Pangs of Love

A t some time or other, my mother's offered to take all the boys on bride safaris in Hong Kong. Ray's the only one to take her up on it, and came back to the States with a Nikon and telephoto lenses and horror stories about pigeon restaurants. He's married to a Catholic girl named Polly, who insisted, probably to get back at her parents for some past sins, on taking his name -- Polly pang. Even Ray tried to dissuade her. Following my example, Bagel has turned my mother down every time. Once after a family dinner, I overheard my mother working on Bagel. She said, "I want to see Hong Kong again before I die. I first went there in i939 because of the Japanese. How proud I'd be returning to old friends with such a fine young son! 'An overseas bandit,' they call you. They line the prettiest girls up for you. Whatever you like. You pick. Take her out. If you don't like her, you try another. Too muchee Chinee girl."

My brother said, "I'm too busy for a wife."

"She cook for you."

"I won't be able to talk to her."

"They're all very modern. They're learning English. If you take a young one, you can teach her yourself."

"I'm already married to my cat."

"Such crazy talk," she said. "What kind of life is that, hugging a cat all the time. She give you babiesP"

"Forget it," he said. "Too much trouble."

"You're killing me," she said. "Soon I'll be lying next to your father. You crazy juk-sing, you do as I say. Before it's too late, marry a Chinese girl who will remember my grave and come with food and spirit money. Left up to you, I'll starve when I'm dead."