Fox Spirit 62 – Meetings and Departures
Storm was squatting, Chinese style, folded up so that his head was barely higher than Richie’s, murmuring to the toddler in his dark gentle voice. Richie was watching, wide-eyed, with two fingers in his mouth, as Storm’s long fingers played with a bright coin, making it appear and disappear, spin into the air to be caught again.
Sara’s elbow bumped the cubicle wall; Storm turned, saw her and rose from his crouch. Richie broke into a wail, “Uppa! Uppa!” reaching out his arms. Storm swept him up from the floor without apparent effort and turned to face Sara and Mark with a smile. “You see…we are already good friends.”
Sara’s eyes answered his smile, though her voice was carefully neutral. “I see that. Let me introduce you. This is Richie; Richie this is Cheng Bofu – Uncle Cheng.”
Richie’s hand was gripping Storm’s dark hair. He giggled and buried his face in Storm’s shoulder, then lifted his head and began to squirm, holding out his arms toward his grandmother. “Ah, you are a wiggling snake boy.” Storm passed Richie to Sara and looked inquiringly at Mark.
“Mark, this is Cheng Bao Feng – Storm – our Sales Manager.” As they shook hands, she saw her two worlds collide. Mark was all fresh-faced muscular American exuberance, while Storm, with his slender frame, shock of raven black hair, high cheekbones and air of reserve, had never looked so exotic.
“Uppa! Uppa!” Richie demanded again. Sara passed him to Mark, who scooped him up and perched him on his shoulders. “There. You’ll be out of the way now. Nice to meet you, Mr. Cheng. Looks like everyone here has been taking good care of my mom.”
“It is she who has been taking care of us. So many details she takes care of,” interjected Jerry Wang. “Shall we go to lunch now? Then I think you’re meant to go to the Children’s Palace with Manager Li and Richie? And maybe tomorrow you will be in the office again, Sara? We hadn’t realized how much you do until you weren’t here to do it.”
“How long will you be visiting, Mr. Mark?” Storm’s question was for Mark, but his eyes sought Sara’s. She responded on Mark’s behalf – “He will be leaving very soon – Saturday. There are legal issues in California.”
“Ah, then perhaps I won’t see you again, Mr. Mark. Travel well, then. Duibuqi, I have a meeting, must go.” He vanished before Sara could do more than return his look.
Scarlet Li had prepared well on Sara’s and Richie’s behalf. A brief negotiation saw Richie added to the enrollment at the Children’s Palace. The young teacher Peach Wu who cared for the youngest children in the pre-kindergarten was charmed immediately. “Riqi… You know in Chinese it means ‘sun spirit’. A very good name.”
“Yes, that was just lucky. There was no thought of his having a Chinese name when he was born.”
“Maybe he has a lucky fate – being born lucky is better than being born rich or beautiful. It lasts longer, maybe.”
Sara looked at Peach Wu in surprise. “In America we think luck isn’t lasting at all. Maybe only having good brains is a lasting gift.”
Teacher Wu smiled. “You may be right. We’ll see what we can do with Riqi’s brains, then.” She took Richie’s hand and led him to the picture book table. Sara felt a pang as he left – he did not even look back at her. But two year olds haven’t learned yet to be afraid of new things. It was a good time for this change, at least for Richie.
For the first time, Sara went with Scarlet Li to the Beijing Capital Airport to see someone off, rather than taking a flight herself. Richie had been left with Silver Wing, so the farewells went quickly as Scarlet idled her car at the drop-off curb.
Mark leaned over to give Sara a forceful hug before picking up his suitcase. “I wish you could come and be with me in court, Mom.”
“Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure Kurt Bentley will handle everything well – and with Richie out of the country, the Cavallos won’t be able to do anything underhanded. As Richie’s father you have the right to give me temporary guardianship. I’m sure it will all end well.”
“As long as the Cavallos don’t hire some Mafia hit man to have me knee-capped.”
“Not funny. You’ll be fine in court.”
“Ok, but what happens afterward? How long will Richie have to stay in China, do you think? I’m already starting to miss him…”
“We’ll talk about that later, after the custody suit is settled. Just focus on that for now. It will work out – trust me.”
