“Is this a Rolls-Royce?” Weng asked, pushing buttons.

“Don’t touch, Mr. Fun, please.”

“My father loved cars,” said Weng. “He was blind

but would have put his hands on everything—
taken things apart even.”

Although Mr. Yi was a solitary person who rarely enjoyed the
company of other people, there was something about the
vegetable seller he liked, and surprised himself by going into
detail about his humble roots in Guanshan village (Hunan
Province), where he was raised on a pig farm.

“My father was just like yours,” Mr. Yi insisted.
“Always inventing things. . . .”

“Yes,” Weng said. “Mine was always doing something.”

“Mine too,” Mr. Yi said, “Once he even built
a ten-foot-high platform

above the river that flowed near our farm.
Every morning he would launch

pigs off the highest plank into the water
because he thought it boosted appetite.”

“Whose appetite?” Weng asked.

“The pigs’ of course, Mr. Fun.”