Buster and his regulars at the Sweet and Sour.
“Now listen up.” Buster hushed his rowdy friends, including four women sitting at the table beside him. “Madeline asked why the East Wind position is so significant in the game and I was telling her about Noah. East had been the prevailing wind during the great storm that caused the GreatFlood.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
“And thus—”
“Yes, tell us, Professor,” Verushka said, and then took a long swig, draining her pink cocktail. She had quite a thirst for gin.
“…Thus, the East Wind became the dominant seat in playing the game. This theory would suggest that the game would date back to around 2350 B.C.”
“Fascinating,” I said.
I admit it. Half the time I say stuff like this just to get a rise out of Quita. Not very nice of me. Must work on this.
As each of the players grabbed their tiles, taking turns dealing themselves four tiles at a time, Buster continued. “Another very interesting story suggests that Confucius, the great Chinese philosopher, developed the game about 500 B.C. The appearance of the game in various Chinese provinces coincides with Confucius’s travels at the time he was teaching his new doctrines. The three Dragon tiles also coincide with the three cardinal virtues taught by Confucius: Chung the Red, which stands for achievement, Fa the Green for prosperity, and Po the White means sincerity. Confucius was said to be fond of birds, which would explain the name mah-jongg, which means sparrow.”
“Strictly translated, mah-jongg means ‘hemp bird,’” Trey clarified.
Both Quita and Verushka giggled.
While Buster had been speaking, the foursome grabbed new tiles and picked up others’ discarded tiles with a wild and thrilling speed, accompanied by the rhythmic clicking of tiles as they hit the table. In front of each player, a trifolded plastic card displayed the combinations that made up the year’s official premium hands.
All of the teasing and kibitzing around the tables suddenly brought back to mind vivid memories. Heather Lieberman, whom I hadn’t thought of in years. Childhood sleepovers at my best friend’s house. She lived with her grandma in a modest fifties split-level suburban tract home. I was over there all the time in fifth and sixth grade. I rememberhow we would creep silently along the upstairs hallway in Heather’s grandma’s house. In the late evenings, we were expected to be up in Heather’s yellow room, if not sleeping, then at least in bed, giggling, gossiping, and hiding our laughter under the sunflower comforters. But on Friday nights, we used to make a break for it. We would sneak to the top of the steps, careful not to make the top one squeak, to watch her grandmother play maj with the gals. At ten years old, we were preteen Mata Haris.
I remember those nights with such fondness. Heather and I would hide in the darkness, sitting still in our long Lanz flannel nighties on the top step, just out of eyesight of Rose Lieberman and the mah-jongg ladies. We’d eavesdrop, listening to the older women laugh and mildly swear to the accompaniment of the swift and expert clicking of the tiles. I remembered catching whiffs of Chanel No. 5. I remember the flicker of the Sterno candle, which was lit beneath Rose’s polished silver chafing dish, its task to keep warm the cocktail weenies in a thick sweet barbecue sauce. I remember feeling safe among the nearby sounds of adult female camaraderie.
“Dead hand.” Verushka pushed back her chair. The others at her table grumbled that Buster would remain East and began, again, to shuffle the tiles.
At the door to the game room, right on schedule, Holly arrived with the Dim Sum cart, ready to begin serving. We had discussed with Dubin earlier the possibility of serving an authentic Chinese banquet, but he resisted. He didn’t want to slow down the MJ action with a heavy meal. And we agreed Dim Sum would suit the crowd nicely, despite the unconventional
“Now listen up.” Buster hushed his rowdy friends, including four women sitting at the table beside him. “Madeline asked why the East Wind position is so significant in the game and I was telling her about Noah. East had been the prevailing wind during the great storm that caused the GreatFlood.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
“And thus—”
“Yes, tell us, Professor,” Verushka said, and then took a long swig, draining her pink cocktail. She had quite a thirst for gin.
“…Thus, the East Wind became the dominant seat in playing the game. This theory would suggest that the game would date back to around 2350 B.C.”
“Fascinating,” I said.
I admit it. Half the time I say stuff like this just to get a rise out of Quita. Not very nice of me. Must work on this.
As each of the players grabbed their tiles, taking turns dealing themselves four tiles at a time, Buster continued. “Another very interesting story suggests that Confucius, the great Chinese philosopher, developed the game about 500 B.C. The appearance of the game in various Chinese provinces coincides with Confucius’s travels at the time he was teaching his new doctrines. The three Dragon tiles also coincide with the three cardinal virtues taught by Confucius: Chung the Red, which stands for achievement, Fa the Green for prosperity, and Po the White means sincerity. Confucius was said to be fond of birds, which would explain the name mah-jongg, which means sparrow.”
“Strictly translated, mah-jongg means ‘hemp bird,’” Trey clarified.
Both Quita and Verushka giggled.
While Buster had been speaking, the foursome grabbed new tiles and picked up others’ discarded tiles with a wild and thrilling speed, accompanied by the rhythmic clicking of tiles as they hit the table. In front of each player, a trifolded plastic card displayed the combinations that made up the year’s official premium hands.
All of the teasing and kibitzing around the tables suddenly brought back to mind vivid memories. Heather Lieberman, whom I hadn’t thought of in years. Childhood sleepovers at my best friend’s house. She lived with her grandma in a modest fifties split-level suburban tract home. I was over there all the time in fifth and sixth grade. I rememberhow we would creep silently along the upstairs hallway in Heather’s grandma’s house. In the late evenings, we were expected to be up in Heather’s yellow room, if not sleeping, then at least in bed, giggling, gossiping, and hiding our laughter under the sunflower comforters. But on Friday nights, we used to make a break for it. We would sneak to the top of the steps, careful not to make the top one squeak, to watch her grandmother play maj with the gals. At ten years old, we were preteen Mata Haris.
I remember those nights with such fondness. Heather and I would hide in the darkness, sitting still in our long Lanz flannel nighties on the top step, just out of eyesight of Rose Lieberman and the mah-jongg ladies. We’d eavesdrop, listening to the older women laugh and mildly swear to the accompaniment of the swift and expert clicking of the tiles. I remembered catching whiffs of Chanel No. 5. I remember the flicker of the Sterno candle, which was lit beneath Rose’s polished silver chafing dish, its task to keep warm the cocktail weenies in a thick sweet barbecue sauce. I remember feeling safe among the nearby sounds of adult female camaraderie.
“Dead hand.” Verushka pushed back her chair. The others at her table grumbled that Buster would remain East and began, again, to shuffle the tiles.
At the door to the game room, right on schedule, Holly arrived with the Dim Sum cart, ready to begin serving. We had discussed with Dubin earlier the possibility of serving an authentic Chinese banquet, but he resisted. He didn’t want to slow down the MJ action with a heavy meal. And we agreed Dim Sum would suit the crowd nicely, despite the unconventional
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