"No problem at all. They just like living there."
"Dont worry about it."
"Then can I come and stay here with you?"
"Its kind of scary how easily fooled she was," he said. "Thats how a lot of old people get swindled out of their homes and savings."
Ruth nodded and smiled.
"That girl downstair eat popcorn almost every night! Burn it, firealarm go off. She dont know, I can smell! Stink! Popcorn all she eat! No wonder skinny. Then she tell me, this not work right, that not right. Always complaining, threat me lawsuit in-jury, code vio-la-tion . . ."
"How many animal? What kind?" LuLing was as excited as a child going to the zoo.
Ruth listened with fascination. It was as if Mr. Tang had known her mother years before. He easily guided her to the old memories, to those that were still safeguarded from destruction. And then she heard her mother say, "My daughter Luyi also worked with us. She was at the same school where I lived after Precious Auntie died."
"Of course not." Ruth said this a bit too loudly.
"Why should I?"
"Ah, you assumed!"
One night, as Ruth held the chopstick in her hand, ready to divine more answers, she heard LuLing say: "Why you and Artie argue?"
"Youre like someone who has cataracts and wants to see, but you refuse to have an operation because youre afraid youll go blind. Youd rather go blind slowly than take a chance. And then you cant see that the answer is right in front of you."
"Its more than a thought. Its a gift. You have to learn to take them sometimes, Ruth. You do yourself wrong when you dont."
At night, as Ruth lay in her old bed, she felt she had come back to her adolescence in the guise of an adult. She was the same person and yet she was not. Or perhaps she was two versions of herself, Ruth1969 and Ruth1999, one more innocent and the other more perceptive, one needier, the other more self-sufficient, both of them fearful. She was her mothers child, and mother to the child her mother had become. So many combinations, like Chinese names and characters, the same elements, seemingly simple, reconfigured in different ways. This was the bed from her childhood, and still within were those youthful moments before dreams, when she ached and wondered alone: Whats going to happen? And just as in childhood, she listened to her breathing and was frightened by the idea that her mothers might one day stop. When she was conscious of it, each inhalation was an effort. Expiration was simply a release. Ruth was afraid to let go.
LuLing was also suspicious as to why Ruth needed to live with her.
LuLing nodded. "Oh, wait till down. Precious Auntie very smart."
"Yes, I was sorry to hear about your mother. She was a great lady. Very smart."
Ruth noted that he said "you and me." She let down her guard. Art was trying. He was telling her he loved her in the best way he knew possible.
"Bingo!" a woman with almost no chin shouted.
"Perhaps . . . but somehow I think she will be."
Art went on: "Not all of the units are a thousand a month. Yours is more expensive because its the number-one unit, the best view, top floor. Were lucky that we got it for free."
"Because it feels like the most important thing Ive done in a long time. Call it a Boy Scout good deed for the day. Mitzvah-gathering, mensch remedial training. Temporary insanity. It makes me feel good, like a human being. It makes me happy."
"Patel and Finkelstein. One of my uncles was a founding partner. Hes been in the hospitality business a long time, hotels. Morris Finkelstein is a doctor. His own mother is a resident here."
"I want you to." Ruth sighed. "She should have told me these things years ago. It would have made such a difference—"
When LuLing next spoke, she gloated: "Probably GaoLing think I got lots money live this place. Just like cruise ship."
"Well, its comfortable, convenient. They have plenty of company. In a way, its like a cruise ship."
LuLing looked wistful. "He died watching over those old bones."
"Im telling you, forget it. She wont do it."
"No! No one coming."
Ruth stayed up all night to read the pages Mr. Tang had translated. "Truth," the account began. She started to enumerate all the true things she was learning, but soon lost count, as each fact led to more questions. Her mother was really five years older than Ruth had always thought. So that meant she had told Dr. Huey the truth about her age! And the part about not being GaoLings sister, that was true as well. Yet her mother and GaoLing were sisters, more so than Ruth had ever thought. They had had more reason than most sisters to disavow their relationship, yet they had been fiercely loyal, had remained irrevocably bound to each other by grudges, debt, and love. She was elated to know this.
"Forget it. Upscale or not, she would never live in a place like that."
"He was a great hero. Others admired his bravery, but you must have suffered."
LuLing tilted her head and seemed to be struggling with sadness. "She was the daughter of a bonesetter."
"Are you sure something else isnt going on?" he asked, following Ruth into the Cubbyhole.
One night, while she was in the kitchen cutting vegetables, Art sidled up to her and patted her bottom. "Why dont you get GaoLing to babysit your mom? Then you can stay over for a conjugal visit."
"I dont know what to say," she finally admitted.
"I didnt say that, you did."
"They do. Weve tried to think of everything that a family would think about."
"Done. And she can come stay with you and me anytime she wants."
"Come on. Tell me."
The next day, Ruth telephoned Art to tell him what she had read. "It feels like Ive found the magic thread to mend a torn-up quilt. Its wonderful and sad at the same time."
