Chapter Nineteen

疾风知劲草

A storm tests the strength of a blade of grass

FEBRUARY 18, 2020, EARLY MORNING

I wake before dawn and wait impatiently for sunrise. It’s a few hours until I can go to the kitchen to see Aunty. Still shaken from the incident last night, I think of Juan’s visit and feel better. I must have dozed off, because when I open my eyes, streaks of sunlight pierce through my lacy white curtains.

“Food, food, Chinese food! Wok, wok, iron wok. Stir, stir, stir-fry!”

“Aunty! I’ve been trying to reach you!” I shout into the phone. “Something happened . . .”

“I already know. Are you okay, Little Apple?” she asks.

“How do you know? I’m scared.”

“The mayor had an emergency meeting last night with the community leaders. He briefed us about what happened in your neighborhood. Don’t be scared. I’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen.”

“I’ll be right there!” I jump out of bed, get myself ready, and rush out the door.

As I walk through the courtyard, I feel a strange sensation of being watched. I look around and see eyes peeking from behind window curtains.

“Hmph! Hmph!” A large man with protruding eyes loudly clears his throat at me from his second-floor window.

My scalp tingles. I speed up toward the gate. Do they think I will bring the virus back? Should I not be going out right now? If so, Aunty would have told me, wouldn’t she? How did Red Sweater Girl’s mother get infected?

The sky grows overcast. The last few leaves hang on trees that line the streets, refusing to separate from the branches like stubborn kids that won’t let go of monkey bars. The chilly wind rubs my forehead and the air smells of smoke. On cold days like this, the well-off families warm their apartments with electric space heaters, while others burn coal.

The moment I step into the steamy kitchen, the rich aroma of ribs and seaweed soup puts my heart at ease. I look around but don’t see Aunty. Jing and Yi are sitting on small, green plastic stools in front of a bamboo basket filled with muddy carrots.

“Morning, Mei!” Yi’s face lights up when he sees me. Like Jing, he wears a blue tracksuit.

“Morning! I have something for you!” I hand Jing a copy of my kitchen manual.

Yi cranes his neck and reads it over Jing’s shoulder, still holding a peeler and a muddy carrot.

“Oh, we should wash the carrots before we peel them? Aiyo! Why didn’t we think of that?” Yi exclaims.

“This is great. Thank you, Mei!” Jing takes the carrot from Yi and puts it back into the basket.

“What’s that?” Chef Ma calls out from the middle of the kitchen, setting a bowl of big yellow pears on the workstation next to the stove.

“Mei wrote a kitchen manual for us,” says Jing.

I bring the other copy over to Chef Ma, who is now peeling a pear with a small knife. In a few seconds, the skin comes off in one long, curly ribbon in his hands. I hope one day I can master that skill.

Last week, Dangshan, a county of Anhui Province famous for its fruit, donated five boxes of pears. Chef Ma has been making nourishing pear soup, cooked with goji berries, lotus seeds, and rock sugar ever since. He says it moistens the lungs and eliminates phlegm.

He puts the pear into a big pot, rubs his hands on his apron, and takes the manual. I hold my breath and wait, wishing I spent time revising it.

Suddenly, Chef Ma bursts out laughing. “Nice job, Mei! I like this. Don’t add water to a pan with hot oil.”

“What’s nice?” Aunty appears, holding her bag and phone.

“Mei wrote this kitchen manual.” Chef Ma lifts up the paper to show Aunty. “This could be very useful for all the newcomers.”

Aunty pats my shoulder and says, “Good job, Little Apple! I have to go to a meeting now. Let’s talk when I get back.”

Blushing, I nod and spot her chin-length hair hanging limp around her face. It looks as if she hasn’t styled it for days.

As usual, it’s a hectic day in the kitchen. I flutter from one task to another. After Yi and Jing wash and peel the carrots, Chef Ma asks me to show them how to cut them while he cooks the rice.

I first explain the safety procedures Chef Ma taught me, then I demonstrate how to dice a carrot: trim off the top, slice it lengthwise into planks, slice the planks into sticks, bundle the sticks, and cut them into a half-inch cubes. When I look up, the boys are exchanging confused glances. Chef Ma must see their expressions. He tells them to beat eggs and asks me to finish cutting the vegetables.

While Chef Ma heats oil in the giant wok, I pour in the beaten eggs. When the eggs puff up, Chef Ma pushes them to the side with his spatula. I quickly dump in the chopped carrots, green onion, and cooked rice. My hunger intensifies as the mouth-watering smell of rice, carrots, sesame oil, and eggs swirls in the air.

Yi and Jing hover around the wok, sniffing loudly through their masks.

“Can I have the leftovers? Just a spoonful?” Jing asks.

“You will have to fight me to get it,” says Yi.

Chef Ma laughs. “After we pack the to-go meals, I can cook us more.”

We first pack the food for the frontline medical workers and then for the Phoenix Group. Even with the additional orders from the neighbors, we still have enough left over for all of us.

At lunchtime, I keep thinking of the angry eyes in my neighbors’ windows. I want to ask Aunty what will happen if I or someone else in my building gets sick. What will I do if they seal the gate of our complex? My thoughts jump to Red Sweater Girl. Does she have the virus? Can she cook? I decide to pack an extra meal for her. Aunty returns just as I’m ready to leave.

“Little Apple.” She walks over to me and puts a handful of my favorite White Rabbit candies in my pocket. “These are for later.”

“Thanks, Aunty.” I notice I haven’t smelled her peony moisturizer for a while. Has she been too busy to put it on? I look up at her tired eyes and decide not to ask my questions now.

As if reading my mind, Aunty says, “Don’t worry, Mei. If you follow the safety procedures, you should be okay. I will call to check on you tonight.”

I hesitate, then ask the question that has been troubling me the most. “What’s going to happen to the people locked inside the building?”

Aunty darts her eyes to the window and says, “The city will take care of them. After fourteen days, they can come out.” She pauses, and then says, “It’s best for everyone.”

She helps me put on my backpack and walks me to the door. “Text me when you get home.”

I nod and dash out of the kitchen. It’s our neighborhood grocery delivery day. I am eager to get back to help Mrs. Fong and Juan. When I turn on my phone, WeChat messages from the Phoenix Group pour in.

Steamer:

Everyone loves the egg fried rice!

Ming:

My grandma says it’s the best egg fried rice she’s ever had! It’s the most she has eaten since coming home from the hospital.

Hong:

Can we practice cooking it in Chop Chop tonight?

I beam with pride and wonder if the rice will finally make Mr. Chen smile. Last night, when I left him steamed buns stuffed with pork and cabbage, he WeChatted me his usual dry thank-you and said he has hated cabbage since he was a little boy.

“Food, food, Chinese food! Wok, wok, iron wok. Stir, stir, stir-fry!”

“Hi, Juan, I’m on my way home.”

“Hurry! Something terrible is happening!”

“What?”

“It’s Mrs. Fong.”