The Natural Laws of Good Luck Read Online Free PDF Page B

notes of his magnificent voice floated over the dirty puddles like wind-borne blossoms. No, he surely did not want to appear in a spectacle or to be anywhere but here. I thought of Da Ge, generous and voyeuristic, presenting his friends with sword dancing, wedding music, and us—the bride and groom puppets.
    When we arrived at the school where the stage had been set, Da Ge met us frantically at the door and said we must run because the music was already playing. We ran up on the stage. By magic, Da Ge was already there before us, gesticulating to make us walk faster. We were both drunk and full of dumplings. Da Ge directed everything with the mastery of a circus trainer. He stepped around us and between us, pushing here, pulling there, brushing our ears with garlic-breathy orders. I vaguely recall eating from opposite sides of an apple that Da Ge dangled between us. I do remember at the end of the routine Zhong-hua lifted me over a wooden bench and carried me off the stage while Da Ge’s friends clapped and laughed. Then Da Ge thrust bowls of candy into our arms and told us to distribute it to these guests whom we did not know. Next came Tai Chi Sword, Wushu Tiger, Monkey, and Snake demonstrations. These are dancelike fighting forms based on diligent observation of animals in motion. Da Ge was in his glory.
    I saw Kong Hui with the poem in her hand. She saw my face fall in realization that we hadn’t gotten to read our poetry after dinner as we planned because I had been drunk in the alley with my new husband, and because Da Ge had never intended to allow a poem to infiltrate his show. I had let her down. She read my heart and rushed to me. “Ellen, don’t worry about this small thing. We can read this terrible poem next time. I know when you return, we will translate many things. You will return home to China and live here forever. Forever. I am sure of this.” In what time or manner return or forever might manifest, I could not imagine. I folded her curious words away.
    I tried to hug my husband good-bye in the hotel room. He moved back and said, “Airport.”
    â€œOK.” That seemed frugal to me. Couldn’t we hug twice? Maybe the last hug would be a big bear hug. I would have to wait and see.
    At the airport we waited in line. Da Ge chattered to anyonewho would listen. Zhong-hua stood stiffly with his lips pressed together. I took my cue from him and stood straight and motionless. As it turned out, this was a quite tolerable way to deal with the situation; it contained the swells of emotion and conserved energy. A few tears rolled down my face, but I didn’t wipe them or move.
    At the last minute, Da Ge turned to Zhong-hua and ordered, “
Yongbao
, American-style.” Zhong-hua looked shocked, as if pinned to the wall by a dart.
“Kuai yidiar, yongbao! Meiguoren xihuan zuo zheyang”
(Quickly hug! Americans like doing things this way). I don’t remember feeling this public hug, only that it was a swift, uninvested motion. Other Chinese people were standing in line watching us; I sensed Zhong-hua did not wish to entertain them. Zhong-hua turned to Da Ge and said,
“Ta dei geiwo xie henduo xin”
(She must write me many letters), then hurried away without saying good-bye.

A Sovereign Sense
    I RETURNED HOME TO AMERICA and waited a year and a half for Zhong-hua to be granted a visa. We communicated over the phone in Chinese bookended with English for hello and good-bye; in letters we both wrote Chinese characters and English words, one underneath the other. Translating with a dictionary, I sometimes wrote down characters that had been out of popular use in China for centuries. When I asked after his father, it probably sounded something like “I prithee, how fareth thy honorable ancestor?” Zhong-hua wrote things like “I am writing you together with my miss and wishes from the brootom of my heart.” So I was surprised to receive a perfect love