"Thats a new one," Patel conceded with an appreciative chuckle. "Ill keep that in mind for other family members whose parents need a nudge. Ah yes, free rent, courtesy of the California Department of Public Safety. Quite good to make it official, mark of authority, like a summons." He swung open a door. "This is the unit that just became available." They walked into an apartment overlooking the garden: a compact living room, bedroom, and bathroom, empty of furnishings, smelling of fresh paint and new carpets. It occurred to Ruth that what Patel meant by "just became available" was that the last resident had died. The cheeriness of the place now seemed ominous, a fa?ade hiding a darker truth.
Something was terribly wrong between Art and her. She had sensed that more strongly during their trial separation—wasnt that what this was? She saw more clearly the habits of emotion, her trying to accommodate herself to him even when he didnt need her to. At one time she had thought that adjustment was what every couple, married or not, did, willingly or out of grudging necessity. But had Art also accommodated to her? If so, she didnt know how. And now that they had been apart, she felt unweighted, untethered. This was what she had predicted she might feel when she lost her mother. Now she wanted to hang on to her mother as if she were her life preserver.
"Free five-star? For two people?"
"Of course, Peking Man is world-famous."
"I cant keep hiring new housekeepers."
Mr. Tang nodded. "A very famous doctor."
"Well, you wont be the first family members to do so," Patel said. "The subterfuges people have used to get their parents here—wow, pretty ingenious. It could fill a book."
"I feel like a spy right now," Ruth added. "Like we succeeded at a covert mission."
Ruth fell silent, waiting.
Two days later, LuLing showed Ruth an official-looking notice from the California Department of Public Safety, on letterhead generated from Arts computer.
"What bothers me is that I dont feel lonelier without Art," she told Wendy over the phone. "I feel more myself."
"Thats a rhinoceros. Thats good too. Do a rhinoceros, then."
Ruth answered vaguely. "An old friend of an old friend of yours in China."
Ruth joked with her mother that an admirer was coming to see her and she should put on her pretty clothes.
"I guess she and a lot of other people will buy into any idea that involves getting something for nothing."
With that, Art stopped, and Ruth was disappointed.
LuLing also asked for updates on the stock market. "Dow Jones go up or down?" she asked one day.
She flushed. She wanted to lean against him, wrap her arms around him, and yet the act of doing so was as scary as leaping off a cliff.
Parts of her mothers story saddened her. Why did she feel she could never tell Ruth that Precious Auntie was her mother? Did she fear that her own daughter would be ashamed that LuLing was illegitimate? Ruth would have assured her that there was no shame, that it was practically fashionable these days to be born a love child. But then Ruth remembered that as a girl she had been terrified of Precious Auntie. She had resented her presence in their lives, had blamed her for her mothers quirkiness, her feelings of doom. How misunderstood Precious Auntie had been—by both her daughter and her granddaughter. Yet there were moments when Ruth sensed that Precious Auntie had been watching her, that she knew when Ruth was suffering.
Ruth nodded. Her mothers building had been paid up last year. They continued along the walkway and went inside and down a hall toward the dining room.
"Then why you not live together? This because me? My fault?"
"Its worth it," he whispered.
"Theres nothing to move forward. But if you must know, for one thing, shed never leave her own home. And second, theres the cost. I assume these places arent free, which is what it would have to be for her to even consider it. And if it were free, shed think it was welfare, so shed refuse on those grounds."
PART THREE
"Thats a good question." He pulled out a digital recorder and spoke into it: "Find out if Janie speaks Cantonese or Mandarin."
"I think that can be arranged," Ruth said coyly.
"Youd probably qualify, then. I think youre supposed to weigh less than a hundred and twenty pounds—"
Patel misunderstood. "Actually, because of all the dietary needs of our population, we cant prepare anything too spicy. We do have a nutritionist who makes up the monthly menu. Many of the choices are low-fat, low-cholesterol. We also offer vegan. The residents receive printed-out menus every day." He picked one off a nearby table.
"Then Ive finished." Mr. Tang sounded sad. "There were a few pages with some writing on them, the same sentences over and over, saying she was worried that she was already forgetting too many things. The script on those was pretty shaky. I think they were more recent. It may upset you. Im just telling you now, so you know."
"Oh, yes indeed. Thats expected. They dont want to move out of their old homes, because thats where all the memories are. And they dont want to spend down their kids inheritance. Nor do they think theyre old—certainly not that old, theyll say. Im sure well be saying the same thing when were their age."
"Thats right, Loretta," the young man added. "No one here is stupid. Sometimes we get a little confused, thats all."
"Who can afford cruise ship?" her mother groused.
Ruths eyes welled up. Why was she crying? Stop this, she told herself, youre being stupid and maudlin. Hes talking about a business plan, for Gods sake, concept-sanctioned forms of happiness. She turned away as if to inspect a row of orchids. When she had collected herself, she said, "They must love it here."
"I think it would be easier if you hired help to take care of you and the girls," Ruth said.
She laughed nervously. "Theyll all know what were doing."
ONE
This also captured LuLings interest. Her property taxes were in fact low, stabilized by a state law that protected the holdings of the elderly. Nonetheless, each year when LuLing received her tax bill, the sum seemed agonizingly huge to her.
