Three Loves Seven, Chapter 15 - "Clete Takes a Breakfast Meeting with the Vice Provost"

Gentle readers,

It's time for another installment. Whenever Clete thinks he has settled down into a nice, comfortably boring routine, some one has to stir the pot. And frequently to his detriment, he always has the urge to stir back.

Feng is back, again. I guess I like her, since she gets a lot of screen time. Does Clete like HER though? At this point in time, I can tell you, if you've been paying attention to the story, the answer is NO. No spoiler here. Clete is incapable of having a close relationship with any woman. Sure, his hormones, what's left of them in a typical 50-something male anyway, give him some instructions, but that only takes a guy so far. Would I like to see them get together? Sure why not? But I don't think she measures up to his ideal of a nice boring spouse.

You will learn some things about both Clete and Feng in this episode, but we have to set you up for the next push, no?

Thanks for reading.

Love,
Pops\

Personal Journal Entry

U.S. Time:             Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Island Time:         Dragon, Month 6, Day 13, Xingqi 2,
                                         Day before Full Moon
Project Time:     Week 6, Day 2

I rose early as usual, about a half hour before dawn. After I was dressed there was an unexpected knock on my cottage door. I didn’t know it, but I was about to replay a scene from earlier in my stay on The Island.

     “Well if it isn’t my number one pupil. Gwendolyn, it’s early for you isn’t it?”

     “Good morning, Professor. My mother requests your company for breakfast.”

     “I’d be happy to join her, but I take my morning meal with . . .”

     “Auntie Lee was advised last night that you would be invited.”

     “Gwen. Wouldn’t that have been a good time to advise me too? Or better yet, extend a nice friendly invitation? Instead of just coming here and telling me where to go? Clue me in on social etiquette here.”

     “I agree. Mother seems to have a blind spot where you are concerned.”

     “You know, Mu pulled this on me before and I refuse to play this . . .”

     “I know. But I cannot apologize for my mother. Remember that none of us really know how to deal with regular people. They stay silent in our presence.”

     “I am going to have to respectfully decline as I am a man of habit and I’ve grown very accustomed to eating my breakfast with Lee. I have not interest in learning another set of rules in navigating ...”

Wen was biting her lip. I couldn’t tell if she were suppressing breaking into tears or into laughter.

     “Since Auntie Lee thought she had the morning off, she’s already left to service the north island reservoirs.”

It was my turn to screw up my face. I started to take in a deep breath because I knew a lot of words were going to start to come out. But that Gwen is sharp as a tack—she held up her hands as if to hold me back.

     “You want to curse a lot right now, don’t you Dr. Wong? I will move out of hearing now if so.” And with that, she deflated me. Damn girl holds me to be my best “me.”

     “GWEN! You really enjoyed delivering those last two lines didn't you?” I hated the thought about the gooey, chewy, overly sweet, peanut butter-based, breakfast energy bar that awaited me if my pride demanded I sit this one out. “Why is the Phoenix Guardian like this? What did I ever do to her?”

     “I’m sorry you have to go through this.” I could tell she wasn’t. Something really funny was playing out in her mind. It was my continuing role as punchline here. The clueless American.

     “She’s a good cook too isn’t she?”

     “The best. But if you ask me,” said Wen smiling, “I think she can’t stand the thought that there might be someone smarter than her on The Island.”

Great. A big-dick contest with yet another person who doesn't have a dick. My heart was in no mood for causing a row with Wen as the middleman. That scenario had already been played and I won. Lee deserved a day off, but for what? More work? That poor woman needed to relax. Feng had said she wanted to talk to me. And her past cunning had proven that this must be a tactic to get me off balance. Well, I decided it would not work this time and I was going to extract something from her this go-round.

     “Let me get my rucksack and hat and let’s go.”

In a jiffy, we were seated, all three of us at Feng’s patio table. The outdoor screen dining porch was not really "in her house" but it was an extension of it and I got a sense of what kind of housekeeper Feng was. As I would expect, it was immaculate. Very similar to Na's spotless home, but somewhat cold, devoid of ornament or personal sentiment. There were jade colored jars about with lids on. Wood surfaces, which I understand are hard to maintain in a tropical environment,  were all highly polished and oiled. Feng came in and greeted me. She had not yet put on her black and white work uniform, and had on a simple linen smock, belted at her tiny waist. Her floor-length hair was not yet put up into the Dog Island signature elaborate braids and knots that I know saw as commonplace, but hung in two large tails.

