The Dog Read Online Free Page B

was transferred to the bare scallion cake platter. Again the platter was laid before the men and scoured clean. Then came tomato soup with egg flower. Then sauced cucumber.
    â€œEnough of the small-fry,” Zheng said, and the men all laughed. “Bring the main course!”
    Li Yan was nearly done with the fish, but cooking three at a time was depleting the oil at such a rate that she had to add cold oil as she cooked, which killed the boil. She lost track of how many handfuls of scallions she’d added. The fish curled and she smashed them down. They came out of the wok dripping with oil, and more went in. Finally, the last fish looked ready. The aunties had prepared a plate for each fish, a mixed batch of stoneware and porcelain that Li Yan thought hardly worthy of the meal. Each fish was laid on a bed of bok choi, which Li Yan would have said wasn’t the proper presentation if she’d had time or space to argue. No matter, she thought, these peasants don’t know any better.
    The aunties took up plates and stood around the table.
    â€œThe fish should honor the head of the family,” Li Yan said, laying a plate before Zheng with the glazed eyes facing him.
    â€œNo, no,” he said, “to our honored guest,” and slid the plate to Chen Wei’s place. “Now we’ll see how they eat in Beijing.”
    The aunties laid plates before each of the men, fish heads pointing at Chen Wei.
    â€œGo ahead, let us know what kind of cook your wife is,” Zheng said. The men leaned in as Chen Wei held his chopsticks aloft. He felt their eyes on him. He felt the presence of his wife behind him.
    â€œDig in,” Zheng said. “Join the Celebrate Life Movement.”
    Chen Wei lowered his chopsticks to the skin and pressed. Oil seeped out from the scales, but the skin didn’t break. He pressed harder and more oil escaped, pooling on the cabbage leaves.
    â€œMaybe you need a fork to eat Beijing cuisine?” Zheng said.
    The men laughed and threw back glasses of baijiu. “Do you want your butcher knife back?”
    Chen Wei jabbed at the fish, desperately trying to puncture the skin. It wouldn’t give. The fish was raw on top. He couldn’t turn it over—that was bad luck for the fisherman who’d caught it, even if it had been raised in a rice field. He tried to get at the meat from the side, and succeeded in creating an incision in its belly, but the meat he pulled out dripped with oil and visceral fluid.
    â€œEat up. Looks tasty,” Zheng said, smacking his lips. This time the men didn’t laugh. The room was quiet as Chen Wei brought the meat to his mouth. He chewed slowly, his eyes set on a distant point. His mandible rose and fell. He swallowed and laid his chopsticks on the table. Wood crackled in the bowels of the stove.
    â€œYou want a drink, I bet,” Zheng said, filling a glass. Chen Wei turned to him and forced a smile.
    â€œHey, don’t give me the evil eye. She’s the one who cooked it,” Zheng said.
    Li Yan laid her hand on Chen Wei’s shoulder, and as if she had touched the first in a row of dominoes, he lunged forward with such violence that all the men reared back in response. He stood and calmly collected their plates into a pile at the center of the table. The men all looked at their laps. Chen Wei began to stack the plates in two towers, placing his own eviscerated meal at the top of one.
    Li Yan backed away.
    â€œNo, you’re going to help me,” Chen Wei said.
    He gathered up one tower and thrust it on her. Oil bled over her arms and clothes.
    â€œCome on,” he said, his own arms loaded with plates. His voice sounded rough to her, as though his old country accent were again taking hold. He charged out the back door and into the walled yard, the plates balanced on one hand. Li Yan followed him, the family spilling out behind her.
    â€œHey, waiters,” Zheng called. “Get back here with my