Lunch came with a greeting.
The Usual Window
Every morning, Mei waved to the man in the upstairs window.
She did not know his name. He did not know hers. They knew that she pushed a food cart along the street just before lunch, and that he usually stood at the window with a cup in his hand.
On Monday, he raised the cup.
On Tuesday, he raised one hand.
On Wednesday, he had both hands around the cup, so he nodded.
Mei liked the nod. It was very serious, as though he had been waiting all morning to approve her arrival.
On Thursday, he waved a piece of paper.
Mei waved back.
He waved the paper again, more vigorously this time.
“Good morning!” she called.
He pointed at the paper.
“Oh,” said Mei.
There was writing on it. From the street, she could see four dark lines, but she could not read a single word.
She pointed to her cart and lifted the lid of the pot. A cloud of steam rose into the air.
The man shook his head.
“Not hungry?” Mei called.
He shook his head again, then disappeared from the window.
“That’s all right,” Mei told the pot. “We have other customers.”
She replaced the lid and rolled the cart towards her usual place beneath the awning.
A Message Upstairs
Mei had just served her first bowl when the window opened again.
The man held up another piece of paper. This one had only two lines of writing, but the letters were still too small.
Mei squinted.
Mrs Sato, who had come for lunch, turned to look.
“Can you read it?” Mei asked.
Mrs Sato adjusted her glasses. “Something about a red hat.”
“The paper?”
“The sign beside the window.”
Mei followed her gaze. The sign belonged to the tailor downstairs. A red hat was indeed displayed on it, along with several other items the tailor was willing to mend.
The man tapped on the glass and pointed down.
Mei looked at her shoes. One lace had come undone.
“Thank you!” she called, and bent to tie it.
When she stood up, he was shaking his head again.
Mrs Sato took her bowl and moved under the awning. “Perhaps he means the other shoe.”
Mei checked. That lace was tied perfectly well.
The man disappeared once more.
“He’ll need a larger piece of paper,” said Mrs Sato.
The Loose Lantern
A few minutes later, the tailor’s door opened, and the man from upstairs came out.
He carried the paper and wore an expression Mei had not seen from the street. It was less serious than the nod, though he was slightly out of breath.
“I couldn’t make you hear,” he said.
“I thought you might be ordering lunch.”
“I was trying to tell you about your lantern.”
Mei turned. The red lantern hanging from the side of the cart had slipped. One end of its cord was caught around the hook; the other swung loose whenever the cart moved.
“Oh,” she said. “That would have been a difficult order to write.”
The man showed her the paper. Beneath the words was a drawing of the cart and a round lantern with a very long arrow pointing at it.
“I drew the arrow after you lifted the pot lid,” he said.
“I thought the steam might help you see what was cooking.”
“I could see it. It looked very good.”
Mei held the lantern while he threaded the cord through the hook. His first knot came apart when he let go.
“I mend clothes,” he said. “Usually things stay still for me.”
“I cook lunch. Usually my knots stay where I put them.”
Between them, they managed a second knot. Mei gave the lantern a gentle push. It swung once and stayed in place.
Mrs Sato raised her chopsticks in approval.
The man looked at the pot. “Is there enough for one more?”
“Of course.”
Mei filled a bowl and passed it to him. He took it carefully, warming his hands against the sides.
“I’ve wondered what it smelled like from downstairs,” he said.
“Why haven’t you come before?”
“By the time I take my lunch break, you’ve usually gone.”
Mei glanced at the clock above the tailor’s door. She had another stop to make, then an errand at the market. If she went to the market first tomorrow, she could come back along this street a little later.
She did not mention it yet. She wanted to make sure the market would be open.
A Later Hello
The next morning, Mei went to the market first.
By the time she turned onto the tailor’s street, the sun had moved beyond the awning. The upstairs window was open, but no one stood behind it.
She slowed the cart.
The tailor’s door opened, and the man came out carrying his cup. In his other hand was a large sheet of paper.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.”
He held up the paper. On it, in letters that filled the page, he had written:
HELLO
Mei laughed. “I can read that from here.”
“I practised making the letters bigger.”
“You could have saved the paper. You’re standing right in front of me.”
“I wasn’t sure what time you’d come.”
He showed her the other side. There was a second message:
THE LANTERN LOOKS FINE
Mei checked it anyway. The knot was holding.
“Would you like lunch?” she asked.
“Yes, please. I’ve had time to think about my order.”
While Mei filled his bowl, he folded the paper and set it beside the cart. A corner slipped under one of the wheels.
He bent to pull it free.
“Careful,” Mei said. “That might be useful again.”
He smoothed the paper against the cart. “I could add something on the other side.”
“There isn’t another side.”
He looked at both faces of the sheet.
“I’ll need more paper, then.”
Mei handed him his lunch. He took the bowl in both hands and gave her a serious nod.
She returned it, just as seriously, before lifting the lid for the next customer.
Leave a Reply