When we were seated at the dinner table that night my father explained to Uncle Ho that he and my mother had to leave for work early the next morning. “James is on vacation from school this week, so he will be here to take care of you.”
Uncle Ho nodded. “My needs are simple. I will try not to be too much trouble.”
An awkward silence began. It didn’t look like Uncle Ho was about to initiate anything and my parents had the idea that it was impolite to ask questions. We’d heard so many stories about Uncle Ho, I thought it would be great to hear his side of things.
I began slowly, wary of my parents’ reaction and a little uncertain of my language skills. I apologized in advance for mistakes I would make.
“You are doing very well,” Uncle Ho said. “You have a question to ask me, I will try to answer it.”
That put me on the spot. If I clammed up now, it would be a great loss of face. The relatives talked a lot about that.
What I really wanted to know was how he had gotten to be a Gambling Master, but I sure couldn’t start off with that.
“I was wondering where you lived when you were my age. And what sort of things did you do?”
“And you are how old?”
“I’m sixteen.”
Uncle Ho nodded. “We lived in Shanghai then. I also went to school. I was studying mathematics, but my family was poor and I needed to earn money. I raised crickets. Fighting crickets. I learned how to be a cricket handler and then to manage cricket fights. Many people came. They paid admission and they placed bets. The profits were good.” He stopped there, and I could see he was waiting for my next question.
I wasn’t sure just what to ask. I sure didn’t know anything about crickets, so I went with the obvious. “How did you get interested in crickets?”
He chuckled. “Many children in China have crickets as pets. They are good companions. You can keep them close to you at night and listen to them sing. They are small and fit in a box you can put in your pocket. There are many different kinds of cricket boxes. Some are made from dried gourds, others from bamboo, clay, and fine woods. It is said that the last emperor kept his cricket in a box inlaid with ivory and gold. Antique cricket boxes are collector’s items now.”
We heard a lot more about crickets that night, with Uncle describing a cricket fight. “Fighting crickets are very aggressive,” he said. “When two rivals enter an arena, they will jump at each other’s heads, biting sharply, until one is vanquished.”
I heard my parents leave for work the next morning and rolled over, looking forward to sleeping in. It was spring break. Then I remembered Uncle Ho. I set my alarm to sleep another hour.
When I got up I saw that my mother had slipped a note under my door. “Try to find out when the rest of Uncle Ho’s group is supposed to arrive, and what hotel he will be staying at. I’ll try to get home early, but it won’t be before five. Dad and I are driving in together, so you can use my car. You might want to take Uncle Ho on a little sight-seeing tour.”
Uncle Ho’s door was closed when I headed downstairs, but he heard me and opened the door.
“Hi, Uncle Ho. How about some breakfast?”
“I would like to show you something first.” He motioned me into the room.
He had slept in the twin bed close to the window. The quilt was neatly folded back. But it was the other bed that got my attention. Two birdcages sat on top of the bedspread.
I had understood him. “It flies like a bird even when the bird is not there.”
“I will need your help,” he said. “I must find a shop that sells birds.”
Okay. What’s a birdcage without a bird?
“The name of the shop is Fragrant Hills,” Uncle Ho said.
It just so happened I knew the shop. It was in a strip mall nextto a computer store where I’d had a summer job last year. A Chinese woman owned it.
“Fragrant Hills. I know where it is. But you just got here. How come you know about it?”
He smiled. “I will tell you when we get there.”
Okay. He wanted to be mysterious.
My mother had set two places at the breakfast table and left English muffins out on the counter, along with a bowl of fruit and a canister of tea. I turned on the kettle and reached into the fridge for milk and a carton of eggs. I thought I’d scramble some and toast the muffins. I told Uncle Ho what I had in mind.
“I will have whatever you have, but only a small portion,” he said.
He walked to the window then and looked outside, squinting. “The sun is very bright. It makes the sky look very big.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way, but he was right. Nevada has big skies.
Over breakfast I tried the same thing I did the night before, only this time I asked him about birds, not crickets.
“When I was a small boy in Shanghai, I liked to go to the bird market with my grandfather. He kept his birds in the bamboo houses you saw upstairs. He was very old and I often went with him when he took them for a walk.”
“What do you mean, took them for a walk?”
Uncle Ho chuckled. “I will show you when we go outside.”
Breakfast didn’t take long and we left the house by the side door. Uncle Ho had a birdcage in each hand, held by the rings at the top of their domes. He grinned at me and set out past the garage door for a stroll down the driveway and back, swinging the cages at his sides. “Birds like the air. It makes them think they are free.”
We got into the Toyota then and I set out for the store named Fragrant Hills. I’d looked it up in the yellow pages to be sure it was still there. Small businesses in Vegas come and go.
There were no customers in the shop when we arrived, but with all the twitters and birdcalls it was a lively place. All kindsof birds were flitting about in large and small cages, and in mini-aviaries suspended from the ceiling. Along one side there were shelves stacked with boxes of birdseed and whatever else people might want to buy for their birds.
At the far end of the shop a woman was seated behind a counter. She reminded me of one of my older aunts, who had been a dancer, and wore her hair the same way, pulled back from her face into a knot high on the top of her head.
The woman was bent over a ledger, a pen in her hand, but looked up when we entered. She stared at Uncle Ho uncertainly and then a look of disbelief moved like a wave across her face. Her hand flew to her mouth, suppressing a cry.
Uncle Ho placed the birdcages on the counter and leaned toward her. She was transfixed as he began to speak. His voice was soft and tentative at first and then gathered speed in a waterfall of words. Her hands rose to her throat and a whisper of wonder passed her lips. “Ho,” I heard her say, again and again throughout their exchange, but I understood nothing else of what they said to each other. They spoke in a dialect that was strange to me.
Uncle Ho moved one of the birdcages close to her and she reached for it, clasping it with both hands. Beginning at its dome, she ran her fingers over its intricate webbing, feeling her way, until she reached the base. There she paused and began to explore in detail. She seemed to find what she was looking for, and I saw her ease one small finger between two narrow bamboo struts. She looked up at Uncle Ho. He nodded. She pressed down hard. A drawer sprang open.
A shallow cry escaped her and she bent her head to stare at the contents of the drawer. When she looked up, there was a mixture of wonder and fear in her eyes. Frantically, she pressed her finger down again. The drawer closed, hiding what was there. What I had seen looked like a collection of dried-up brown peas.
I stepped aside to let her by as she ran from behind the counter, headed for the front door. She bolted it and pulled down the shade.
I looked questioningly at Uncle Ho. A smile was playing at the corners of his eyes. “Madam Jia has put up a sign saying the shop is closed. Her home is behind that curtain. She has invited us to go there.”