"Oh, right." Ruth had forgotten about the tenant. So had Art, evidently. But her mother, brain disease and all, hadnt let that slip by.
"All right. I can deal with those factors. What else?"
"Is it too much trouble?"
"Its worth it," he told her again.
At seven exactly, Mr. Tang arrived with LuLings pages and his translation. He was a slender man with white hair, deep smile lines, a very kind face. He brought LuLing a bag of oranges.
Patel gestured to the flowers in the garden. "All thorn-free and non-toxic, no deadly oleander or foxglove that a confused person might nibble on." Each plant was identified by staked marker at eye level—no bending down necessary. "Our seniors really love naming the herbs. On Mondays, the afternoon activity is herb collecting. Theres rosemary, parsley, oregano, lemon thyme, basil, sage. The word echinacea gives them a hard time, though. One lady calls it the China Sea. Now we all call it that."
"Id like to start here," Patel said, taking them back to the foyer, "because this is what our seniors first see when they arrive." He began what sounded like an oft recited spiel: "Here at Mira Mar Manor, we believe home is more than a bed. Its a whole concept."
"Anyway," Art said offhandedly, "someone like you could live in the number-one unit for the same as what you get each month for Social Security. Its like living there for free."
"Chinese channel too?"
"No! No! No!" a woman in a shawl yelled. "Dont you dare use that word in here."
LuLing looked at herself in the mirror. "Buddha-full. Too bad Gao Ling not pretty like me." Ruth laughed. Her mother had never expressed vanity about her looks, but with the dementia, the modesty censors must not have been working. Dementia was like a truth serum.
"Thats not true," she protested. Yet she knew there was some validity to what Art was saying. It was not exactly right, but parts of it were as familiar as the tidal wave in her dreams. She turned. "Have you always thought this of me?"
"No," Ruth said firmly. And then in a softer voice, "I dont know." And after a long silence, she added, "I remember you asked me once what I was going to do about my mother. And it struck me. Yes, what am / going to do? I felt it was all up to me. Ive tried to handle it the best I can, and this is it. Maybe my moving out does have to do with us, but now, if theres anything wrong with us, its secondary to whats wrong with my mom. Thats all I can handle right now."
"Absolutely. I remember."
"Let me see," Ruth said, and scanned the letter. Art had been very clever. Ruth played along. "Mm. Its a heavy gas, it says, radioactive, dangerous to your lungs. The gas company detected it when they did a routine inspection for earthquake dangers. The leakage isnt from a pipe. It comes from the soil and rocks under the house, and they need to have you move out for three months while they do an environmental assessment and hazard removal via intensive ventilation."
Art interrupted: "There are things I should have said years ago too."
"Remember what you said when we first met, about not wanting to have assumptions about love?"
"Never mind," Ruth said. "How about an elephant? Do an elephant, you know, the one with a long nose and big ears."
My God! He expected someone else to die soon. And he said it so casually, so matter-of-factly! Ruth felt trapped, frantic to escape. This place was like a death sentence. Wouldnt her mother feel the same way? Shed never stay here for a month, let alone three.
"You mean like Alzheimers? Dementia?" Patel motioned them into another large room. "Ill get back to your question in just a minute. This is the main activity hall."
"That how much I get Social Security!" LuLing said smugly.
"The way you want something from people, some kind of proof of love or loyalty or belief in you. But you expect it wont come. And when its handed to you, you dont see it. Or you resist, refuse."
Ruth thought that was an odd request, but she complied, mailing him scanned copies of the photo of LuLing and GaoLing with their mother when they were young, and another taken when LuLing first arrived in the United States. Later, Mr. Tang asked Ruth for a picture of Precious Auntie. "She was unusual," he remarked. "Self-educated, forthright, quite a rebel for her time." Ruth was bursting to ask him: Did he know whether Precious Auntie was indeed her mothers real mother? But she held off, wanting to read his translation all at one time, not piecemeal. Mr. Tang had said he would need about two months to finish the job. "I dont like to just transliterate word for word. I want to phrase it more naturally, yet ensure these are your mothers words, a record for you and your children for generations to come. They must be just right. Dont you agree?"
"Ah, best unit."
"Just let me do this, okay?"
Sometimes Ruth listened with interest, trying to determine how much of the story LuLing changed in each retelling, feeling reassured when she repeated the same story. But other times Ruth was simply irritated by having to listen, and this irritation made her feel strangely satisfied, as if everything was the same, nothing was wrong.
"She is a woman of strong character, very honest," he said to Ruth on the telephone after he began to translate the pages Ruth had mailed to him. "Could you send me her picture, one when she was a young woman? Seeing her would help me say her words in English the way she has expressed them in Chinese."
"I think youre worn out."
"Radon leak!" LuLing exclaimed. "What this mean, radon leak?"
"But that includes housing, food, movies, dancing, utilities, and cable TV. Thats thrown in for free."
Ruth knew her mother watched the stock market mostly just for fun. She had not found any letters, junk mail or otherwise, from brokerage firms. Buy on sale, she decided to write.
