The Dog Read Online Free Page A

side of the house and walked along the wall. The cage was open, and the dog was lying in the far corner of the wall. She patted her leg and said, “Come here.” The dog caught the scent of fish on her and trotted halfway across the yard, but stalled, unsure of her motives. She looked at it staring dumbly back at her, its tongue drooping from the side of its mouth. It looked happy. Animals have no memory, Li Yan thought.
    She left the dog there. Back around front she lifted the buckets and walked to the door.
    â€œHey, the chef’s back,” Zheng said.
    The room was packed solid with bodies. Chen Wei didn’t look up from his cards when she entered. The children rushed over to see what she’d brought. “Rice fish,” one said.
    â€œWhat’d you expect from a Beijinger?” Zheng said. “They eat like this every day.”
    Li Yan slopped the buckets over to the iron stove. The aunties had a strong fire burning, and the stove radiated an intense heat. Sweat dripped from her face and sizzled on the cooktop. She hadn’t cooked over a wood flame since she was little. In Beijing they had gas. But she’d make do. She plunked the buckets down and the aunties crowded around, doling out judgments about the size and color of the fish. Li Yan wrestled the largest wok onto the fire and the aunties swung into motion, chopping scallions, growling orders at one another, pouring oil and vinegar into the wok. The men’s voices were loud and drunk. Each man seemed to be locked in a separate and discursive argument over the rules of English poker, which only Chen Wei knew how to play, but no one was paying attention to him. Wriggling across the floor, under the table, snaking around feet and chair legs, the children did their best to contribute to the chaos.
    *   *   *
    Li Yan closed her eyes. Her ill-fated cooking stories had gained her a reputation in English class, and the American teacher had nicknamed her “Chef.” She knew that women in the neighborhood talked about her behind her back because her husband was skinny.
    She would have to be extremely careful with the fish. The aunties would take care of the side dishes, but they wouldn’t help with the main dish. She’d brought this on herself, and as she added ingredients to the wok—pepper, sesame oil, coriander, salt—the aunties maintained a loose ring of motion around her without ever coming too close.
    Once the oil was popping, she reached into a bucket and pulled out a wriggling carp, wiped it with a cotton rag, and dropped it into the wok. The fish curled tightly, its bony mouth gaping.
    â€œSmells like a five-star restaurant in here,” Zheng called from the table. She couldn’t tell whether he was trying to make amends or whether it was a joke at her expense. Concentrate, she thought. Concentrate and keep your mouth shut.
    Li Yan ladled hot oil over the fish and pressed it flat against the wok. There was room for another one, and she quickly plunged her hand into the bucket. Altogether she had ten fish—with side dishes, more than enough for the family—but by the time she would finish cooking the last one, the first fish would be cold. So she dropped yet another in the wok, three altogether. The auntie who had been looking after Li Yan’s daughter peered into the wok and placed her hand on Li Yan’s shoulder. Li Yan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She knew what she was doing. The men were so drunk they’d barely taste the meal. It was just a matter of presentation.
    The aunties had completed a platter of scallion cakes and set them out before the men. There was a great clatter of porcelain and wood, and the cakes were gone. When Li Yan took the first three fish out of the wok, an auntie dropped an armload of spinach in and added soy sauce. “Just one minute,” she said, holding Li Yan’s wrist. They waited there by the wok until the spinach