The Foreigner - By Francie Lin Page 0,2

in their heads. My mother herself had entered marriage purely as a matter of ritual and practicality. "Love!" she would say dismissively.

"Mother," I repeated.

She gave me a dazzling smile full of teeth and breezed into the Jade Pavilion.

We clustered ourselves at one end of the huge round table, my mother sitting between the woman and me as if to broker the peace. In stony silence the three of us studied the menu, though this was only a formality, since my mother always did the ordering. She summoned the waitress with an impatient snap of the fingers, as one would call a dog, and when she had finished ordering and had wiped all the dinnerware pointedly with her napkin - she thought the Cantonese were dirty - she pinched me under the table.

"Talk," she mouthed, her brows melting a little with the force of disapproval. I looked over at the woman. The plaits, the dull, round face. Eyes magnified alarmingly by the glasses. She had a weak, tremulous smile, and I saw that she had worn what was probably her nicest blouse. The obvious care she had taken with her appearance made me sad, and also enraged: I would have to be kind.

"And what do you do, Mei Hua?" It came out rather strangled. Mei Hua blinked at me.

"I am the accountant." Blink, blink. Her English was not quite native in its propriety; she spoke as if reading from a primer. "And yourself?"

"Myself?"

Again, she blinked worriedly. "What is your professional job?"

"Oh . . ." Looking down, I licked my finger and rubbed at a dash of rollerball ink on my cuff. "I work in finance. Corporate finance." The ink smudged, making blots. "It's not very interesting."

"He is only modest," my mother said lightly, suddenly reaching over and dabbing at the ink with her wetted napkin. "He is the financial analyst."

The title, or perhaps just the hushed way my mother said it, must have rung a bell, for Mei Hua lit up like a signboard and regarded me with more confidence. This was irritating.

"You can call it whatever you want." I tugged my sleeve away. "It's still a boring job. A job for peons and drones."

"Modesty," my mother affirmed, giving Mei Hua a knowing glance.

"And a little immoral."

"Emerson!"

"I think it must be very interesting," said Mei Hua.

"Sure. I look for ways to cut costs at mismanaged companies." I popped a shrimp chip in my mouth. "Basically a nice way of saying that I cut jobs, and put honest people out of work so the board members can have their multimillion-dollar condos in Vail and spend their Christmas holiday dogsledding in the Arctic. Nothing more interesting than that!"

"But you are compensated, of course?" asked Mei Hua.

"Of course, of course. Well compensated. I mean, what's a few thousand jobs here or there as long as I get some good scratch out of it? Dental and one annual eye exam too."

"You see?" said my mother, apologetic, as if I were not there. The food was arriving, and she began plying both Mei Hua and me with generous servings of rice and braised tendon and pea greens, almost purring in the warmth of her own benevolence. "His heart is so tender, always caring about the others! Even strangers! And even though his work gives him the moral pain, he sacrifices his principle to support me, to support his family. A good man. A good head of household."

"I can see," said Mei Hua, blinking her gigantic eyes.

"He has always been the good boy."

"Oh, pshaw." I made a self-deprecating moue, but she took me at face value.

"The modesty again." An exchange of looks.

"Listen to her." I chuckled, feeling a little crazed. "Someone once said, 'Mothers are the best lovers.' I guess that's true, if by 'best' they meant 'blind.' Who else would refer to me as a 'boy'? It's my fortieth birthday. Obviously."

"Means nothing," my mother snapped. Then, regaining herself, she smoothed her hair and poured Mei Hua some more tea. "A son is always the little boy to the mother," she explained, filling her own teacup. She filled mine last. "Especially when the little boy is still not married."

"I am sure he will find the right woman soon," said Mei Hua. She had a very flat voice; it sounded like a threat. My mother clutched Mei Hua's arm as if she were drowning.

"You say so, but how?" she said fervently. "He has no interest in seeing the girls! Every day he just work, work, work, and then