"This seems sudden," he said as he watched her pack. "Are you sure youre not being rash? What about hired help?"
"Thats crazy."
"Its safe to assume that half the general population over age eighty-five likely has some memory problems starting to show. And after all, our average age here is eighty-seven."
"No, Art," Ruth interrupted. "He said the cutoff was a hundred."
"We already went through this. No halves and theres nothing to pay back. I have some money saved and I want to do this. And I dont mean it as a condition for us getting back together or getting rid of your mother or any of that. Its not a condition for anything. Its not pressure for you to make a decision one way or the other. There are no expectations, no strings attached."
Down the middle of the garden was a reddish pathway lined with benches, some shaded by awnings. Patel pointed out amenities that might have gone unnoticed to an untrained eye. His voice was resonant, familiar, and knowledgeable, like that of an English teacher Ruth had once had. The strolling path, he explained, had the same covering used for indoor running tracks, no loose bricks or stones to catch a feeble walker off guard, no hard concrete. Of course, if a senior fell, she could still break a hip, he said, but it was less likely to shatter into a million pieces. "And studies show thats what is so deadly to this population. One fall, boom!" Patel snapped his fingers. "Happens a lot when the elderly live alone and in the old family home that hasnt been adapted to their needs. No ramp-ways, no handrails."
"Morning, Betty, Dorothy, Rose. Wow, Betty, thats a spectacular color on you!"
"No they wont." Art was breathing in her ear.
She repeated this later, as he drove her to her mothers.
"Perfectly, as long as the families have conservatorship or power of attorney over the finances. Some of them take out loans against the principal on the house, or theyve sold their parents homes and use the money in trust to make the payments. Anyway, I know all about the problems of getting seniors to accept the idea of even considering living in a place like this. But I guarantee you, once your mother has lived here for a month, she 11 never want to leave."
"Thats right! He worked on many important things. Have you ever heard of Peking Man?"
Ruth felt Art had blown it. Cruise ship. If he had been listening to her mothers complaints these last few years, hed have known this was precisely the wrong comparison to make.
Art paused. Ruth knew he was waiting for her to respond. In part, she wanted to shout with gratitude that he had said what she had been feeling and could not express. Yet she was scared that he was saying this too late. She felt no joy in hearing his admission. She felt sad.
"I dont mean just memory problems. What if its something more . . ."
So Art and the girls started to go twice a week to LuLings house. "Ruth," Dory whined one night as she watched her making a salad, "when are you coming home? Dad is like really boring and Fia is all the time like, Dad, theres nothing to do, theres nothing good to eat."
He kissed her neck. "Or you can take a break right now and we can sneak into the bathroom for a quickie."
"Hello, Edward!" three of them sang out in turn.
"Because my mother would never go for it. I wouldnt go for it. Shed think I was sending her to the dog pound. Shed threaten to kill herself every single day—"
Art sighed.
"No need to trouble yourself," Mr. Tang said.
"You cant think of it the same way you think of rent," Art replied. "It includes food, the apartment, a twenty-four-hour nurse, help with medication, laundry—"
"I only eighty-five."
During the second month of their living apart, Ruth told Art, "If you really want to have dinner together, maybe you should come over to my mothers for a change, instead of my schlepping over here all the time for dinner. Its exhausting to do that all the time."
"Yep. Several of them. And there are no property taxes."
"Id like to read it. Would you let me?"
As they continued with lunch, Ruth could see her mothers mind adding up the free cable TV, the big discounts, the best unit—all irresistible concepts.
"I eat less. Not like American people, always take big helping."
"A lot of people find staying at the Mira Mar cheaper than living at home," Art said.
"May I come over now to deliver my work to you?" he asked formally. "Would that be all right?"
Had she downplayed the problems over the past six months? Or had Art simply not been paying attention? She was frustrated by how little they seemed to know each other.
Ruth drew an upward arrow.
"Or wouldnt," Art said.
Twice a week, Ruth and her mother went to Vallejo Street for dinner. On those days, Ruth had to finish her work early and shop for groceries. Since she did not want to leave her mother alone, she took her along to the store. While they shopped, LuLing commented on the cost of every item, questioning whether Ruth should wait until it was cheaper. Once Ruth arrived home—and yes, she reminded herself, the flat on Vallejo Street was still her home—she seated LuLing in front of the television, then sorted through mail addressed to her and Art as a couple. She saw how little of that there was, while most of the repair bills were in her name. At the end of the night, she was frazzled, saddened, and relieved to go back to her mothers house, to her little bed.
"Thats not a solution." Ruth felt as she had when her mother showed her the ten-million-dollar check from the magazine sweepstakes.
"This is one of the nicest units," Patel said. "There are smaller, less expensive rooms, studios, and some without an ocean or garden view. We should have one of those available, oh, in about another month."
"Actually, not all of them are staying there because of radon leaks," Art said. Ruth wondered where this was leading to.
"Hm. Nothing, it says. The city does it for free. Look, they even pay for the place where you stay while they do the ventilation. Three months free rent . . . including food. The Mira Mar Manor—located near your current residence, it says, with amenities typical of a five-star hotel. Thats the highest rating, five stars. Theyre asking you to go there as soon as possible."