Feng set out three bowls and soup spoons. She stepped over with pot in hand and then ladled out generous portions of thick, creamy white rice porridge. In my family we called it jook. Others call it congee. She set out four small bowls, one with snipped chives, one with minced boiled eggs, one with minced sweet sausage, and finally one with a minced pickled vegetable, some type of turnip I assumed. After Feng seated herself and picked up her spoon, I did as well and put my spoon directly into the bowl.

     “Are you not going to add anything?” Feng asked.

     “It’s so perfectly white and pure,” I said. “Like a bowl of hot tropical snow, freshly fallen. It’s like poetry. For the first spoonful at least, it would seem like a travesty take in anything but it by itself.”

And so I did. There is nothing as soothing as the first hit of a pure rice porridge unadorned. There is a slight sweetness, there is a note of the rice in its usual steamed form, but there is also a note of toastiness in jook that has been slow simmered overnight as this had been, that just a pinch of salt brought out.

     “Wow,” I said. “That’s like the perfect balance. I could just eat it as is, but I’m going to need the protein today.”

She seemed pleased by my remarks. Note, praise seems to help.

     “Is this made from that rice you guys have shipped here?”

     “No. It is a variety that was developed here that thrives in this climate.”

     “I haven’t seen any paddies. Where do you grow it?”

     “We don’t grow it anymore. There are several stands of it that grow wild, but we try to encourage them. There’s just a tiny harvest. We only use it for special occasions.”

     “Why did you stop?”

     “The Great Earthquake and Surge took away the paddies.”

     “Tell me about that event.”

     “Some other time. There is enough for second portions. It’s not pure porridge. There are a few morsels sitting at the bottom of the bowl.”

     “You know, my mother would serve potato chips with her jook.”

     “Potato chips?”

     “You’ve never had them shipped in? They’re really bad for you. They mostly deliver salt and grease to you. It’s potatoes finely sliced and then fried till they are crackly crisp and then heavily salted. You only buy them in stores. You can’t really make them in a personal kitchen.”

      “I like very pure ingredients myself. I actually prefer most of my vegetables and herbs raw. They taste like themselves. Cooking is very much like food putting on clothes. It hides their nature, don’t you think?”

     “I happen to think my clothes say more about me than my own withered body does …” We made more small talk like this and then worked through our second portions. The bowls were collected and rinsed and Feng put on water for tea. It boiled and she poured generous cups for me and herself.

     “Don’t I get any?” said Wen.

     “Don’t you have someplace to go?” said her mother.

     “Not really. Just exercises. I can miss them for once.”

     “Go.”

     “Aw.” And Wen rose and left in mock sullenness. Feng waited before saying anything until she heard Wen’s footsteps disappear. She even motioned me to silence as I started to say something. Finally I could speak.

     “Um,” I said. “Did we NEED to talk?”

     “I think so.”

     “I don’t recall . . . doing anything to get YOU mad? Did I? I mean, did I commit a heresy at the Shrine last week?”

     “Why do you always seem afraid of me. I don’t bite! You are so defensive.”

     “You look very serious. Fact is, you look a LOT like someone who always sets me off.”

     “So you are saying that I am unattractive then?”

     “Did I say that? She’s quite a handsome woman, but fierce. Some of the guys call her the 'black widow.' Beautiful but poisonous. Not that I am saying that about you...”

Feng has a fine classically sculpted look about her. If she were to lose say 20 pounds she would look too thin, or gaunt. But she has enough flesh on her so that her high points, like her temples, cheekbones, jaw, clavicles, and the knuckles on her long fingered hands, are all defined, well padded and rounded, but not protrusions. Her hair, which I mentioned earlier, is visibly thin, though long, hanging closely to to her head in contrast with Na and Da Mei, who both have hair that is extremely full bodied, with extremely thick shafts. Her hair had a slightly light brown caste to it as well. Nobody on this Island is of pale complexion, but of them all, Feng is the most pale by contrast. She is slender and elegant, or at least I'm moved to draw that conclusion since she has a high forehead, reminiscent of portraits of high-born ladies in European Medieval court paintings. 

