To Touch the Heart

Sunlight stole into the windows of the Liu Family house, casting a long white rectangle of light across the floor and walls of Ying’s bedroom. Ying slept while Ge crawled up one side of his cage and chirped steadily as he faced the bright morning sun.
Another long rectangle of light illuminated the sewing room. As usual, Grandma Mei and Mrs. Liu were the first ones awake. Grandma Mei sat at her sewing table making a blanket while Mrs. Liu sat on the couch, reading a book. They enjoyed the silence as the day slowly unwrapped.
It was one of the few times Mrs. Liu could hear birds chirping in the alleyways of the Hutong. She looked out the sewing room window and thought for a moment.
“Wouldn’t today be a nice day for Dim Sum?”
“Oh my! I think today would be a great day for Dim Sum,” replied Grandma Mei.
“Then let’s go to Mr. Li’s for Dim Sum.”
Yum Cha Tea House transformed into a restaurant every Sunday. Mr. Li and his son Bo also got up early every Sunday morning and prepared food for their guests to eat.
Mr. Li laid banana leaves on the table and brushed the surface with butter. Bo followed closely behind, dumping spoonfuls of rice in the center of each banana leaf. Afterwards, they folded the banana leaves around the rice, forming a large packet of sticky rice. Bo carefully placed each packet in bamboo steamers. After they wrapped the sticky rice, it was on to dumplings.
Mr. Li began chopping pork and vegetables and placing the ingredients into the dumplings, then folding the edges. All morning long, they prepared food, saying little. Their Sunday morning ritual was so well rehearsed they did not have to say a thing, just do what was next.
Mrs. Liu stood in the middle of Ying’s doorway, watching her little angel sleeping. Ge chirped steadily as Ying folded his blanket away from his face. He could feel his mother’s presence in the room as he tried opening his eyes. He squinted in the bright sunlight.
“Good morning,” she said.
“How long have you been there?” asked Ying.
“Only a moment or two. Would you like Dim Sum?”
“Mmmmmmm,” said Ying.
“Then get up, get showered and make sure everyone else does the same,” said Mrs. Liu.
Ying stretched the sleep from his body and hopped out of bed. He quickly showered and dressed. Now it was time to get everyone else out of bed.
“Come on, get up, get up. Mama has decided we are going to eat Dim Sum today,” announced Ying. He went from room to room, waking Grandpa Jong, his father, and Lien-Hua.
Unlike mornings where Lien-Hua had trouble getting ready for school, Dim Sum mornings found Lien-Hua eager to rise and shine. On this very morning, she hopped out of bed, showered and changed in seconds flat.
“Grandpa Jong, what are you doing still in bed,” said Lien-Hua as she bounced on Grandma and Grandpa’s bed.
“What do you want, my little Chinese Jumping Bean?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“I want you to get out of bed so we can eat dim sum!”
“Lien-Hua, let your Grandfather be so he can get ready,” scolded her mother.
“I was just making sure he got up.”
“Go wait on the couch with your brother until everyone’s ready,” commanded her mother. Lien-Hua went into the sewing room and sat next to her brother. It seemed to take an eternity waiting for everyone else.
“Alright, let’s go,” said Grandpa as Grandma Mei got up and fixed the collar on his shirt. Everyone loaded into the car and Mr. Liu drove them to the restaurant.
People were coming and going as they walked towards the restaurant. Bo Li stood at the front door, holding it for guests.
“Good morning Ying,” said Bo.
“How long will our wait be?” asked Ying.
“I’m not sure. It’s been very busy today,” said Bo.
“It’s okay, the line will go fast,” reassured Lien-Hua. She tugged on Grandpa Jong’s hand as she led him into the restaurant. She couldn’t bear the thought of going to another restaurant or skipping Dim Sum altogether.
Many of the coffee tables were pushed together, creating several long rectangles. Friends and family gathered around the tables, enjoying their Dim Sum.
The older Mr. Li came up and led the family to a table. He quickly wiped off the surface and arranged the seats. Grandpa Jong sat at one end of the table and Mr. Liu sat at the other.
“I’ll bring some tea while you’re waiting for the hostess. Is there anything else?” said Mr. Li.
“Can I have some soy milk?” asked Lien-Hua.
“It would be my pleasure,” said Mr. Li. He ripped a sheet off his tablet and placed it in front of Grandpa Jong with a pencil.
“I want rice noodles,” said Lien-Hua.
“Can I have some pot stickers?” asked Ying.
“Don’t forget the Sticky Rice,” said Mrs. Liu.
Grandpa Jong quickly jotted tallies on the sheet of paper and handed it back to Mr. Li as he returned with Jasmine Tea and Lien-Hua’s soy milk.
“We’ll get that right away,” said Mr. Li. He disappeared behind the counter again. Ying got up and quickly served tea to everyone at the table, then Grandma Mei took the teapot and filled his cup with tea and added a splash of milk, just how Ying liked.
Before their order arrived, a girl came by, pushing a serving cart filled with bamboo steam trays. Mr. Liu picked a few dishes and the server placed them in the center of the table. She took her crayon and added to Grandpa Jong’s tally sheet.
