“Emily Hahn? I remember seeing some of her photos.”
“She was a friend.” I haven’t talked to her for almost forty years, and I don’t know if she’s dead or alive. A wave of sadness laps toward me that even my medications can’t help. Maybe this is too much for me to handle—the memories, the documentary, and the documentarian.
“My niece can’t make it today. It’ll be just you and me,” I say, trying to smile. “Have you tried any Chinese food here? It’s rather good.”
“We have Chinese food in LA. But I’m sure the food is different here.” She hesitates.
“Are you all right? How did you sleep? You must be exhausted after the flight.”
“To be honest, I didn’t sleep well. Our meeting, the donation, and the documentary. It was a lot to think about. I meant to ask you yesterday, but I didn’t want to be rude. What did you do that was most unforgivable?”
“I’ll tell you all today.” I take the menu from the waiter’s hands. The sheet looks like a canvas covered with ants. I put on my glasses, squint, and hold the menu at arm’s length. What I need is my magnifier, but I’ve forgotten to bring it. Finally, I give up and, with the help of my memory, order eight dishes. “The Chinese dishes here are modified to suit Westerners’ taste. But if you want something authentic, you can ask to see the Chinese menu. Do you speak Chinese?”
She laughs. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Shao.”
“I didn’t mean to test you. But did you learn a bit of Chinese while working on the exhibit?” I give the menu to the waiter and see manager Yang waiting smartly near the bar. He’s curious about the American, her hair, and her eyes.
“I can say fan dian, hotel.”
“It also means restaurant.”
“Really.”
“The Chinese language is an ambiguous language. The same word can mean two different things. Like jiao tang. It means church, but also synagogue. The word ai ren means wife and lover.”
“Thanks for telling me that. What a big difference, wife and lover! What else should I know?”
“Chinese has many words for wife, such as qizi, furen, taitai, airen, laopo, and neiren. There might be more, but I can’t think of them now.”
“My goodness! This is fun!”
I think I’m growing used to her way of exclaiming.
“Ms. Shao, you must think I’m such a pest, but the most unforgivable thing you mentioned . . . Would you tell me what it is?”
The room is cold. I wind the cashmere scarf tighter around my neck. “I think there are a few answers to that. Before I tell you, I’d like to hear what your interviewees told you about me.”
“They said an uncommon relationship developed between you and Mr. Reismann, which put some refugees in danger. That was during the Japanese occupation, I was reminded. They also mentioned an unfortunate tragedy that you were involved in. And Mr. Reismann was never the same again. But no one seemed to have a clear memory of how the tragedy happened. So my assumption is there might be a misunderstanding.”
I control myself. I want her to like me, I really do. “Misunderstanding? Or do you believe it was all my fault, just like what they told you?”
I regret instantly my sharp tone. People say old age tames us and dulls our tempers, but old age for me is like a key to a Cadillac that permits me to wreak havoc.
She runs her hand through her hair. “When I was documenting for the exhibit, I rarely thought of accusing anyone, Ms. Shao. My only intention was to show the refugees’ suffering. Mr. Reismann suffered; we all understand that. Believe me, I have as much respect for you as for my other interviewees.”
But they all love him, only him, and I was in the shadows, the other, the one they shunned, despised. It has been like this for years, and nothing has changed. “Do you know why some people in China only drink tea, not coffee?”
“Why? Everyone in the US drinks coffee.”
“People here say coffee will cause cancer, that’s why. You know what happens when people believe something? They believe they’re absolutely right and nothing will change it.”
She rubs her temple. She’s struggling. She wants to trust me so she can receive the donation of the hotel, but she has heard too many inconsistent stories about me. “I’m confused, Ms. Shao, my apologies. I understand the past is traumatic for you to reflect on, but would you help me? Mr. Reismann’s documentary must be important to you. What can I do for you?”