Patel did not seem perturbed. He quietly led Ruth and Art out of the room and to an elevator. As they ascended, he spoke. "To answer your question, most of the residents are what we call frail elderly. They may have problems seeing or hearing or getting around without a cane or a walker. Some are sharper than you or I, others are easily confused and have signs of dementia due to Alzheimers or what have you. They tend to be a little forgetful about taking their pills, which is why we dispense all medications. But they always know what day it is, whether its movie Sunday or herb-picking Monday. And if they dont remember the year, why should they? Some notions of time are irrelevant."
"Im tense. Last week I saw how she really is, and it frightened me. Shes a danger to herself. Shes far worse than I thought. And I realize the disease is further along than I first thought. Shes probably had it six orseven years already. I dont know why I never noticed—"
Ruth felt her heart squeeze. "I know, but Waipos sick. I have to stay with her."
Mr. Tang called Ruth at the end of two months. "Are you sure there arent any more pages?"
At the end of the evening, Mr. Tang thanked LuLing elaborately for some delightful hours of remembering the old times. "May I have the honor of visiting you again soon?"
"Dont worry about it."
"I havent called enough numbers yet, Anna," the young man said patiently. "You need at least five to win. Weve only done three so far."
They stepped through French doors into a garden surrounded by hedges. On each side was a shady arbor with a latticed covering of jasmine. Underneath were cushioned chairs and opaque glass-topped tables. Several women glanced up from their conversations.
"Like what?" Ruth asked.
"So your going to live there has nothing to do with us?"
"You dont have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. . . . The other thing is, I really am worried about your taking care of your mother over the long term. I know you want to do this, that its important, and she needs someone around. But you and I know shes going to get worse. Shell require more and more care, and she cant do it alone, and neither can you. You have your work and a life too, and your mother would be the last person to see you give that up for her sake."
"We can provide the furniture at no extra charge," Patel said. "But usually the residents like to bring their own things. Personalize it and make it their home. We encourage that. And each floor is assigned the same staff, two caretakers per floor, day and night. Everyone knows them by name. One of them even speaks Chinese."
One of LuLings eyebrows rose. "How cheap?"
"Number one," Art emphasized. "The smaller units are cheaper. . . . Honey, what did Mr. Patel say they were?"
"Im sorry. Its just that the housekeepers I get for my mother keep quitting, and I cant get Auntie Gal or anyone else to take care of her except for an occasional day here and there. Auntie Gal said that the one week she spent with her was worse than running after her grandkids when they were babies. But at least she finally believes the diagnosis is real and that ginseng tea isnt a cure-all."
Ruth marveled that a Jewish mother would allow her son to put her in a place like this. Now that was an endorsement.
"Oh, your Chinese is the Beijing dialect, very elegant," LuLing said. She became girlish and shy, which amused Ruth. And Mr. Tang in turn poured on the charm, pulling out LuLings chair to seat her, serving her tea first, filling her cup when it was half empty. She and Mr. Tang continued to speak in Chinese, and to Ruths ear, her mother began to sound more logical, less confused.
"Oh, yes. Their sense of economy is strictly Depression-era. Paying rent is money down the drain. Theyre used to owning a house, paid free and clear."
LuLing nodded with satisfaction. "Okay, then."
"Ai-ya! How much cost?"
"Cantonese or Mandarin?" Ruth asked.
By phone, Ruth told Art that his plan seemed to have worked. She was glad that he didnt sound smug.
"I think maybe so." She gave Ruth her all-knowing look. "Long time go, you first meet him, I tell you, Why you live together first? You do this, he never marry you. You remember? Oh, now you thinking, Ah, Mother right. Live together, now I just leftover, easy throw away. Dont be embarrass. You be honest."
LuLing snorted. "Why?"
"Is that legal?" Ruth asked.
Her mother was good at being quiet when Ruth was working. "Study hard," she would whisper. But if Ruth was watching television, LuLing, as she always had, figured she was not doing anything important. Her mother then gabbed about GaoLing, rehashing her sisters greatest insults to her over the years. "She want me to go love-boat cruise to Hawaii. I ask her, Where I have this kind money? My Social Security only seven hundred fifty dollar. She tell me, You too cheap! I tell her, This not cheap, this poor. I not rich widow. Hnh! She forget she once want marry my husband. Tell me when he die, lucky she choose other brother. . . ."
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Anna muttered under her breath, as if she was cursing. She gave Loretta the evil eye. "Stupid!"
LuLing frowned. "Then she live my same hotel?"
While Mr. Tang translated, Ruth lived at LuLings house. She had told Art of her decision when he returned from Hawaii.
"Not hippo?"
"Hippo?" LuLing puzzled over the word. "How you say in Chinese?"
Ruth took a deep breath. "Shed have to love it. She would have to want to live there as her choice, not yours or mine."
"Afraid not. Ive been cleaning out my mothers house, drawer by drawer, room by room. I even discovered she put a thousand dollars under a floorboard. If there was anything else, Im sure I would have found it."
