Feng and his wife A’ping sat down with me at the little plastic table on a stone embankment in the street. My awkward deference continued as I waited for one of them to take a bite. “Come on, don’t be nervous” Feng said. He had small eyes that crinkled when he smiled, and a nose slightly shoat-like. He had one of those mouths with small lips and big teeth, where when he talked his teeth showed as if he was smiling. But he was usually smiling when he spoke in his soft fast way full of jokes that tended to trail off at the end until I could hardly hear, let alone understand. But I liked his big teddy bear presence and felt there was no condescension (my Chinese level was not cutting it with him, a graduate in Chinese ancient history) when he spoke to me. And when Liao Feng really smiled and added a chuckle, usually preceded by his raised bushy eyebrows pushing his forehead into folds and opening his eyes to small (as opposed to microscopic) proportions, he was that definition of wennuan （温暖）.
We slurped our thick noodles outside the little Shan Xi shack restaurant, a pleasant breeze coiling around and about the heat. I ate cautiously and listened consciously; my Chinese was pretty decent but either it wasn’t good enough or it had made too good an impression on them. A’ping asked me about the noodles I’d eaten before in Shanghai, Feng asked about Chinese food , traffic, and people back home in Washington. I asked what they liked to do, and they answered.
“Our lifestyle, compared to the students and friends you knew, is probably a whole lot different,” began Feng.
“After work we generally we cook, stay at home, keep each other company. We keep it simple,” A’ping added.
“You could say we’re more…Chinese.” He hesitated and she looked at him doubtfully.
“Or you could just say we like to keep things simple,” she said in her cool quiet way. A’ping was slender, with a symmetrical, round face, and delicate bones around the mouth and cheeks. She was beautiful, actually, and compared to her husband… well…it could be said that she was not a superficial woman AND that jovial Feng had himself a lucky catch.
I smiled and said I enjoyed the same kind of day to day, they smiled back but I couldn’t tell if they believed me and I felt a small flush of embarrassment.
We munched on the noodles and beef in the warm, clear broth. Coriander floated like lily petals in the soup. After wolfing down our bowls, Feng patted me on the shoulder with a broad hand and a broader smile when I tried to give him money, and walked over to the laoban (老板). As A’ping and I watched him pay and chat briefly with the owner, I knew she felt lucky, too.
We walked through the streets and alleys where fruit and vegetable sellers had their goods spread out on thick blankets and tables like preparations for a gorgeous feast. Everywhere walls were cracked and old, and the ground littered with indiscernible scraps and refuse. Children ran amongst grandparents and men sat smoking. Occasionally, we’d sidestep to make way for a bike. The couple pointed out convenient stores and places to eat, where to get medicine and how much a watermelon should be (1 yuan per 500g!). We crisscrossed narrow pathways of old tan colored cement and gray stone until we arrived at our home. I gingerly ascended the stairs.
After retiring to my room I thought about a summer of this…it couldn’t help but change me for the better. For the kinder. But it wasn’t going to be easy; it was difficult to communicate both because of the language, Feng’s rapid speech and accent… and the plain old difficulty of finding topics of discussion. I remembered how alien I felt touching the floor with my bare feet and hands. That green and white tiled floor, the dirt on each little white tile permanent. The little hard bed. My toes wanted to curl just walking around the house. I wondered if we’d be able to get along, if Feng’s good nature was just a front and if things would change after I’d handed him a thick stack of red 100s. I felt alone.
The two of them came to my doorway and I pushed all the negative thoughts aside to listen to their news. They had been researching things for me to do in the neighborhood and beyond, from sites in Beijing to little places to get a meal complete with a map. They laughed when I said I’d probably get lost trying to navigate the alleys to the neighborhood police station to register. They’d be more than happy to take me, of course. There was a brief moment of pause, and then A’ping said they hoped I would be able to stay with them. Then Liao Feng said the same. And in the company of these good people and their welcoming sincerity, I finally felt a tiny tinge of something like home.
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