“Steamed clams!” exclaimed Ying. He grabbed one and put it on his plate. As he began eating, the rest of the meal arrived. He placed the dishes on the table wherever they would fit.
“Ting, This was such a great idea,” Mr. Liu said to his wife.
“I was hungry for Dim Sum and we haven’t had it for some time.”
“Mom, can you pass the sticky rice?” interrupted Lien-Hua.
“Here you go.”
“And the soy sauce?”
“Here.”
“Are there any pot stickers left?” asked Mr. Liu. Grandpa Jong tilted up the bamboo steamer, showing two pieces.
“Can I have them please?”
“Of course. Ying, pass these to your father,” said Grandpa Jong. Ying it to Lien-Hua who passed it to her father.
“Can I have one too?” asked Lien-Hua.
“Eat to your heart’s content,” said Mr. Liu. Literally translated, that’s exactly what ‘Dim Sum’ meant – to eat to the heart’s content, or to touch the heart. Lien-Hua removed the pot stickers from the steamer, placing one on her father’s plate and one on her own.
Mr. Liu ordered a replacement. The server took the empty steamer and tallied the order on the card.
Hands moved about as dishes were passed from one family member to another. It was one of the many orchestras going on in the restaurant. Families and friends shared food and conversation. As Ying plucked the last steamed clam from the bamboo steamer, it was replaced with a fresh steamer, filled with steamed clams. He and his Grandpa Jong ate every last one. If Ying had flicked a finger at his belly, it surely would have rang like a temple bell.
After Dim Sum, the family split into two parts. Lien-Hua returned home with her parents and Grandma Mei. Meanwhile, Ying stayed behind to play Go with Grandpa Jong.
Some families stayed for most of the afternoon, but most ate their meals and returned home. Grandpa Jong always lingered at Dim Sum, playing Go or Mah Johngg and helping Mr. Li and his son clean up the restaurant.
In the kitchen, a successful Dim Sum meant piles of empty bamboo steamers. Old Mr. Li and young Mr. Li would spend a good part of the afternoon, rinsing off bamboo steamers and stacking them on drying racks above the sink.
“It’s been some day, hasn’t it?” said Grandpa Jong as he stood at the sink next to Mr. Li.
“It sure has,” answered Mr. Li.
“It was one of the busiest Sundays I’ve ever seen,” said Ying. Ying helped the servers, cleaning tables and carrying dirty dishes into the kitchen. When all the dishes were clean, they gathered around the Go tables. Bo delivered a teapot full of Jasmine tea and a small glass of milk for Ying.
“I’m so tired,” sighed Ying.
“You did a lot of work,” said Bo.
“Are you too tired for a game?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“Never.”
Ying divided the stones into two armies, saving the black ones for himself and giving the white ones to his grandfather. Quickly, Grandpa had secured a good portion of the board, extending Ying’s army to the outer edges of the board. Grandpa Jong investigated the few remaining places on the board and placed his stone.
Ying held his last stone in his fingertips, tapping it on his teeth. It clanked loudly as he investigated his choices. He sighed and put his stone on the board. Grandpa Jong placed his last stone and began to tally the scores.
“No need to count. I know where I made my mistake,” said Ying.
“Don’t be upset. You win some, you lose some, right?” asked Mr. Li.
“I’m not upset at all. Playing Go isn’t always about winning,” he answered.
Mr. Li smiled. “No it isn’t. It isn’t at all.” He rubbed his hand in Ying’s hair, as if he was rubbing it for luck. Ying smiled at Mr. Li and then divided the stones again.
“Are you ready for another game?” asked Grandpa Jong.
“Always,” said Ying.
The smell of Jasmine tea drifted through the air. Go stones clinked on teeth, then slid across wooden tabletops before coming to a rest. Spoons chattered against the insides of soup bowls.
After they had stayed to their heart’s content, Grandpa Jong and Ying decided it was time to return home. They said their goodbyes and went out to the street. Three-wheeled bicycles called rickshaws drove through the streets, carrying passengers from one place to another.
Grandpa Jong flagged down a rickshaw driver. They climbed into the carriage and rode through the quiet streets of Beijing. Wind blew across their faces as the rickshaw driver pedaled the rickshaw.
Ying could clearly see the Hutong from where he sat. As they turned down the Hutong where the Liu house sat, Ying dug into his pocket and pulled out one of the coins Mr. Li gave him.
“Ying, I’ll pay for it.”
“No Grandpa, let me,” insisted Ying. He placed the coin firmly in the rickshaw driver’s hand and thanked him.
“You didn’t have to do that Ying. That coin was a gift from Mr. Li.”
“You always pay for everything Grandpa. I always feel like I owe you,” said Ying.
“The problem is that once you start trying to repay someone for what they have given you, you'll find the more you owe,” said Grandpa Jong.
Grandpa Jong rubbed Ying’s head and planted a kiss on Ying’s forehead. Ying realized that as he had gotten a gift he had received one, too. It seemed that he would always owe his Grandpa Jong.