     “I tend to be very quiet. My cousins interpret that as seriousness too.”

     “QUIET? YOU? Nah. So, now that you have dismissed your daughter. What do we have to talk about? Let me start by saying you have nothing to worry about. If you sent her back with me Stateside for about a month to take the SAT and do the usual college tour …”

     “That’s not it at all. I am curious to know,” she started, “what are your intentions with Lee?”

     “LEE? Intentions? I fully intend to keep a good working relationship. She does most of the talking …”

     “That is NOT what I am talking about.”

     “What are you talking about?”

     “Are you really so dense?”

     “Maybe I am.”

     “Are you interested in her, as a woman?”

     “What? Do I appear to be?”

    “Yes. You do.”

    “Fuck that shit! You’re reading in something that is NOT there.”

    “You take your meals at home with her and you spend all your days off with her sitting in a boat in the bay. You spend your free time improving her living space.”

    “She IS my designated contact. In fact I was encouraged NOT to speak to any of you. Her living space is MY living space. I see things broken, I fix them. We’re in the boat together because I like to fish and she owns the boat and she insists. . .”

     “Yes, yes. I know that answer and it is expected. But there is something else. Lee, Mu, and I are very close. Our mothers were sisters. And I take a great interest in her well-being. She talks about you constantly.”

     “You say she talks about me. In a positive way?”

     “Actually no. She’s usually complaining about you.”

     “There you go. She’s probably always belittling me too. She’s obviously not interested in me as a man, so there’s nothing I can do about her even if I did feel that way about her.”

     “I don’t think I always has to work that way.”

     “It sure as fuck does. In my experience of male-female relationships, women are in the driver’s seat and give the go-no-go signals. If she had a sign it would say 'Wrong Way' or 'No Hook-Up Services for the Next 100 Miles or Make that Forever!'” Blank look. Apparently I had gone "ballistic-colloquial."

     “Let me put it this way," Feng continued brushing off my self-acclaimed wit like so much dirt. "Before you came, Lee was always businesslike, efficient, handy, helpful, knowledgeable about mechanical things, and generally cheerful. After you came she became endlessly talkative where you were concerned. That you didn’t do things the same way she would. She is OVERLY critical.”

     “You know what I think? Before I showed up, she was your Island’s ‘MacGyver.’ So now she’s not the only guy around who can defuse an atom bomb, so she’s hostile to me.”

     “What is ‘MacGyver?’”

     “I’ll send you videotapes when I get home. You’ll love him. TV character. A manly man’s manly man.”

     “I think she likes you.”

     “At the risk of saying something explosive to a woman who lives basically in a convent, a girl who likes a guy doesn’t try to cut off his balls at every possible chance.”

     “I am not even going to ask you for a translation of what that means. If we are going to have a worthwhile conversation, you need to stop speaking in metaphors.”

     “For a while you seemed like the most rational person on this dinky bump in the ocean. Now I am being dissuaded. What’s this really about? Feng, even if we did happened to think romantically about each other, as twisted a relationship as that could be, what business of yours would that be?”

     “Everybody is important here on this island and has a job to do. Lee has more responsibility than most anyone else. It’s important that she not get distracted. She needs to be able to do her job. I am just trying to make sure she does not wind up with a broken heart.”

     “Lee has a heart?”

     “Would you please be serious.”

     “You’re getting at something I’ve noticed. She does too much for you people. You need to lighten her load. I think THAT's why she's always pissed off. But I have a question. Something highly relevant to this conversation.”

     “Go ahead.”

     “Who is Ling’s father? Where is he?”

     “I can’t answer that.”

     “I suspect you WON’T answer that. But I’ve gotten from other conversational context that he disappeared when Ling was small. She doesn’t even remember him.”

     “Please don’t go further with that questioning.”

     “Is he still alive? Answer me that at least.”

      “Yes, he is alive.”

