Braised Pork by An Yu

Author:An Yu [Yu, An]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9780802148735
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 2020-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

10

Jia Jia’s aunt and grandmother began taking turns to sleep at night. They wanted to make sure, they said, that someone would be awake in case the fish tank sparked another fire. An electrician had come during the day and identified the cause of the fire to be an old socket. Ever since then, although the wiring had been replaced, Jia Jia’s aunt persisted in pacing back and forth in the living room for hours until her old mother took over the watch at around two in the morning.

Jia Jia needed to finish her work at Ms Wan’s home. The restlessness of her aunt and grandmother was oppressive and she needed the balance of the payment for her travels. When Jia Jia phoned to make the arrangements, Ms Wan said that she was in America with her children, and she found it a pity that she could not be there to witness the completion of the painting. The maid will be at home, she told Jia Jia.

In fact, when Jia Jia arrived, it was Ms Wan’s husband who was perched on the sofa, blowing smoke rings into the air. She was surprised to find him alone with a bronze ashtray overflowing with Yun Yan cigarette butts, walnut shells and used napkins. From what Jia Jia knew of this man, he was never settled at home during the afternoon. His ponytail was tied lower, but it still revealed the few threads of grey behind his ears. His beard seemed to have grown even longer.

‘Sorry for the mess, I didn’t know you were coming,’ he said. With an ashamed smile, he emptied the ashtray, washed a plate of grapes, and left it on top of the shoe cabinet in the entrance hall for Jia Jia.

‘I didn’t mean to take such a long break, sir,’ Jia Jia said. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ve ever asked your name.’

‘My name is Du Fan, you can call me Old Du. And there’s no rush for this painting thing. No rush.’ Turning back towards the sofa, Mr Du waved his hand at the painting as if he were brushing someone away.

‘Mr Du, if I’m disturbing you today, I can come back when you’re not home,’ Jia Jia said. ‘Say, tomorrow.’

‘Not at all,’ he muttered under his breath. He searched, with a hint of nervousness, for something to do with his hands. ‘I’m going to fetch myself a drink.’

An opened bottle of cognac was already sitting on the dining table and the stench of alcohol filled the suffocating, indoor air. Mr Du poured out a glass.

‘Ms Wan and the kids are on holiday in America?’ Jia Jia asked as she mixed a palette of blue paint.

‘She’s in Boston buying duvet covers and pillowcases,’ Mr Du said. ‘The kids are going to boarding school there.’

‘But the children are so young!’ Jia Jia said. ‘Do you have a house in Boston?’

‘They’ll have a guardian there; a good friend of mine. We’ve known each other since middle school. Wan Lian is coming back in a few days, after they start school.

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