"To see if you're like the Beina I often dreamed of."

"Well, you came too late, to be honest. Eleven years ago I asked you to help me come to the United States, but stupid you, you didn't seize the opportunity. I had no children then and I was thinking of leaving Hongbin. "

"You mean, you might have come to join me here?"

" Well, that was a possibility. I always had a soft spot in my heart for you because you hurt me." "I hurt you?"

" Yes. You gave up on me too easily, as if I was not a woman worth your effort to compete with Hongbin. Worst of all, you burned all the poems you'd written for me. That's like you gave me a gift and then took it back. You humiliated me, you know."

"Wait a minute. I was a poor man you despised, and I couldn't buy you anything like the red scooter Hongbin got for you from Japan. "

"But later you came to America. Couldn't you promise me a red car? Even just lie to me?" She forced a titter in an attempt at levity, her thumb rubbing her ring finger.

" I see. I became a man of means to you, but what made you think I'd be willing to buy you a car?"

"Because you loved me."

"So you believed I would abandon my wife and child for you?"

"Wouldn't you? Didn't you come all the way just to see me? I bet your wife has no idea where you are." Her eyes flashed, and for the first time since he came a familiar vixenish look crept on her face. Then she lifted her chin with annoyance, apparently aware of Nan 's eyes riveted on the pocket of flesh hanging under it.

He said in a half-flippant voice, "Don't assume I'll come and slobber over you whenever you whistle from far away. I'm too old to be a slave of love anymore. Besides, how can you be sure I'm still smitten with you after so many years?"

"I'm your first."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"For a man like you, the first love is always the flame consuming your heart. You cannot stop your torch song."

"You've underestimated me. I know what true love is like now. You've never loved any man devotedly, whereas my wife loves me and is always ready to suffer with me."

"Still, you don't love her, do you? I'm pretty sure you'll come to see me again. But don't take this as an invitation."

" Well, you think you still have your hooks in me?"

"Try to get them out."

"We'll see." He chortled but couldn't laugh it off. His chest tightened.

Deep down, he knew this trip was a mistake-all the years' longing and anguish had been caused by a mere illusion, and all his pain and sighs had been groundless, wasted for the wrong person. What an idiot he had been!

But this disillusionment was perhaps necessary for him to sober up and begin to heal. Indeed, he didn't feel the old numbing pain anymore despite sitting so close to Beina. Something tickled his throat and made him want to laugh, but he checked himself lest he go into hysterics. He felt as if there were a wall between her and him. Probably she had already set up such a barrier in her mind before he came, or such a wall might be just another ploy of hers. Even without her doing that, he could no longer imagine getting closer to her.

A few minutes later he took his leave. A wind swept through the empty street and tossed up a tuft of his hair from behind. He stepped into his car and pulled away. Beina hadn't asked for his phone number or address but had given him her business card, on which a pair of cranes was flying to the realm of longevity. In his heart he knew he wouldn't contact her again. Coasting along the on-ramp to I-74, he rolled down the car window and flung out her card, where it blew into the wild grass.

18

NAN had been ill for several days, though he went to work as usual. The trip to Iowa had plunged him into a depression, also a bone-deep exhaustion. In a way he hated Beina, who had changed so much, or was so different from whom he'd imagined, that she had shattered his vision of her. He felt sick at heart, but he began to be extraordinarily considerate to his wife. Pingping was alarmed by his sudden change and urged him to get some medical attention-at least go see an herbalist, who wouldn't charge a lot. She feared he might be having an early midlife crisis, a sort of male menopause. But he replied, "I have a heart problem no cardiologist can diagnose and no drug can cure. "

Despite his despondency, he resumed working on his poetry, with greater effort. He mailed out another batch of poems to a small journal called Yellow Leaves, which he had noticed published some Asian American authors. He had no hope of acceptance and just submitted his work routinely. He called Dick and told him that he wouldn't be coming to study with him because he preferred to stay with his family. Dick said this would be a huge loss to Nan, who was already forty-one, and that it would be too late to develop his talent if he didn't concentrate or make the necessary sacrifice soon. Nan thanked him, but was adamant about his decision. He knew that from this point on he'd have to be on his own, and that probably Dick and he would drift apart in the future, since as a famous poet Dick always had a crowd around him. In other words, Nan would have to accept isolation as his condition and write for no audience, speaking to emptiness.

One afternoon the phone rang at the Gold Wok; Nan picked it up and heard Danning Meng's hearty voice. "Hey, Nan Wu, I want to see you," his friend said.

"Where are you?" Nan was thrilled.

"I'm in Washington, D.C. "

"Doing what?"

"Attending a writers' conference and doing a tour. A playwright was supposed to come originally, but she had a stroke, so I filled in for her."

"Can you come to Atlanta?"

"Of course. That's why I'm calling."

Danning would stay with the Wus for two days, then go on to catch up with the rest of the Chinese writers' delegation in Oxford, Mississippi, to see the town, the prototype for the capital of Faulkner's Yoknapatawpha County, and to visit the great novelist's home, which was said to have been the biggest house in his hometown when he was alive. Both Nan and Pingping were excited about their friend's visit. That night they tidied up their home a little, though, exhausted by a whole day's work, they couldn't do as much cleaning as they wished. Danning would stay in Nan 's room. Nan was happy to give up his bed to sleep two nights with Pingping, but she frowned when he grinned at her meaningfully. Despite loving him, she didn't like sharing her bed with him, since he'd turn in late, often in the wee hours, and snore loudly. She had to rest well to work the next day and didn't want to have sex too often.

Danning arrived two days later and thanked Nan on behalf of Mrs. Liu for having mailed her husband's ashes to their daughter in Canada. He presented Pingping with four of his books, which didn't impress her much, but she gave him a hug for the gesture. She still couldn't enjoy his fiction. Over the years she had read a number of his novellas and short stories published in magazines and disliked most of them, so she knew what kind of books these were. Despite her low opinion of his writings, she was glad and hospitable since he had come all the way to see them. Also, she was happy in Nan 's happiness.

Danning was very impressed by the Wus' restaurant and brick ranch, and by the lake in their backyard. He walked around the house and said to Nan, "Your home has great feng shui. Look at those trees, absolutely gorgeous. And you own them all. I won't have a blade of grass in Beijing that I can call mine after we move into an apartment building next spring." At the sight of the waterfowl he exclaimed, "My goodness, what a peaceful haven you have here. How nice this all is! I could never dream of living in such a tranquil spot. Nan, you're a lucky man and have everything you want. I'm burning with envy." He sounded sincere, genuinely moved.