The Harmony Silk Factory by Tash Aw Page B

before. He felt ill at ease going to smart restaurants. They were too bright for him, too full of movement and voices, and he always felt as if he was being watched as he ate. He had only ever been to restaurants to celebrate the conclusions of particularly large business transactions. This time, he tried to think of the experience as the biggest business venture of his life. Because to him, it was.
    Once Johnny had overcome his initial awkwardness, however, he began to notice how rich and sweet the food tasted. He ate quickly, sinking deliciously into this newfound land of honeyed aromas and silken textures. He was like the rat in the childhood proverb, dropped onto a mountain of fragrant rice grain.
    “The food is good,” he said. She did not know if it was a question or a statement, so she simply nodded, and he returned to his solitary feast.
    Snow watched him feed. She wondered, as she always did when she was sent to meet a new suitor, whether she would be happy with the man before her. She always took it for granted that she would end up as the man’s wife. The choice was not hers, and accepting her fate early would make it less of a shock. So far she had not met anyone with whom she thought she could be happy. Even the superintendent’s son, beautiful though he was, would have been unsuitable as a husband. He was far too inward-looking and concerned with the neatness of his clothes to notice her. Living with him would have been like gazing at the stars. A marriage could not be happy if the husband was prettier than the wife, that much she knew.
    This new man did not bring her much hope either. As she saw it, the problem was not that she considered herself beyond his reach (beautiful wives and ugly husbands often made good matches), but that he did not seem to appreciate that she was at all attractive. For a while she entertained the idea that he had been tragically hurt by the death of a lover. He had a reason for being withdrawn, a sad and compelling story. She looked closely at his face for signs of a life or a love lost. She found him attempting to force an entire black mushroom into his mouth. This particular one was larger than the others, and he was having difficulties. He stretched his mouth sideways like a smiling fish in order to accommodate it; his lips quivered in an attempt to accept the sumptuous gift from the chopsticks. Eventually he succeeded, but then, after a few uncomfortable chews, was forced to spit the mushroom onto his plate. It landed softly on the gravy-soaked rice, and he repeated the whole exercise, this time succeeding easily. His chopsticks immediately reached for another mushroom, and he noticed Snow looking at him. His lips were thick and slicked with grease.
    “The food is good,” he said, raising his eyebrows slightly.
    She nodded, eyes fixed on his lips. No, she thought, there was no love story here. He was not capable of love. It was better that she prepared herself for this now.
    He walked her to the bottom of the steps leading up to her house. All the lights were out, which usually meant that Patti was listening at the darkened window.
    “The evening was enjoyable,” Johnny said. Again, Snow was not sure if this was a question, but all the same she could not bring herself to agree.
    “I am sure I will see you again,” she said, and she went into the house, walking swiftly to her bedroom to avoid her mother’s interrogation. Strangely, she did not hear Patti’s footsteps or the opening or closing of doors. The house was full of a confident, approving silence.
     
     
    SIX MONTHS LATER they were married, after a courtship which, as T.K. would say, was “full of propriety and politeness.” Johnny moved into the Soongs’ house while he searched for a new home for himself and his wife. During this time he revelled in the Soongs’ hospitality, becoming so accustomed to it that he almost believed it was he who was being generous and welcoming: the lavish parties were thrown