Eat a Bowl of Tea. Louis Chu

In a bachelor society women are scarce, and having children, a family, is difficult. So it is culture, the social environment of a dying generation, that determines paternity in this situation. Further, it is no coincidence that Chu sends Ben Loy and Mei Oi to San Francisco for Ben Loy to reclaim his virility, his paternity, and his wife. His return to San Francisco to make himself anew is not the response of a sojourner. He is a Chinese-American remaking a covenant with Gum Sahn, what the first generation called America, the Golden Mountain. He returns to the city where Chinese-America first began.

      To eat a bowl of tea is good Chinese medicine. If Ben Loy is to regain his potency, if the sacrifices of the immigrant pioneers to gain a foothold in American were not to be wasted, the bitter prescription meted to them by an often hostile society would have to be swallowed. Louis Chu, in his art, legitimizes their experience. His sensibility and sense of humor, his ability to capture the language, style, and syntax of Chinese-America, could only have emerged from an organic familiarity with that Chinatown a century old in America.

      JEFFERY PAUL CHAN

      I

      In the quiet of the early morning, the buzzer sounded sharp and sudden, cutting the silence like the shrill notes of ten thousand cicadas.

      But to the sleeping Ben Loy, a bridegroom who had not worn off the luster of marriage, the noise sounded faint and distant. Buzz … buzz … buzz. The buzzing flooded the bedroom like subdued sunlight, tugging at the eyes of the sleeper, enticing him to awake. Still on the fringe of slumber, resisting the powerful influence of reality, he clutched at sleep. By now the repeated sounding of the buzzer had invaded his dreams and saturated them with wakefulness, degree by degree. Finally, like a tired man trying to arise from a swamp, he opened his sleepy eyes and stared at the cream-colored wall.

      Next to him, still wrapped in sleep was Mei Oi, his bride of two months. His eyes fell longingly upon her soft, smooth face. He smiled. He would not disturb her. So full of innocence and the purity of youth.

      He had mistaken the door bell for the alarm clock, calling him for work. Before his marriage to Mei Oi, it had been his habit to be awakened by a Baby Ben every morning, except on his day off. He would set the alarm for 10:30 in the morning, get up leisurely and, in a matter of minutes, would be in the restaurant where he worked and ready for another day. The hardest part had been the getting up. He had come to detest the alarm clock that was always ticking on the night table next to his bed. Yet, every night before going to bed, he would faithfully and carefully make sure that the alarm lever was pulled out.

      Now everything had changed. He was a married man. Marriage opened a new vista of life for him. The apartment had become a home, his and Mei Oi’s. Not just a place to hang his hat.

      The apartment, on the fringe of Chinatown, was slumlike. It had hot and cold running water; but there was no central heating and the toilet was outside in the hallway. Ben Loy was not complaining; he was accustomed to it. He had lived here on and off for seven years, since 1942, when his friend Chin Yuen had invited him to share the apartment.

      Wang Ben Loy and Mei Oi had been married in China two months ago; but they had been in New York for only a week. Upon Ben Loy’s return to New York with his bride, Chin Yuen had given up the apartment to the newlyweds. He had explained that, since he was a bachelor, he could find himself a bed anywhere. Ben Loy’s father had offered to find living quarters for them; but, in view of Chin Yuen’s generous overture, Ben Loy happily moved into the apartment with his bride.

      The neighborhood was not a fancy one. Catherine Street was like many other streets in the lower East Side, which, instead of flying the flag of excellence, flew the multi-colored washes of its inhabitants. The fire escapes protruding from the front of buildings boasted only of mops and brooms dangling precariously on their rails. Garbage cans were left helter-skelter on the sidewalks, as if a gale had just swished through the middle of Catherine Street.

      But it was a place to live. It was home to Ben Loy and Mei Oi.

      The spring mattress felt good against his back, after many weeks of bed boards in his native village of Sun Lung Lay. Ben Loy turned slowly in bed, away from his wife. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, hating to get even his hands out of the blankets. Turning again, he threw a fond glance at his bride. The snow-whiteness of her face, even when criss-crossed with strands of long black hair, made Ben Loy want to nudge a little closer and kiss her. Her full lips, rosy even without make-up, looked inviting to the bridegroom. But he was afraid he would awaken her.

      From his bed, he glimpsed the outside world through the slots formed by the pink-colored blinds. Sunshine flickered through, but it didn’t look like ten o’clock to Ben Loy. It was more like the crack of dawn. He tossed again, turning lazily to look at the alarm clock. Ten minutes to seven! What the … But who said it was ten o’clock?

      The buzzer sounded again. This time unmistakably, distinctively. From the kitchen. It buzzed three times and stopped.

      Goddamsonovabitch! Ben Loy angrily pulled the cover over his head in a futile effort to escape the noise. His wife stirred. Turning to her husband, Mei Oi said sleepily, “Somebody’s at the door.”

      “Never mind that.” Ben Loy stuck his head up from under the blanket. “Sleep some more.”

      Husband and wife stirred and tugged at the blankets, trying to make themselves more comfortable.

      Buzz … buzz … buzz.

      “Goddamsonovabitch!”

      Mei Oi didn’t understand a syllable of it. The covers flew off Ben Loy, exposing his black and white striped pajamas. His black hair was like the feathers of a rooster after a fierce battle. He compressed his lips hard. He sat up in bed.

      “What did you say, Loy Gaw?” his wife asked sleepily.

      “Nothing, oh, nothing.” Ben Loy gripped the corner of the blanket and, with one quick sweep of the hand, flipped the cover back on himself again.

      “Don’t pay any attention to him,” he said irritably. “He will go away.”

      “Who could it be, ringing door bells so early in the morning?” asked Mei Oi. “Must be a crazy man who has no consideration for others.” She squirmed closer to her husband.

      “Yeah, he must be crazy.”

      Buzz … buzz … buzz …

      “Let me go and see who it is,” said Mei Oi, half getting up.

      “No, don’t go. Leave him alone and he will go away.”

      Silence gripped the second floor apartment for a moment. You could hear the tiny Baby Ben ticking away on the night table. The sunlight pressed through the pink blinds, flooding the room with a pale brilliance.

      Ben Loy turned abruptly to his wife and pulled her toward him. His arms held her like a vise and his legs entwined with hers.

      “Never mind the door bell,” he said, kissing his wife full on the lips. Again and again he pressed his lips to hers, each time more fervently than the last. He closed his eyes. It was wonderful, just having and holding Mei Oi in his arms. It gave him a sense of possession, of owning. A husband and wife relationship. It gave him a feeling of dignity. Mei Oi was his wife.

      Not like those streetwalkers. Filthy, diseased whores!

      Then his pleasure in his new wife gave way to the chill of frustration. His passionate kisses became mere mechanical gestures, the pressing of lips together. In a feeble attempt to hide his disappointment, he mumbled to Mei Oi, “I am tired … so sleepy.”

      Ben Loy loosened his grip on his wife’s shoulder and stroked her cheeks tenderly, then her hair. He was spent, embarrassed and hurt.

      He hoped the buzzer would not shrill again. The sounding of the buzzer brought back memories to him, memories he would like to forget now. His foolish, impetuous, stupid past. His senseless and reckless youth.… When the buzzer did not sound again, he was relieved to know that the visitor had surely gone from the door by now. It was a long time till ten o’clock. He