The Geographer's Library

The Geographer’ s Library
Abulfaz shook his head, smiling but saying nothing. “What, in the world
or out of it, would you most like, Mr. Yaofan?”
“You know, my nephew—”
“Which one? The ophthalmologist in Phoenix, the stockbroker in Winnipeg,
the restaurateur in Bourg-en-Bresse, the student in Hong Kong, or any
of the five farmhands back home?”
“Ah. You have visited the restaurant in France? Also called Pine and Bamboo.
David worked here, you know.”
“We do.”
“Ah.” Yaofan fidgeted in his seat and sopped the trickles of sweat running
down his quivering temples. “I am an old man, Chet, and there is little that
I want.”
“We can give anything to anyone, as you no doubt know.”
“I did not finish. There is little that I want. My wife has an outlandish
desire. I would never even speak of it to anyone other than you.”
Abulfaz raised his eyebrows and tilted his head upward.
“She is old, you know, old as I am. We have been married for forty-three
years, since we were both seventeen. We left Lengshuitan together and have
traveled to many places since then. But there are two things we never did. We
have never spent a night apart.” Yaofan paused and cast his eyes to the redcarpeted
floor. “The other . . . the reason we left Lengshuitan . . . it is considered
quite shameful, really. ...”
“We know,” said Abulfaz.
“Ah.” Yaofan looked up, relieved. “Ah. Is this within your power, then?”
“It is.”
“What guarantees would I have?”
“Our promise. Nothing else.”
“Ah. Then by all means, please follow me into the kitchen, where we can
speak more comfortably.”
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