Beautiful as Yesterday by Fan Wu

Author:Fan Wu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2009-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

IN THE YEAR 2001

TEN

January

THEY’VE ALL LEFT—HER older daughter and Bob to work, and her grandson, Dongdong, to kindergarten. Except for the periodic sounds from the fridge and birds chirping in the backyard, it is very quiet. Fenglan can hear her footsteps as she walks on the hardwood floor in her cork-soled sandals and, if she tries, even the clock ticking in her daughter’s bedroom. The quietness disturbs her: something is missing, she feels. If she were in her own apartment in China right now, she would surely hear Old Aunt Huang scolding her unemployed daughter-in-law, saying that she never helps with housework, or the sounds of hammering, sawing, and drilling from a neighbor remodeling. Of course, there also would be street vendors’ chanting, and buses’ and cars’ honking. She used to complain about these noises because they interrupted her sleep, or made it hard to hear the TV or radio, but now she misses them—they kept her mind occupied, made the days go by; they reminded her that she was still alive.

Now, she can sense clearly each minute, each second, as if time were invisible animals sneaking about with unhurried steps. It is just so quiet! Seen through the living room window, the street remains still, like a scenic poster: the light gray asphalt road, the trees, the lawns, the flowers. Cars or people rarely invade this stillness.

Where are the retired people? she wonders. Don’t they stroll in the neighborhood or gather to play chess or cards on their front porches as older people like to do in China? What a waste of such nice porches, occupied only by flowerpots and reclining chairs! On the other side of the street, two houses to the left, a thick-trunked orange tree laden with fruit resembles a burning torch in the sunlight. But she has never seen the tree’s owners pick the oranges: they just let them fall all over the lawn and, every Thursday evening, gather them, place them inside a plastic bag, and dump the bag into their garbage bin—garbage collecting day is Friday. She once mentioned this tree to her older daughter. “Those oranges must be very sweet and juicy. If sold at a store, they must cost good money. If this tree was in China—” Her daughter cut her short. “Ma, we aren’t in China.”

Her daughter’s other neighbors puzzle Fenglan as well. Immediately to the right is a middle-aged white couple without children. A row of overgrown oleanders separates their front lawn from her daughter’s. This couple go to work at eight a.m. and come back home around six p.m. every weekday, both driving massive SUVs with big tires, one black, the other red. They don’t seem to worry about their gas bills. They have another car they keep in the garage and drive only on weekends. It’s a monstrous yellow convertible, like a sailboat, with images of black flames on both sides, making a loud noise like a tractor when its engine starts. Her daughter has told her that this car is an antique and worth a lot of money, but Fenglan thinks it’s ugly.

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