Each day, she went to her desk and spent fifteen minutes grinding her inkstick. Luckily, many of the drawings she did were of subjects she had drawn many times for scroll paintings—fish, horse, cat, monkey, duck— and she executed them and the characters from a neuromotor memory of the strokes. The results were shaky yet recognizable renditions of what she once had done perfectly. But the moment LuLing attempted the unfamiliar, her hand flailed in synchrony with her confusion, and Ruth became as distressed as her mother, though she tried not to show it. Every time LuLing finished a drawing, Ruth praised it, took it away, then suggested a new animal to draw.
"Someone asked me to write a childrens book, with illustrations of animals," Ruth said. She was now accustomed to telling lies without feeling guilty. "I was hoping youd do the drawings, and if you did, it would be easier if we worked together here, less noisy that way."
"Why not?"
"Do you miss the girls?"
"We need you too."
"You watch it, young lady," the old woman said sternly to Ruth. "Hell sell the pants off you, if he can." Patel laughed easily, and Ruth wondered whether the woman was only joking. Well, at least he knew their names.
Ruths heart started to race.
LuLing did not have cable TV. She often talked about getting it, but changed her mind when she found out how much it cost.
"Oh. Other problem their house?"
"Anything we want. You get to decide what to draw, Chinese style."
Ruth helped her bathe and dress. She tied a scarf around her neck, combed her hair, added a touch of lipstick. "Youre beautiful," Ruth said, and it was true.
"So many old people have radon leak," she murmured with awe.
LuLings face broke into a look of disgust. "Cruise ship! GaoLing always want me go cruise ship. You too cheap, she tell me. I not cheap! I poor, I dont have money throw in ocean. . . ."
"What do you do," Ruth joked, "spike the food?"
Ruth decided she should get hard-nosed. "Are any of the people here, you know, like my mother? Do any of them have, well, memory problems of some sort?"
Ruth turned, startled then touched that her mother included her in the past.
"Lets just cuddle, then," he suggested. Ruth was glad he did not press her for further explanations. She nestled against his chest. Deep into the night, she listened to his sonorous breathing and the foghorns. For the first time in a long while, she felt safe.
"Do you ever find any of them reluctant to be here, especially in the beginning?"
Happy. If only her mother could be happy as well, living in a place like the Mira Mar. Ruth wondered what made people happy. Could you find happiness in a place? In another person? What about happiness for herself? Did you simply have to know what you wanted and reach for it through the fog?
Ruth thanked him.
"I did?"
"Us. You and me. Do we need to talk about something more than just your mothers mind falling apart?"
Ruth was tumbling in her head. She was being swept and tossed, and she was scared. "Thank you," she finally said.
"Its really a carefree life, which is how it should be when youre this age, dont you agree?" Patel looked at Ruth. He must have picked her as the stumbling block. How could he tell? Did she have a crease in the middle of her brow? It was obvious that Art thought the place was great.
"Im sure she got a similar notice. They wouldnt let anyone remain in the building, not if it can give them lung disease."
But when she brought it up, Patel was ready with an answer: "Weve encountered that issue in the past. Chinese, Japanese, kosher food, you name it. We have a delivery service from approved restaurants. And since we have two other Chinese residents who get takeout twice a week, your mother can share the selections we get for them. Also, one of our cooks is Chinese. She makes rice porridge on the weekends for breakfast. Several of our non-Chinese residents go for that as well." Patel returned smoothly to his rehearsed patter: "Regardless of special diets, they all love the waiter service, tablecloths at the meals, just like a fine restaurant. And no tipping is necessary or allowed." Ruth nodded. LuLings idea of a big tip was a dollar.
Art brought his toothbrush, a change of clothes, and a portable boom-box with a Michael Feinstein CD, Gershwin music. At night, he squeezed into the twin bed with Ruth. But she did not feel amorous with LuLing in the next room. That was the explanation she gave Art.
"Would you like to come for dinner tonight?"
"Well, I dont know. Just call me stupid, then."
"What do you mean?" She took down diskettes and notebooks from the shelves.
"I not worry! You worry! I see this. Look your face. You not hiding from me. I know. I your mother! Okay-okay, you dont worry hippo anymore. I worry for you. Later I remember, then tell you, you be happy. Okay now? Dont cry anymore."
"Sorry to keep you waiting," she heard someone say in a British accent. Ruth turned and was surprised to see a polished-looking young Indian man in suit and tie. "Edward Patel," he said, smiling warmly. He shook hands and handed them each a business card. He must be in his early thirties, Ruth thought. He looked like a stockbroker, not someone who concerned himself with laxatives and arthritis medication.
"Speaking of which, how much will this Mira Mar place cost?"
He laughed. "Your mother isnt the only one with memory prob lems. Well, if I said it, then I was wrong, because I do think its important to have certain assumptions—for one thing, that the person whos with you is there for the long haul, that hell take care of you and what comes with you, the whole package, mother and everything. For whatever reason—my having said that about assumptions, and your going along with it—well, I guess I thought it was great at the time, that I had love on a free ride. I didnt know what I was going to lose until you moved out."
