ming says lightly, “I’ve gotten over it. Dad and Mom, the house.”
“The restaurant?”
“Especially the restaurant. I’ve gotten over the fact that we—you and me and Dagou—were raised to work at a restaurant in a hellhole in the middle of nowhere, that as children we had less than we deserved. I’ve gotten over that we were given no resources and no head start on the world. That we were, in fact, starting with a serious disadvantage. That we were bullied—look, I pay the bullies here to make dinner for me now! We have our intelligence, our talents and ambitions. We work hard. And if we come from a place to be ashamed of, I got over it.”
He pokes at the back end of his pie, breaking the crust with his fork. He takes a small bite. “And if I were you, I’d get over it, too,” he says. “There’s hope for you, if you give up on Dagou.” He shakes his fork slightly at James. “Your ice cream is melting all over the place.”
True enough, the ice cream has slid off of the pie. He spoons up a bit, but he’s lost his appetite.
“They’ve made their choices; you’re not responsible. You must live your life.” Ming signals to the server. “Our meeting here is done,” he says, pointing at the clock. “I’ve got the check. I’ve got to catch my plane, so you get going, kid.”
James looks at the clock; his heart skips. It’s after four. He’s supposed to meet Alice in less than an hour. He has to take a shower; he has to change. “Thanks for dinner, Ming. Safe travels. Merry Christmas.”
“Sure.”
James leaves the diner and walks away, down the snowy street.
During his time at college, he’s forgotten he never had to pay for a meal when one of his brothers was around. The habit is engrained in them: the older family member taking care of the younger. It goes all the way up to Leo and his restaurant. James has never thought to break free of it. Walking wearily toward his father’s house, he wonders how this idea of family love—this hierarchy of responsibility and of obedience—has helped to create Big Leo’s kingdom. The elder takes care of the younger, and in return, he is obeyed. The father, above all, obeyed.
In one of James’s earliest memories, he is standing outside, in the backyard—close to this very street—with his mother. The backyard is surrounded by a fence—they have no dog, at that time, but they bought the house and put up this fence with the understanding that someday they would have one. He and his mother stand at the clothesline under the afternoon sun, next to a basket of soap-smelling, cool wet laundry. James, please count for me three clothespins. Bending to the bucket of clothespins and counting one, two, four. Winnie, smiling down at him, taking the wooden clothespins from his hand. One, two, three. Ming can say everything he wants, but James knows that he himself was once, and is, specifically, very much loved.
Leo’s Ford waits in the snow-covered driveway.
James stops for a moment by the car, distracted. There’s something Ming told him to do. He can’t remember; it’ll come to him later. He lets himself into the house. Upstairs he showers, puts on a clean shirt, and goes back down to wait for Alice.
A Nice Chinese Boy