     “It’s a highly pertinent question, don’t you think? Let’s get him back in the equation and maybe a LOT of this angry energy she spends on me will get directed to the right guy. Can they be reconciled? This might just be a case of substitution, eh? Why did Lee and this other guy break up? I presume he's her husband.”

     “I cannot discuss that further.”

     “Why?”

     “You are not an Islander.”

     “NO. It’s because I’m getting at the truth of this place aren’t I? I have no power over you people. I have no agenda with you. It’s none of my business. But you’re drawing me in by having breakfast with you and essentially tell me to stay away from Lee. What the hell am I supposed to do? Look. I promise. On a stack of bibles or whatever you hold holy here. I assure you I am not pursuing a romantic relationship with Lee, nor do I intend to. Does that satisfy you?”

     “Thank you.”

     “That’s clear. Thank God. Just so that I don’t send the wrong signal in my remaining time here. What are your courting practices here on Dog Island?”

     “There are none, at least as we are concerned.”

     “So how do boys and girls get together and start families?”

     “A young man or young woman asks their parents to arrange a marriage for them. Or their parents just decide to do so when the time is right. When there were more people on the Island, a go-between was enlisted to assist and eventually a man would make his proposal to his intended’s family. The royal family had an office assigned to that task in particular.”

     “Sounds pretty archaic.”

     “On an island, it is very important to keep track of bloodlines. There are people who cannot marry each other and families have to keep track and make final approvals.”

     “So, let say if a guy were wanting to marry Lee or any one of her cousins her age, what would he do?”

     “Well, at our age, assuming he is of the appropriate rank and status, he would approach the princess himself and discuss the matter and then make a demand to speak to her father. He’s long dead, but that is still the proper opening male gambit.”

     “OK. I’ll just make sure I never do that by accident. But it’s unnecessary advice. Somebody told me she’s not available anyway. So I assume she’s married.”

     “WHO told you that?”

     “Sorry. Since you’re NOT a non-Islander, it’s a secret.”

     “Clete, that is NOT funny.”

     “Don’t like it when I go closed lip? I don’t like it either. Remember that. Feng, this has not been useful conversation. You claim I’m doing something to make myself attractive to her but you won’t tell me what it is. The thing I take away is that conflict and friction the signs of true love on Dog Island?”

     “Love is NOT what makes for the basis of a marriage here.”

     “So you’re saying it’s hate then? Get a gal to hate you and then you set the wedding date? No wonder you're worried about me.”

     “No. It’s not hate either.”

     “What is it?”

     “I am not going to discuss it.”

     “Why?”

     “I am not going to discuss that either.”

     “I’m SO glad we had this little chat. I’d say we’re done. At least your jook was good.”

     “I apologize. Sigh. This conversation has not gone as I intended.”

     “If it makes you sleep any better, I, like Lee, am unavailable. I’ve been a bachelor since early adulthood, and there’s not a whole lot that can change that. People our age don’t get married very often for a reason. We’re too set in our ways. Pairing up and conforming yourself to a partner is the developmental task for people your daughter’s age. Not people like us. Don’t you agree? I mean, what would a person in their 50s gain by starting a marriage except someone to help pay the bills and maybe push their wheelchair around when the legs give out?”

     “They could be friends.”

     “You can be friends without being married. I know some married couples who haven't spoken a friendly word to each other in years. While you remind me of a person whom I do NOT  like, you still remind me so much of a couple of my colleagues whose friendship I enjoy greatly. If we could just find a safe topic, I’ll bet we’d eventually have some great conversations. But every subject is taboo here. By the way, do you have any more of that tea? Don’t tell the others I said this—and don’t deny that you guys are in competition on this—but you really do make the best on this Island.”

     “I have no comment about any supposed competition, but I thank you for the compliment and would be very pleased to pour you another cup.”

     “Have I given you enough assurances? Do you believe me?”

     “I guess I do. I am probably worrying too much.”

     “I’m glad that’s settled. I can’t promise that Lee won’t misread things that will break her own heart, that’s up to her. I have a hard time imagining that about her. She doesn’t seem to be the sentimental type. But I promise you I will not intentionally give her any signal of false affections. That’s all I can do. OK?”

     “As you say, OK.”

