This Old Man Read Free Page A

demands a lot,” sighed Wing.
    â€œDoes he usually get whatever he wants?”
    â€œAlways. Do you have a grandfather?” Wing seemed to want assurance that all grandfathers were tyrants.
    I wasn’t sure how to answer. My mother’s father lived in North Dakota and hadn’t spoken to us since my mother went into her present line of work. That’s pretty tyrannical behavior from 1,500 miles away. My father’s father was unknown; like father, like son, as they say. I decided to answer no, no grand father . If anything, Wing looked envious.
    â€œI wouldn’t mind having a grandfather,” I said.
    â€œI don’t have an extra one. And I don’t think the one I’ve got is going to live much longer,” said Wing.
    â€œBut he’s been in the hospital for weeks. Why isn’t he getting any better?”
    â€œHard to explain,” Wing said, with his finger pressed to his chin. “Old Man has no confidence in the foreign doctor.”
    â€œI can’t believe there’s not a Chinese doctor in that hospital. He’s in Chinese Hospital, in Chinatown. Is this, or is this not, Chinatown?”
    â€œSure, he has a Chinese doctor, but the doctor practices modern Western medicine. Old Man refuses to get better. He calls the foreign doctor a turtle.”
    â€œWhy? Does the doctor creep around?”
    â€œNo, his fingers fly over Old Man’s flesh. But Old Man calls him turtle because this is the worst insult he can think of. Turtles are revolting to the classical Chinese mind. I remind him that the turtle also symbolizes longevity, and maybe the doctor is preserving his life, but Old Man means the other kind of turtle.”
    â€œI’d be furious, if I were that doctor.”
    â€œOld Man would probably feel better if the doctor did get mad. But he doesn’t understand what Old Man says, and he doesn’t know about turtles. That makes my grandfather even madder.”
    The cable car jerked to a stop, with its tail hanging off a steep hill. People rushed on and off. We stood up and put the basket back down on the floor. A woman yanking a small cranky child came between Wing and me. I stepped on the little girl’s foot, but she didn’t dare say a word, because she had tromped on mine first. “You brat,” I muttered. She gave me a very ugly look. I said to Wing, “You must have lots of patience,” to which the mother replied, “You have no idea, no idea.”
    â€œSure I have patience,” Wing said, stepping in front of the mother. “I’m the first son of the first son.” He seemed to think this would explain everything.
    Fortunately, he was talking to the right person. I remembered from my feasting on Pearl Buck’s books that the birth of a son was a prized event, a festival in the life of a Chinese family. It must have been all the more prized in Wing’s family, because Old Man was pretty old when his first son was born. But what if Wing had been a girl? (What if I had been a boy? How would that have affected Hackey’s enterprise?) “Would you be the one taking Old Man his dinner if you’d been a girl, Wing?”
    â€œNo! My first brother would have the honor. In Chinese custom, a son is called Ten Thousand Pieces of Gold. A daughter is only One Thousand Pieces of Gold. Of course, I don’t believe that myself,” Wing said hurriedly. “But we would never send One Thousand Pieces to Old Man.”
    â€œHe’s a male chauvinist pig,” I bellowed, stamping my foot.
    â€œMomma! She stepped on me.”
    The mother winked at me apologetically. She held half a dozen packages by string. The little girl didn’t carry a thing. She was too busy tugging at her underpants.
    â€œYes, he’s a male chauvinist,” Wing whispered. “It’s his way. Here, let’s get off and walk the rest of the way.”
    We pushed toward the exit and jumped off as the