Ruth was taken by surprise. She pretended to recollect. "I think he said seven hundred fifty."
Ruth mused over this, lying in her childhood bed. She understood more clearly why her mother had always wanted to find Precious Aunties bones and bury them in the proper place. She wanted to walk through the End of the World and make amends. She wanted to tell her mother, "Im sorry and I forgive you, too."
Two weekends later, Fia and Dory came with an inflatable mattress. They stayed in Ruths room. "Girls only," Dory insisted, so Art had to go home. In the evening, Ruth and the girls watched television and drew mehndi tattoos on each others hands. The next weekend, Art asked if it was boys night yet.
"Sell Intel, buy Intel?"
"Well, I appreciate the thought, but—"
"Ive heard of him," Ruth heard Mr. Tang answer. "He studied geology, didnt he?"
Several times a week, LuLing and Ruth would talk to ghosts. Ruth pulled out the old sand tray stored on top of the refrigerator and offered to write to Precious Auntie. Her mother reacted politely, the way people do when offered a box of chocolates: "Oh! . . . Well, maybe just little." LuLing wanted to know if the childrens book was going to make Ruth famous. Ruth had Precious Auntie say that LuLing would be.
"Ill take care of it. If she likes it and stays, well figure it out later. If she hates it, the three months are on me. She can move back into her old place, and well think of something else."
"Oh, my first husband went there, a very smart boy. Pan Kai Jing. Did you know him?"
"Im not talking about a nursing home and bedpans. This is assisted living. Theyre the latest concept, the wave of the baby-boomer future, like senior Club Meds—meals, maid service, laundry, transportation, organized outings, exercise, even dancing. And its supervised, twenty-four hours. Its upscale, not depressing at all. Ive already looked at a bunch of residences, and Ive found a great one, not far from where your mother lives now—"
Ruth liked that he was thinking "we" again. "Well, we 11 share the cost of the three months, then."
"Hunh! I dont mean you!" her mother exclaimed. "What about that girl downstair?"
"Not that much, at least not their noise and energy. Do you think my feelings are deadened or something?"
"Each resident has an orchid plant. The flower pots are painted with the names theyve given their orchids. As you may have already noticed, about ninety percent of our residents are women. And no matter how old they are, many still have a strong maternal instinct. They adore watering their orchids every day. We use a dendrobium orchid known as cuthbertsonii. Blooms nearly year-round, nonstop, and unlike most orchids, it can take daily watering. Many of our residents have named their orchids after their husbands or children or other family members whove already passed. They often talk to their plants, touch and kiss the petals, fuss and worry over them. We give them tiny eyedroppers and a bucket of water we call Love Potion. Mothers coming, Mothers coming, youll hear them say. Its quite touching to watch them feeding their orchids."
Concept? Ruth looked at Art. This would never work.
LuLing tittered. She raised her eyebrows and looked at Ruth.
"Where in China are you from?" LuLing asked.
Her mother had said those things, Ruth recalled with chagrin. She busied her hands, brushing off stray grains of sand from the edges of the tray. She was both surprised by the things her mother remembered and touched by her concern. What LuLing had said about Art was not exactly right, yet she had pierced the heart of it, the fact that Ruth felt like a leftover, last in line to get a helping of whatever was being served.
"What does the P and F in P and F HealthCare stand for?" Art asked, looking at the business card.
"Oh! . . . No, its probably different, a place that isnt as nice, Im sure, since youre the owner and shes only the renter."
Ruth warned him: "She wont be the same woman who wrote those pages."
"One of our residents," Patel added, "is a ninety-year-old former sociology professor, still fairly sharp. But he thinks hes here on a fellowship from his alma mater to study the effects of aging. And another woman, a former piano teacher, thinks shes been hired to play music every night after dinner. Shes not too bad, actually. We direct-bill most families, so their parents dont even know what the fees are."
"Tousand! Ai-ya! Too much!"
"Tianjin. Later I went to school at Yenching University."
Mr. Tang was in love with LuLing, though he had never met her. Ruth could sense this. He talked as if he knew her better than anyone else, even her own daughter. He was eighty years old, a survivor of World War Two, the civil war in China, the Cultural Revolution, and a triple coronary bypass. He had been a famous writer in China, but here his work remained untranslated and unknown. A linguistics colleague of Arts had given Ruth his name.
"By the way," Ruth asked, "how much are the fees?"
"Really!" Art exclaimed, and gave Ruth a wink.
Ruth pretended to search the fine print. "No. Looks like its just for one person. I cant go." She sighed, sounding disappointed.
Ruth and Art were ushered into an oak-paneled office and told that the director of care services would be with them soon. They sat stiffly on a leather sofa, facing a massive desk. Framed diplomas and health certifications hung on the wall, as well as old photographs of the building in its original incarnation, with beaming girls posed in white frocks.
"It would be an honor. To be honest, I would dearly like to meet your mother. After all this time of reading her words, day and night, I feel I know her like an old friend and miss her already."
