Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [11]
Mama stepped on the rest of the sentence. "Oh, yes. Plenty MSG. No problem."
"You don't understand. We don't want any flavor enhancers in our food. MSG causes…"
"MSG in everything here. Soup, vegetables, meat. Special stuff. Plenty MSG."
The woman gave an exasperated sigh. "Don't you have provision for preparing meals without MSG?"
"Why you want that? MSG in everything. Good for you. Make blood nice and thin."
The woman looked over at her date, a pained expression on her pinched face. I lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in her direction.
"You have a No Smoking section, I presume?"
"You want cigarettes?" Mama asked, innocently.
"No. We don't want cigarettes. And we don't want MSG. Is that so hard to understand?"
Her date looked uncomfortable, but he kept quiet.
"Everybody smoke here. Even cooks smoke, okay? Plenty MSG. No American Express." Mama looked at her, smiling. "Not for you, right?"
"It certainly is not," said the woman, pushing her chair back. "Come on, Robbie," she said to the sheep.
"Have a nice day," Mama told her. She watched the woman and the sheep walk out the front door, giving their table a quick wipe. She looked around her empty restaurant and smiled. Business was good.
I slid out of the booth, bowed to Mama as she approached. Terry bounded over to her, his arms open. Mama clasped her hands at her waist, bowed to the kid. It stopped him like he ran into a wall, confusion overflowing his face.
"Easy. Move slow, okay?" She smiled down at him.
"I was just going to…"
"You going to kiss Mama?"
"Sure!"
"You see Burke kiss Mama?"
"No…"
Mama's face was calm. Set. "Mama kiss babies, okay? Not kiss man."
Terry stared at her face, figuring it out. Knowing by her tone not to be afraid. "I'm not a man," he said.
"What, then?"
He looked at me for help. I blew smoke out my nose. I didn't know the answer. He took a shot on his own. "A kid?"
"Only two pieces," Mama said. "Baby or man. No more baby, time to be a man."
"I won't be a man until I'm thirteen."
"Who says this?"
"Mole."
Mama glanced over at me. "Bar Mitzvah," I told her. "Jewish ceremony."
"Good. Not official man until thirteen, right?"
"Right," Terry told her.
"Start now," Mama said, bowing to him again. Case closed.
Terry bowed.
Mama sat down across from me. Terry waited, saw there wasn't going to be any more instruction, sat down too. Mama said something to the waiter. He disappeared.
"Soup first, okay?"
"Can I have fried rice?" the kid wanted to know.
"Soup first," Mama said.
The waiter brought a steaming tureen of Mama's hot–and–sour soup. Three small porcelain bowls. Mama served Terry first, then me. Then herself. I pressed my spoon against the vegetables floating in the dark broth, taking the liquid in first, holding it above the bowl, letting it cool. I took a sip. "Perfect," I said. It was the minimal acceptable response.
Terry pushed his spoon in too deeply, covering it with vegetables. He carefully turned the spoon over, emptying it back into the bowl. Tried it again. Got it right. He swallowed the spoonful, tears shooting into his eyes. His little face turned a bright red. "It's good," he said, his voice a squeak.
Mama smiled. "Special soup. Not for babies."
I took another spoonful, swallowed it slowly. Let it slide down, breathing through my nose. Terry watched me. Tried it again. Smaller sips this time.
I threw a handful of hard noodles into my bowl. Terry did the same. He watched as I spooned off the top layer of liquid, mixing the last spoonfuls with the vegetables, not chewing any of it, gently breathing through my nose. The kid went right along.
When my bowl was empty, Mama spooned it full again. Terry was right behind me. Mama called for the waiter. He took the tureen away. Came back with a heaping plate of fried rice for Terry. The plate was beautiful—big chunks of roast pork, egg yolk, scallionsuueach grain of rice floating on top of another into a perfect pyramid. The kid's eyes lit up. He dug in without another word. I helped myself to a few forkfuls, bowing