The Geographer's Library

The Geographer’ s Library
ing gas jockey who checked his engine and oil; he wanted to give his accent
plenty of practice, plenty of time to stretch out, be sure the r’s extended fully
and roundly and his long vowels stayed flat and generically midwestern. He
noticed no mistakes, and neither, apparently, did any of the men he spoke
with, but seven of them were foreign and the other four so young, callow, and
uninterested that they probably would not have noticed had his skin been
green and antennae protruded from his forehead. As on any potentially final
day of an assignment, he defecated frequently—at each service station, in
fact—until he finally asked a Pakistani cashier, while patting his gut and grimacing,
for “something to kind of rein these horses in.”
At 5:59 he pulled into the parking lot next to Pine and Bamboo, opened
a can of Old Style beer, and swished it around in his mouth before spitting
it into a Big Gulp cup. He rubbed some beer into his neck and dribbled a
spot onto his St. Paul Saints T-shirt. When he was satisfied, he smelled like
a man who had spent the afternoon drinking, and just after he saw Yaofan
and his wife enter the restaurant, he pulled next to Yaofan’s car, pinched his
cheeks and nose until they were bright red, rubbed his eyes until he looked a
bit bleary, and went in to have dinner and a conversation.
Wang looked at him uncertainly when he walked through the door; then
his face broke and lit with recognition. “Mr. Chet. Here on Sunday! Dress
very casual today—not recognize you for a minute.”
Chet grinned a little too widely and laughed a little too loudly, then emitted
a sustained tuba-pitched belch, which made Wang giggle and Yaofan’s
wife jump in her seat. “Yeah, was just grabbin’ a few with some buddies right
around here. Figured I’d stop in and see if you guys were open. Gettin’ kinda
hungry there, ya know.”
Wang glanced back over his shoulder at Yaofan, who nodded almost
imperceptibly while looking squarely at Chet. Wang picked up a menu and
gave Chet a relieved smile and an energetic arm wave, showing him to his
usual corner table, which left just one empty table between him and the Yaofans,
the only other people in the dining room. He adjusted his glasses—
which were, in fact, entirely unnecessary—perused the menu, shut it, and
looked up as bovinely as possible.
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