Brown amidst yellow
They carefully read the menu.
Not many items. No fancy dish names. They didn’t just scan for things that they would like to eat. As if they had to study before ordering. Decisions were hard to make.
I was just right next to the Father, before me were pages on which I quickly clicked, and stuffed the busy waitress’ hand with the marked order papers.
They were still reading.
Seated around the table was a family of curious four – Pakistanis, in a Chinese restaurant packed by Chinese tea drinkers. It’s a Sunday afternoon. Newspapers-and-tea time.
The captain approached with a smile, leaving some answers to their questions about some dishes, taking away with him their orders. The family continued their chatters in English.
Not a spy. I returned to my own family chatter.
A waitress approached them, with a dish on her hand.
What is this?
Wong-Gum-Ke-Chi. Maybe she thought Chinese and English share the same linguistic systems. Her language never managed to tell the Father it’s deep-fried eggplants.
The captain came back with their order sheet to explain.
I see. Relieved the father.
This was an ordinary Sunday afternoon. Social harmony was right next to me.
