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one palm to his chest; his skin was loose and marked with dark freckles, I noticed. His face, too, was dark from the sun and his lips had thinned over the years. He had quite a sharp nose, not big like a foreigner’s but a little pointed. Despite his age, though, he still had strong cheekbones and thick hair.
    “I looked after her until the day she left me. We had just fourteen years together. Not very long, was it?” He continued to stare at me. “How old are you now? Older than fourteen, I know. Sorry, Feng Feng, I forget. But I’d say fourteen years of happiness is preferable to none at all. I am not sure this is a good match for your sister, but what can we do? Just you and me, heh? It is out of our hands.” He laughed wryly.
    “Even if she had a second chance, she probably would not choose any differently anyway. She seems to know little of love or even to be interested in it, but every marriage should have a little love, no matter how many wives a man has.” He chuckled to himself then and I was lost. “She may be treated as a servant by her new family, seen as being there only to bear them heirs. It is probably all my fault for allowing your father to marry your mother. People don’t respect education anymore, now it is only about power and money. After thousands of years suddenly things have changed.”
    He drew a deep breath, one that would transport him back in time—back to happiness.
    “People told me to get another wife but I was not lonely for company, I was lonely for her. Do you understand that? I hope you will . . . one day.”
    He sucked his teeth and sighed a little, hurling a small stone into the river. We watched the ripples spread out and fade back into the river’s current, then walked back to the house.
    T hree days later during another walk in the public gardens we met a young boy fishing by the river. I could not stop looking at him. He had cropped hair and large eyes whose deep brown pupils held a stillness and peace that fascinated me. Grandfather introduced himself to the boy.
    “How is the fishing today?” he asked.
    “It is a good day. This is one of the best places to fish on this stretch of river. You see, in this particular place the fish become transfixed by the sight of the weeping willow branches as they sway in the breeze.” The boy spoke so confidently, I could not stop myself from staring at him. His eyes followed Grandfather’s mouth closely as they spoke together, pupils narrowing in concentration. This was not his dialect but he was determined to express himself. “Sometimes the fish are so mesmerized you can pluck them with your bare hands, straight from the water,” he announced.
    “Really?” Grandfather laughed. “I have worked helping the gardeners here for many years and no one has ever noticed that before. You do not live here in the city, do you?”
    “No, grand-uncle, I live in the countryside.”
    “Are you a fisherman at home?” Grandfather asked him.
    “I’m learning . . . my father is teaching me. But the fish are a lot cleverer at home than in this river. It’s easy here.”
    “What is your name, young man?” Grandfather asked him.
    “My name is Bi, grand-uncle,” he said respectfully.
    With that the boy stepped down from the bank and entered the river. A breeze was blowing across the garden and the branches of the willow tree swayed in time with the ripples in the water. Bi stood very still. After a few minutes a fish swam between his legs. It floated just beneath the surface. Very slowly he slid his hands into the river and cupped them around the fish. He held it momentarily under the water.
    Throughout this, I stood dutifully by Grandfather’s side. I had not been able to stop myself from staring at Bi while he had talked and kept watching as he stood in the river. Suddenly he looked up and threw me the fish. I caught it but it thrashed wildly against my hands and fell back into the river where it swam away. I gasped in shock and