The Chinese Groove by Kathryn Ma

Author:Kathryn Ma [Ma, Kathryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Catapult
Published: 2022-11-24T00:00:00+00:00

I’D BEEN WRONG AND I wasn’t too proud to admit it. Huntington was a prince among men. As soon as he arrived, he insisted that I join them for lunch. From what he’d heard from Ted, I was a multitalented multitasker with big dreams and my feet firmly planted. It was high time we got acquainted. He drove us across town to a Chinatown establishment where the owner greeted him—Right this way, Supervisor Wong—and ordered special dishes served to us by his wife, a hairsprayed lady who good-naturedly ribbed her guest, Where’s your beautiful wife? We never see her anymore.

She’s looking after her mother, Huntington said, winking at Henry and me, since earlier he’d told us that his wife, Delilah, was visiting her horse in Woodside. She has her mare; I have you, he said to Henry with a grin. You’re what keeps me anchored. Soon appeared the silky rock cod I selected from the tank at Huntington’s invitation. He served the eye and cheek to Henry, who smacked his lips in anticipation, and the largest portion to me. Then he asked for the chef, who came out and apologized for his inferior cooking while Huntington heaped praise, a classic display of the Chinese groove. Huntington, more than Ted, knew how the groove was oiled.

Following lunch, we went to a gentlemen’s fly-fishing shop, where Huntington asked Henry’s advice about which rods were the best and under what conditions. They debated for a long time, Henry expansive under the younger man’s attention. Huntington purchased the rod that Henry recommended, saying, You’ll have to use this for me often. I want an expert to break it in. Then he bought Henry a new fishing vest and twelve beautiful hand-tied flies. Henry tried to refuse the gifts, but Huntington was so hurt that his old friend’s father wouldn’t let him show his appreciation that Henry had to relent. I was touched by Huntington’s solicitous concern, which lightened Henry’s step. We arrived, giddy, at Golden Gate Park.

Huntington wouldn’t begin until I arranged myself beside him. It would mean a lot to Henry, he said under his breath, pressing an extra rod he’d brought into my hands. My first tries landed well, and I basked in Huntington’s praise. He was good, almost as good as Henry. He cast his line deftly.

“It’s the rod,” Huntington said modestly. “It makes me look better than I am.” Every few casts, he stopped to ask questions of Henry, who analyzed Huntington’s mechanics flick by flick.

After a while, seeing the two of them engrossed, I went for a walk by myself. I walked all the way to the grassy meadow where I’d camped with Ron and the boys. There were no tents standing, and the grounds were deserted except for a few tourists renting bicycles at the park gates. An officer patrolled on a sad-eyed horse. Walking back, I stopped at the bison paddock and hallooed to them from the fence. They didn’t turn to greet me, though by now we were old friends.

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