“I‘ve always trusted you, Mom. Just, take good care of him. And of yourself too. All of a sudden everyone I care about most will be so far away…”
Sara refused to let tears come. “You saw how everyone from the office and the school came together to help us. Be easy – now get on that plane.” Mark engulfed her with another long hug and then passed through the security gate beyond her view. Sara hurried back to Scarlet’s waiting car, Mark’s parting words echoing in her mind. But as they drove through the crowded streets Sara was already planning Richie’s first weekend in China.
November 1999
Silver Wing
Silver Wing lay in bed, listening to her husband’s quiet breathing next to her, thinking about Richie – his eyes such a warm brown, not the flat black of Chinese eyes. His eye lashes curling outward like the eaves of a temple, not straight down like brushes. His eyelids so oddly folded. His hair so bright – brown, but gilded by the sun. His skin like a peach. Nothing like his grandmother, with her dark-copper hair and skin white as a courtesan in old pictures. The man she had met, Richie’s father, had the same eyes. She wondered about the dead mother – what did she give to her son? Was she like Sara? Or maybe shorter, darker haired.
Silver Wing imagined her arm next to Richie’s, holding Richie. She sighed, turned on her side and realized that her husband’s eyes were on her. Embarrassed, she reached out and pulled him to her, hiding her face. His response was immediate, his hands moving down her side, lips murmuring against her neck. Silver Wing stiffened, then sighed and relaxed against him. He had been patient with her and it had been a long time since she had welcomed him.
Sara
Sara woke at the sound of Richie’s crying. She stumbled from the bed, picked up her red night lamp, lit her way to the crib side. He was asleep, but still crying, contorted into a tight ball, cheeks gleaming with tears. Was he feverish? Stomach pain? Indigestion? No sign of vomit on the sheet, forehead cool to the touch. She set the light down and reached to comfort him. He went rigid at her touch, began to thrash. “No! No! Mama! Mama!” He fought against her, still sleeping, yet fighting her.
Sara picked him up, pinned his thrashing arms against her chest and called his name. “Richie! Richie! It’s Grandma. Wake up!” His spine stiffened; he bent backward trying to escape her. “Richie, it’s ok! Wake up – you’re dreaming” He sobbed wildly, then suddenly collapsed in her arms.
“Mama! Mama!” Little by little his sobs slackened, he cuddled against her, one hand grasping at her breast. He slid into sleep. Sara sat with him, not moving, staring into the darkness.
Mark
An ocean away, the house was quiet in mid-morning light. Mark set down his suitcase in the hallway. Since Rennie’s death he had had no time to notice the emptiness. Now he moved from room to room noting the vacancy where Rennie’s coffee cup should have been – the one she would always leave on the counter before scooping Richie up to take him to the Tiny Tot Lot. The empty hooks on the coat rack. Rennie had been wearing a hat and jacket on the day she died. He wondered what had become of them. At the morgue the attendants had given him Rennie’s purse, her wallet intact, her rings, a few other things from the car, but no clothing.
In the kitchen Richie’s high chair had been pushed into the corner. Everything had been tidied here before the flight to Beijing. The refrigerator, crammed with casseroles from friends and neighbors after the accident, was almost bare. A jar of mayonnaise, some jam, a jar of marinara sauce.
Richie’s room had been stripped. The dresser drawers were a little ajar, contents swept into suitcases without sorting or review. The sheets were gone from the crib, along with Richie’s green bear that Aunt Carol had made for him. Mark had forgotten the pattern of dancing elephants on the crib mattress. It smelled faintly of talcum powder, baby shampoo, and a trace of urine. In the corner lay a stuffed elephant, left behind, not one of Richie’s favorites. Mark picked it up and held it close. He still held it as he turned to the other bedroom.
Nothing much had changed, except the overwhelming not-thereness of Rennie. The quilt she had made was still on the bed. Her closet door was closed; he couldn’t face opening her closet. Lotion and eye-shadow still in the bathroom. The smell of moisturizer, bath oil. The candles by the bathtub. The memory of her lying in the bathtub with the candles lit. The memory of her lying on the table at the morgue. Her hair dryer. Her hair spreading out from under the sheet at the morgue. They hadn’t let him see her face, but it was her long, dark hair that he had known at first glimpse. The gentle waves of her hair. The way it had rippled around her shoulders when she hurried out the door with Richie that last morning. She was always running late. If she hadn’t been late that afternoon. If he had picked up Richie from daycare instead. He sat down on the toilet seat clutching the elephant and began to sob.
Chinese Puzzle Box 