They continued walking along the path toward a greenhouse at the back of the garden. "We call this the Love Nursery," Patel said, as they stepped into a blast of color—shocking pink and monk-robe saffron. The air was moist and cool.
"Youre welcome to come anytime," Ruth said.
"About a thousand dollars a month."
The herbs from the garden, Patel added, were used in the meals. "The ladies still pride themselves on their cooking abilities. They love to remind us to add only a pinch of oregano, or to rub the sage on the inside not the outside of the chicken, that sort of thing." Ruth could picture dozens of old ladies complaining about the food, and her mother yelling above the rest that everything was too salty.
"What are you talking about?"
"All she has to do is try it."
"No need to be so polite," she said automatically as she inspected the fruit for soft spots. She scolded Ruth in Chinese: "Take his coat. Ask him to sit down. Give him something to drink."
"We have quite a few folks here who dont know it costs anything to live here."
"Right, and a very expensive orchid! I cant let you pay that, not for three months."
"I do not—"
"Tomorrow!" LuLing blurted. "Come tomorrow."
"Who?"
To Ruths surprise, her mother seemed to have no objection to staying at Mira Mar Manor. Then again, why would she? LuLing thought it was temporary—and free. After she had toured the place, Ruth and Art took her to a nearby deli to have lunch and hear her reactions.
"Why do you say that?"
"I know. . . . Thats why Ive been reading up on Alzheimers, stages of the disease, medical needs, support groups. And Ive thought of an idea, a possible solution . . . an assisted-living residence."
"But she still pay me rent?"
"Not in so many words. I didnt really think about it until these past few months youve been gone. And then I started wondering if what you said about me was true. I realized I am self-centered, that Im used to thinking about me first. But I also realized that you tend to think about you second. Its as though I had permission from you to be less responsible. Im not saying its your fault. But you have to learn to take back, grab it when its offered. Dont fight it. Dont get all tense thinking its complicated. Just take it, and if you want to be polite, say thank you."
Ruth scanned it. The choice today was turkey meatloaf, tuna casserole, or tofu fajitas, accompanied by salad, rolls, fresh fruit, mango sorbet, and macaroons. Suddenly another problem loomed: No Chinese food.
"Funny, I thought you did."
As they parked in front of the three-story shingled building, Ruth was relieved to see that it did not look like an asylum. LuLing was at her sisters for the weekend, and it was Arts idea that they visit Mira Mar Manor without her, so that they could anticipate what objections she might raise. Mira Mar Manor was flanked by windswept cypress trees and looked out on the ocean. The wrought-iron fence held a plaque declaring that this was a San Francisco landmark, erected as an orphanage after the Great Earthquake.
LuLing pondered hard. "Ah, yes. I remember now."
Ruth looked at the letter again. "Of course. Thats the law."
"Whoa, whoa. Before you dismiss the idea outright, tell me the specific objections. Lets see if we can move forward from there."
"All right." Her mother looked pleased at the prospect of being vital to her daughters success. Ruth sighed, relieved yet sad. Why hadnt she ever asked her mother to make drawings before? She should have done it when her mothers hand and mind were still steady. It broke her heart to see her mother trying so hard, being so conscientious, so determined to be valuable. Making her mother happy would have been easy all along. LuLing simply wanted to be essential, as a mother should be.
Ruth couldnt keep from gasping over the cost. "Did you know that?" she asked Art. He nodded. She was both shocked at the expense and amazed that Art would be willing to pay that for three months, nearly twelve thousand dollars. She stared at him, openmouthed.
Patel answered without hesitation: "Thirty-two to thirty-eight hundred a month, depending on the room and level of services needed. That includes an escort to a monthly medical appointment. I can show you a detailed schedule downstairs."
Ruth exhaled heavily. "Listen, Ill pay half, and if it works out, Ill pay you back."
Ruth laughed. "Id like that, but youll have to ask your dad."
Ruth laughed to be polite. "We may have to trick my mother into coming here."
And Art added: "Mr. Patel also said people who eat less can get a discount."
"We might as well tell you now," Art said. "Mrs. Young minks shes coming here because of a radon leak in her home." He presented a copy of the letter he had created.
But LuLing was still frowning. "Why you give up? Something hard maybe worth more than easy. Hippo, what look like? Horn right here?" She tapped the top of her head.
"Theres a lot to think about," Patel said with a modest smile.
"You seem—I dont know—distant, maybe even a little angry."
"Ive been thinking about your mother, and Ive also been thinking about us."
Several people looked up from a bingo game being conducted by a young man. Ruth noticed that most were nicely dressed. One was wearing a powder-blue pantsuit, a pearl necklace and earrings, as if she were going to Easter services. A beak-nosed man in a jaunty beret winked at her. She imagined him at thirty, a brash businessman, confident of his position in the world and with the ladies.
"My mother knows everything, she sees everything."
Ruth was pleased that they missed her. "I dont know, honey. Waipo needs me."
"Were not arguing."
Art looked uncertain. "Well, when you feel youre ready to talk . . ." He drifted off, so miserable, it seemed to Ruth, she was almost tempted to assure him that nothing was really wrong.
