Although she invited them to lunch at a nearby Korean restaurant, Nan declined, saying he had to go shopping for his family in the afternoon. She didn't insist and rose to see them leave. In the hallway, Danning went into the men's room, leaving Nan alone with Yafang. She stepped closer and whispered to him, "I was a silly girl when I went to America seven years ago. I'll appreciate it if you don't talk to others about what happened to me."

"I'm not a chatterbox. My lips are sealed." Indeed, Nan had never mentioned Heng Chen's assaulting her to anyone except for Pingping.

"I've tried so hard to forget that nightmare, but I can't. It still hurts."

"Think of it this way: Heng Chen has got what he deserves and is totally ruined. You're doing so well now-that's the best revenge."

She smiled, this time gratefully. "I know you're a gentleman, Nan. Sometimes I miss New York, but this is home."

"I wish I could say that." His throat contracted, his voice a bit shaky.

She looked him in the face, her eyes radiating a tender light. She said, "You must have a happy family. Few men who come back from America are as calm as you."

"I'm lucky that my wife prefers a solitary life."

Danning appeared down the hall, coming up to them. Yafang hugged Nan and said, "Take care. Good luck with your writing."

"My, that's really close," Danning said to her. "You always just shake my hand."

Before she could respond, the elevator jingled and opened, and they both stepped into it. On their way out, Danning told Nan that Yafang's husband was a senior official in the Trade Ministry, a man about town who had earned a Ph.D. from the London School of Economics. The husband and wife were popular and influential figures in the business circle in Beijing, also notable for their private foundation that funded several elementary schools in the countryside. Danning had known them for just about a year. In fact Yafang had said a lot of good things about Nan.

15

NAN returned to Atlanta bone tired and with a stomachache. Ping-ping massaged his back to help him get the gas out, but she couldn't stop his fits of hiccups. As she was working on him, she asked, "What did you eat that gave you so much gas?"

"Nothing indigestible. I was just disappointed."

He told her how his mother wanted to come to work for them and how Uncle Zhao still set his sights on holding a one-man show in America. The whole trip had been mostly torture, and he should have listened to Pingping, who had warned him not to go. He had just wasted time and money. "I felt out of place wherever I went in China," he told her. "Trash, trash everywhere, so many places were like a garbage dump. I had an awful time, awful."

Pingping was relieved that he hadn't promised his mother anything. She not only disliked the old woman but also was frightened of her. Every once in a while she'd have nightmares in which her mother-in-law jabbed her fingers at her face, sneering or calling her names. From the first days of their marriage she had wanted to live as far away as possible from Old Yulan, Nan 's mother, yet Pingping could never break off with her completely, no matter where she was. Whenever she opened a letter from her, she couldn't help but shudder a little, and she often heard her abrasive voice at night. If only she could banish that old woman from her mind altogether. On the other hand, she liked her father-in-law and felt grateful to him because the old man had often carried Taotao astride his neck and allowed the boy to play in his large office. Once Taotao squeezed his grandfather's toothpaste all over his desk and sofas, but the old man didn't throw a fit and just made him promise not to do it again. So the five hundred dollars Nan had given his father didn't bother her, and even the money for an air conditioner for Uncle Zhao was well spent, having cleared the debt they had owed him.

With more devotion Nan resumed working at the Gold Wok, and the long hours didn't bother him as much as before. He was grateful to Pingping, who had over the years spent more time at the restaurant than himself. For better or worse, this place was their own, and with it they could make an honest, decent living. But a few weeks later Nan grew restless again, scribbling poems whenever he had free time. A new concern began to trouble him as well. By now they had saved almost $30,000, and the money, sitting in the bank, would hardly accrue. Should they buy another restaurant? He and Ping-ping talked about this but couldn't decide what to do, because a new business would mean they'd have to hire some people, whose wages would consume most, if not all, of the profit.

Then Janet suggested that Pingping consider buying some stocks. She loaned her a few issues of Money magazine. Through reading them Pingping began to understand what mutual funds were. Janet also told the Wus that Dave's retirement money had been invested entirely in mutual funds, so Nan and Pingping were convinced that it wouldn't be too risky to buy the stocks. They bought $20,000 worth of 500 Index. From then on Pingping would pay close attention to the Dow Jones, but Nan didn't bother to think about money. He was occupied with work and some poetry books.

Recently he had fallen in love with a volume of poems, The Lost Geography, by Linda Dewit, who lived in Vermont according to the biographical note on the back of the book. He liked her dark lyricism, which reminded him of Kent Philips's paintings. How strange this coincidence was. That man painted landscapes in Montana, whereas the old poet wrote about people and things in New England, but their works seemed to have some kindred spirit. Perhaps the dark luminosity had stemmed not from without but from within, from the depths of their souls. Nan also believed that the beauty of Dewit's poetry might be due to the always present awareness of mortality in the speaker's mind, even when she celebrated nature and life. Her lines were elegant, supple, honest, and always intelligent, for example, "Imagine, in a northern dusk / even a breeze brings you extra light," and "I hate the erosion of your affection / and will stop wearing smiles." Nan was fascinated and pored over Linda Dewit's poems whenever he was free. He even hand-copied the pieces he liked most.

One day he was surprised to receive a letter from Bao Yuan. His friend had written on the inside of a card bearing a pair of swans in rippling water:

August 26, 1997

Dear Nan,

By the time you read this letter I'm already on my way back to China. Life in America is too difficult for me, and I am reluctant to have my wife live here. She is the youngest child of her family and might not be able to endure the loneliness or survive the struggle we would have to wage if I stayed. Besides, her parents wouldn't let her live far away from home. Also, they are obssessed with their granddaughter, my baby girl. Now that I am a U.S. citizen, I can travel back and forth, so I made up my mind to settle down in our homeland. I'm sure I will miss the Blue Ridge Mountains, but I plan to stay and work on the mountain for three or four months a year. That's to say, from now on I will live as a world citizen. When I come back, I'll let you know beforehand. Meanwhile, may your business and writing both flourish.

As ever,

Bao

To Nan, Bao had been a remarkable success, so the letter threw him deep into thought. What had made Bao retreat to China? Hadn't he already bought a building lot for his future home in Cobb County? Why had he changed his plan all of a sudden? He seemed to have given up too easily. Clever, that man was too clever.

Nan couldn't picture Bao's actual situation, but he was sure that the reasons his friend mentioned in the letter might not be the real ones. He suspected that Bao must have suffered a setback in his art. Perhaps his agent, Ian Bernstein, had lost interest and confidence in him after the debacle of Bao's Shanghai series. In retrospect, Nan could see that this had been bound to happen, since Bao rushed too much and fell prey to moneygrubbing instead of aspiring to a higher order of artistic achievement. Even in this capitalist land a true artist ought to spurn the temptation of money. Indeed, China was probably more suitable for a man like Bao. Nan thought of writing back, but his friend had given no return address. Bao must have left in a hurry.