each with one hand resting on the handle of her stroller containing one sleeping kid. I had put in two and a half hours of the “Find Ninon” game and I was fed up with it. I was hungry and on edge. Grumbling to myself, I was leaning over, packing up my stuff and fishing in my pack for a subway token, when a shadow fell across the ground at my feet. I looked up.
It was Ninon. She had a talent for unexpected appearances.
She had traded the military outfit for jeans and a bleached-out long-sleeved shirt with a row of little flowers embroidered above the pockets. Her hair was loosely gathered behind her neck with a bit of string, her skin pale, her eyes dark with fatigue.
“What’s new?” she said.
“Where have you been?” I blurted, not caring how unfriendly I sounded.
She frowned. “If we’re going to be friends you won’t ask me things like that.”
I stood and shrugged into my backpack. “Are we?”
“Are we what?”
Throwing up my arms in frustration, I snapped, “Going to be friends!”
She took a step back. “We shook hands, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, right. Didn’t mean much, did it? Look, if you don’t want me around you, just say so and put me out of my misery. This is driving me nuts.”
She looked past me at something, then at my face.
“I do want you around,” she said.
Shock displaced my frustration.
“Don’t look at me like I tried to sell you a watch with no hands, okay? Let’s start over.” She held out her hand. “Hi, my name is Ninon.”
I didn’t take her hand. I said nothing.
“And you are?” she urged.
“Confused,” I replied, slipping my hand into hers and holding it for a moment. “And hungry. Do you like spicy food?”
Mrs.—Mama—Zhu’s round, passive face showed no reaction when I showed up at the restaurant with Ninon.
“Eat in, please, Mama Zhu,” I said, beating her to the punch and leading Ninon to a table.
Ninon looked around at the faded prints of tigers andpeonies and fish tacked to the drab walls, and ignored the slurps coming from the table behind her, where a man sat hunched over his noodles. She fingered the white plastic film of the throwaway table covering. One corner—the right—of her mouth turned up in an ironic half-smile.
“You know how to show a girl a good time, don’t you?” she said.
“I can recommend the soup. Or fried noodles. Anything else is new territory.”
Ninon studied the card that she’d pulled from between the bottles of soy sauce and chili, then handed it to me.
“Can you help me with this?”
The entire menu was in Chinese.
“What do you feel like? I’m sure Mama Zhu can help us.”
Fifteen minutes later there were three steaming platters of food between us, all served by Mama Zhu herself.
“She likes you,” Ninon observed when Mama Zhu had returned to her stool behind the counter.
“What makes you say that?”
“I can tell.”
Ninon ate like someone who’d been waiting a long time for a decent meal, and I kept right up with her. We didn’t talk much.
“Fantastic,” she said when we sat back, unable to pack away even one more spoonful of chicken with peanuts, vegetables with oyster sauce, or Szechuan shrimp. “My mouth feels like it’s on fire.”
“Great, isn’t it?”
“Do you eat like this every day?”
“No.”
“Well, thanks for bringing me here.”
“No problem. We can come here again any time you want.”
She looked at her watch. Oh-oh, I thought. Here it comes.
“I have to go,” she said. “But I’m not running off this time. I really do have to be somewhere.”
“And I shouldn’t ask where.”
A smile was her reply.
“And you meant what you said? Before, at the park?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I replied. I gathered what courage I could find and took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing. I think we should spend the day together on Sunday. The weather forecast says sunny and hot. We can go to Centre Island for the day. Lie on the beach. Swim.
It was Ninon. She had a talent for unexpected appearances.
She had traded the military outfit for jeans and a bleached-out long-sleeved shirt with a row of little flowers embroidered above the pockets. Her hair was loosely gathered behind her neck with a bit of string, her skin pale, her eyes dark with fatigue.
“What’s new?” she said.
“Where have you been?” I blurted, not caring how unfriendly I sounded.
She frowned. “If we’re going to be friends you won’t ask me things like that.”
I stood and shrugged into my backpack. “Are we?”
“Are we what?”
Throwing up my arms in frustration, I snapped, “Going to be friends!”
She took a step back. “We shook hands, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, right. Didn’t mean much, did it? Look, if you don’t want me around you, just say so and put me out of my misery. This is driving me nuts.”
She looked past me at something, then at my face.
“I do want you around,” she said.
Shock displaced my frustration.
“Don’t look at me like I tried to sell you a watch with no hands, okay? Let’s start over.” She held out her hand. “Hi, my name is Ninon.”
I didn’t take her hand. I said nothing.
“And you are?” she urged.
“Confused,” I replied, slipping my hand into hers and holding it for a moment. “And hungry. Do you like spicy food?”
Mrs.—Mama—Zhu’s round, passive face showed no reaction when I showed up at the restaurant with Ninon.
“Eat in, please, Mama Zhu,” I said, beating her to the punch and leading Ninon to a table.
Ninon looked around at the faded prints of tigers andpeonies and fish tacked to the drab walls, and ignored the slurps coming from the table behind her, where a man sat hunched over his noodles. She fingered the white plastic film of the throwaway table covering. One corner—the right—of her mouth turned up in an ironic half-smile.
“You know how to show a girl a good time, don’t you?” she said.
“I can recommend the soup. Or fried noodles. Anything else is new territory.”
Ninon studied the card that she’d pulled from between the bottles of soy sauce and chili, then handed it to me.
“Can you help me with this?”
The entire menu was in Chinese.
“What do you feel like? I’m sure Mama Zhu can help us.”
Fifteen minutes later there were three steaming platters of food between us, all served by Mama Zhu herself.
“She likes you,” Ninon observed when Mama Zhu had returned to her stool behind the counter.
“What makes you say that?”
“I can tell.”
Ninon ate like someone who’d been waiting a long time for a decent meal, and I kept right up with her. We didn’t talk much.
“Fantastic,” she said when we sat back, unable to pack away even one more spoonful of chicken with peanuts, vegetables with oyster sauce, or Szechuan shrimp. “My mouth feels like it’s on fire.”
“Great, isn’t it?”
“Do you eat like this every day?”
“No.”
“Well, thanks for bringing me here.”
“No problem. We can come here again any time you want.”
She looked at her watch. Oh-oh, I thought. Here it comes.
“I have to go,” she said. “But I’m not running off this time. I really do have to be somewhere.”
“And I shouldn’t ask where.”
A smile was her reply.
“And you meant what you said? Before, at the park?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I replied. I gathered what courage I could find and took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing. I think we should spend the day together on Sunday. The weather forecast says sunny and hot. We can go to Centre Island for the day. Lie on the beach. Swim.
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