     I took a sip of tea. “Damn is that good. I mean, Lee is a fine cook and all, but there’s something about your food that is . . . absolutely essential.”

     “Because you have said what you did . . . about being friends? Maybe this is a good time? Excuse me.” She went into her private rooms and emerged with a case with a handle. She set it down, opened it, and brought out an instrument that looked like a banjo that needed to go on a diet.  “This is a yueqin.”

     “Do you play it?”

     “No, I don’t. But I thought since you said you were a guitarist that you might enjoy trying your hand at it. Just to pass the time. Now THAT is something we could talk about together.”

     “Do you have strings for it? How is it tuned?”

     “There are some strings. I believe its your D-A-D-A. Pretty simple. You play mostly on the two highest strings, but move down to the octave displacement below on the two lower strings as necessary.”

     “The frets, they’re quite high. Probably spaced in pentatonic steps and not diatonic, eh?”

     “Since the frets are high you can bend all the notes quite a bit.”

     “Let’s leave it in the classroom. I’ll try it out after the next tutoring session. We’ll string it up and you can teach some of the tunes that you think are suited for it. How’s that?”

     “I think that would be quite nice.”

     “Excellent.”

     “Clete, you have me curious now. So how do men and women court where you are from?”

     “I haven’t done it in decades, but the basics are pretty much the same as I observe my students. There are several ways, but it usually still starts with the man asking the woman to join him on a very low-key social outing in a public place—what is called a first date.”

     “What kind of outing?”

     “Depends. Since the man is inviting the woman to an event, he has to try to pick something that will capture her interest enough that she will say ‘yes.’ So the approach and the offer is the crucial first test he must pass. Going to a movie is usually a safe bet. But choosing the film can be a minefield.”

     “It sounds highly ritualized.”

     “I suppose it is. Say, how interested are you in this topic?”

     “I have an . . . intellectual interest.”

     “The girls were asking me all kinds of questions about this in our last tutoring session. And it’s hard to explain. Would you be game enough to stage a role-play demonstration with me so I maybe help them understand. It would be really convenient since the tutoring session is at your house. I’m thinking it might be helpful for Mary, I mean Xiao Mei, who is going to have to eventually live out in that world. She’s probably going to have to date someone too. It will be useful for her.”

     “What would I have to do?”

     “We would just pretend to arrange a date and then later stage a first date. I’d give them all jobs to do like run a restaurant, coffee house, or movie theatre, and I’d be stopping as we did things to explain what was happening. You’d have to eat a meal, drink coffee, take a walk, and watch a movie. It would be a good lab class in demonstrating American social etiquette.”

     “I suppose if this all the help the girls in their studies, I guess I could do that.”

     “Unless I script you on a couple scenarios, I will trust you to improvise. That too hard for you?”

     “Please. I am an accomplished musician! I am quite familiar with the idea of making things up as we go along. Plus I am quite capable of having a conversation.”

     “With a man?”

      “Of course.”

     “There aren’t many here. Just checkin’. And you’ll have to pretend you’re having a conversation with a man who’s interested in you sexually, and in whom you might be interested in turn. Can you handle that setup?”

     “Don’t you worry Professor Wong.”

     “Oh, and the most important thing on an American date is you have to engage in psychobabble.”

     “Psychobabble?”

     “Discussion on the nature of the couple’s relationship compared to the relationships of others. Young adults go on endlessly analyzing themselves like that for hours. In later stages, it involves elaborate hypothesizing about unhappy events in childhood.”

     “I don’t understand. I don’t think I could do that part.”

     “Feng!”

     “Wah?” Caught her off guard there and pushed her into Chinese.

     “You’ve been doing relationship psychobabble with me this entire time since Gwen left ...”

     Her hand went to her mouth. “I suppose I have. Have we been on a first date?”

     “I think no, this is a business meeting. But you might ask what the girls hiding just outside your west patio window here think. I think perhaps it's Angel and Faye. Smells like them.”

There was a scuffling sound and then I heard the sound of ducks and chickens in the yard sounding off as they were being pushed out of the way, the padding of hurried footsteps faded away.

© Copyright 2012 by Vincent Way, all rights reserved.