At a normal meal, the guest was the main character. They would wipe their mouth with a napkin and elegantly say to their companion, “That was delicious.” But Chinese cuisine was something else entirely. The food was the main character in Chinese meals as its explosive flavors took people for a ride. Szechuan cuisine, which featured a tongue-numbing seasoning called mala, was a prime example.
“Oh no, what do I do? I’m sweating, but it’s so good I can’t stop,” said Marie.
“Here, I’ll help you take your top off,” I offered.
“Oh, thank you. Maybe I didn’t need to dress so warmly after all. I can’t believe I was chilly just a minute ago from all that rain.”
I helped her remove her knitted outerwear from behind, and she was left with her collared shirt and long, chocolate-colored skirt. She seemed to feel better now that she had cooled down and sighed out of relief. Her face was pink, and her complexion had improved from when we started eating.
Marie then picked her spoon up and took a big bite of fried rice. She looked full of life, eyes full of joy and sweat rolling down her face. I liked watching her eat and wondered if I was alone in feeling this way. Her pale skin had turned more red, and there were beads of sweat on her face and neck. I offered her a handkerchief as she continued munching away and moved her face closer. So, I wiped it for her.
“Thank you. All of the spices are making me warm and sweaty. I love how interesting authentic Chinese food is,” she said, then took a sip of Chinese tea. The refreshing tea washed down any excess oil in her mouth, resetting her palate for the next bite.
“The chefs must be fantastic at handling oil,” I mused. “I feel like they’ve researched the best ways of cooking meat, whether frying or grilling.”
She took a bite of gyoza, and the runny mixture of pork fat and vegetable juices filled her mouth. The chop suey’s crispiness and flavor soon followed, leaving a fragrant aftertaste of sesame oil.
“Mmm,” she beamed, taking in the abundant flavor and spices.
Kaoruko had been quietly watching her and took a sip of tea before saying, “I never expected you to be such a big eater. This braised skin-on pork belly is tasty too.”
“Oh, I’d love some! Wow, it looks so yummy!” said Marie, her purple eyes alight with glee.
The braised pork belly was full of flavor, and there was a luster to the tender fatty parts. Just seeing it made one want to devour it right away, but it was out of Marie’s reach. It was now time to show Marie why we were sitting at a table that spins.
“Here, you can spin the table like this,” I said, demonstrating for her.
“Ah! Is that what it’s for? It feels so lazy. But it will take more than that to surprise me.”
I thought it would’ve surprised her for sure. So I asked her why, and she answered as she used her chopsticks to put some pieces of pork on her plate.
“Because if I had been eating in ancient China, I would have realized it would be easier to reach for dishes if the table could spin. So this doesn’t surprise me, and now I get some tasty braised pork,” she said, then put a piece of pork in her mouth.
Maybe it was the Shaoxing wine we had been drinking, but her response made the entire table laugh out loud. The restaurant felt so noisy when we first came in, and we soon became a part of the lively clamor.
I exhaled and could tell I was warmer than usual, a hint of sweet alcohol in my breath. As I picked up my Shaoxing wine, I felt that the chaos from earlier in the night was starting to calm down. Our table was quieter now that the ladies had left their seats to go to the restroom.
When I tipped the cup of amber-colored wine into my mouth, I thought it had been a while since I’d gone out for a drink. Just then, Toru moved closer to me while glancing around. From the look in his eyes, I wondered if he had invited us to dinner because he wanted to discuss whatever he was about to bring up.
“You know, Koto Ward has the second-highest population of foreign people next to Shinjuku,” he said. “But did you know that most of them are Asians, like Chinese and Korean people, and there are barely any Westerners like Mariabelle-chan?”
“Now that you mention it, I don’t see many other than tourists,” I replied.
I ordered another bottle of wine, then Toru poured me the rest of the bottle we were drinking from. Although I gratefully drank more, I was a bit nervous since I felt he was about to ask me about Marie.
“That’s why I thought it was so nice that she learned such proper Japanese,” he added. “I figured either you’re a great teacher, or she must have really wanted to talk to you in your language.”
“She was always a smart one. So, what is it you’re getting at?” I asked, being more direct than usual because of my nerves.
He smiled. “This is just my intuition speaking, but she doesn’t have Japanese citizenship, does she?”
I took another sip of my drink to cover my thumping heart. The drink had a sweetness to it that left a faint sting in my nose, and the high alcohol content wasn’t enough to distract my racing mind. Toru continued smiling, even as his gaze had an air of seriousness.
“Seven months is too long for a homestay program. They’re about two to three months at best. She hasn’t even been going to school in the first place. Besides, there’s no way she would’ve chosen to homestay with a single man in his condo,” he said.
I acknowledged he was right. Claiming that she was a relative from overseas staying over for a homestay program was a terrible idea. I already knew that, but it left me speechless when he laid it out so bluntly.
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he continued. “I love that you two are friends with my wife, and I want to help you. Or maybe I’m just too curious for my own good.”
He smiled again. I realized there was no hint of hostility directed at me, and the tension in my shoulders relaxed. I finally exhaled what I held in and waited for his next words.
“There are a lot of people without citizenship in Japan right now, and there are some cases where refugees get accepted. I don’t know the details, but your situation is somewhat similar. So, I’m guessing your story about her being your relative is fake.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond because it seemed he had interpreted the situation favorably after seeing how happy Marie had been. Otherwise, he probably would have said something sooner and even contacted a child guidance center. I wasn’t sure if I should tell him the truth, at least partially. If I did, he could offer me help down the line. But I couldn’t tell him about the dream world, so I could only give him half-truths.
While I thought he would continue to watch over us even if I ended the conversation, I would only put off the problem for later and would eventually need to take action. It was a difficult decision I could not make right away, but I knew I should avoid lying to him. Any lie I told would be flimsy under the circumstances, and he would probably see right through it. If I broke his trust, I had to prepare to lose our friendship and return to being strangers.
He told me he had tomorrow off, so he would drink with me for as long as I wanted. There was no ill will in his words, and it made me agonize even harder over my decision.