<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nicki Chen<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A rainy day, though the blank-faced sky pretended innocence, shining in the puddles and on the rain-slicked pavement. Behind her Toyota\u2019s fogged-up windows, Natalie leaned across the steering wheel like a student driver and looked straight ahead, feigning invisibility. Without turning her head, she saw a group of ni-Vanuatu women carrying big multi-colored umbrellas\u2014red, blue, yellow, and green in wedges like giant pinwheels. The women stopped in front of le Privee Disco and waited to cross, each one holding her skirt tight around her knees with one hand as though she were about to ford a stream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Almost every day Natalie made this seven-minute drive into town\u2014for shopping or to rent a video or pay a bill. On school days she dropped Mariko off and picked her up. But on a Saturday afternoon like this she had no legitimate reason for going to town. On Saturdays in Vila everything closed at noon and didn\u2019t open again until Monday morning. The only exceptions were the little Chinese general stores and the Chinese-owned supermarket, Au Bon Marche. As soon as she passed Au Bon Marche it would be hard to explain what she was doing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After seven months in Port Vila, Natalie might have been able to say she was enjoying the experience of living abroad\u2014might have, that is, if it hadn\u2019t been for the way her husband had changed. She wasn\u2019t sure when it started or what the cause was. The first couple of months were a blur\u2014the strangeness of life on a little South Pacific island, the hassle of getting set up in a new house and enrolling Mariko in a new school. If Yoshio\u2019s attitude toward her had started changing immediately, she hadn\u2019t noticed. The first incident she remembered was the night of the dinner theater performance at Ma Barker\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was March, a week after the second cyclone, and big stacks of broken branches were still piled everywhere along the streets waiting for garbage pickup. The two sandalwood trees inside the grounds of the French Embassy had lost so many branches the Indian mynah birds hardly had enough nesting spots for the night. Yoshio had parked their car two blocks away from Ma Barker\u2019s in front of Pilioko House.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Almost as soon as they\u2019d slammed the car doors, Natalie found herself trailing behind. She called to Yoshio to wait, but he didn\u2019t answer and he didn\u2019t slow down, so she ran to catch up. As soon as she was beside him, she relaxed and he pulled ahead again. Running once more, she caught him by the arm. \u201cHey, what\u2019s this?\u201d she shouted over the raucous squawks and clicks of the mynah birds. \u201cYou want a wife who walks three paces behind?\u201d He pulled his arm away and kept walking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They had a table that night with Chick Farley and Yoshio\u2019s boss Bob Stevens and their wives. Chick Farley was the number-three man in the Vanuatu office. Yoshio\u2014the youngest and least experienced of the professional officers\u2014was, out of ten officers, number ten. Natalie had thought he was rushing because he was nervous about keeping his boss waiting. But he needn\u2019t have worried. Natalie and Yoshio were the first in their party to arrive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
While they waited, Yoshio didn\u2019t seem interested in talking, so Natalie sat back and looked around. This was the first time she\u2019d been inside Ma Barker\u2019s, one of the oldest restaurants in Port Vila. Its native-print curtain, worn woodwork, and amateur painting of nineteenth century sailing ships evoked that period in history when Western exploitation of and enchantment with the South Seas was at its height. The evening\u2019s entertainment was a series of British comedy sketches, so she wasn\u2019t surprised to see the tables filling up with expatriates: long-time resident English and French former colonialists; Australian, Chinese and Vietnamese businesspeople; and the diplomats, aid givers, and wanderers who moved endlessly from the world\u2019s capitals to its backwaters and back again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After the Stevens and the Farleys arrived, the three men gravitated to one end of the table. Waiting for the food to be served, they drank whiskey and discussed what Natalie after only three months already recognized as their customary topics: golf, business, and work-related gossip. At that time Yoshio was at a disadvantage on the subject of golf. Natalie overheard Bob Stevens pressuring him to take it up and Yoshio protesting that he didn\u2019t have any clubs yet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell,\u201d Bob advised him, \u201cyou\u2019d better get hopping. You\u2019re going to have a lot of catching up to do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When Bob chided Chick Farley for a disastrous putt, Cynthia Stevens turned to the women and smiled. \u201cBob\u2019s favorite tactic,\u201d she told them in a low voice, \u201cis to get his opponents off-balance. He likes to wager large amounts at crucial points in the game because he believes fear gives him an edge, especially against younger men.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The comment was more candid than any Natalie had heard before from Cynthia. The boss\u2019s wife was a thin woman in her early fifties. She carried herself with dignity, straightening her back and neck at frequent intervals. Usually, she dressed in vibrant blues and greens, some days in shades of lavender or coral. That evening she was as warm and poised as ever, but for the first time Natalie noticed Cynthia\u2019s habit of losing touch with a conversation, her pale blue eyes wandering, a look of melancholy settling on her face. Noor Farley seemed unaware of it. If Noor was describing her latest trip to Sydney or her success in growing Malaysian vegetables and herbs, she just assumed that Cynthia was listening. But Natalie was unsettled by it, and often stopped short or hurried a story to its conclusion. She was glad when the comedy sketches started, ending the necessity of conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Afterwards, on the way back to the car, Yoshio took the lead again. The way he swaggered just ahead of her\u2014knees and elbows wide, back straight, toes out\u2014Natalie couldn\u2019t avoid conjuring up stereotypical images in which she was the little woman mincing along behind in wooden clogs. \u201cHusband, dana-san, dana-san,\u201d<\/em> she shouted in a high-pitched, childlike voice. Then with tiny, scuffing steps, she hurried to catch up with him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cStop clowning around,\u201d he said, without slowing his pace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On both sides of them theatergoers opened their car doors, started their engines, and clicked on their headlights, providing an interval of action and light on Vila\u2019s quiet main street. And in the sandalwood trees the Indian mynah birds, who were finished fighting for their positions, slept quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night it still seemed a joke, but in the following weeks Yoshio continued to pull ahead of her every time they walked somewhere together. Sometimes Natalie grabbed his elbow and a couple of times she complained. Once on the way to the swimming pool at Le Lagon she grabbed his hand, digging her nails into his soft caramel skin. \u201cWhy are you doing this?\u201d she demanded. They were alone on the sidewalk above the pool. Mariko had run ahead, scampering across the lawns, missing most of the sidewalks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDoing what?\u201d He looked genuinely uncomprehending.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWalking ahead of me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy are you lagging behind?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEvery time I try to walk beside you, you pull ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCome on, Natalie,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat kind of paranoia is this?\u201d He frowned, his lips forming the pronounced inverted \u201cu\u201d of a Japanese war mask as he jerked his hand loose and strode toward the pool, passing between lawns and decorative palms and hibiscus plants with salmon-colored flowers each the size of a child\u2019s face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After that she tried to be subtle about catching up with him, or she stayed behind. Maybe, she thought, the whole thing would pass when he became more established in his new office\u2014a place riddled with rivalry, if she judged it correctly. She remembered Cynthia Stevens\u2019 comment about her husband using fear to get an edge on younger men, and she thought back on all the mock-humorous put-downs she had heard pass between Yoshio\u2019s colleagues. Under the circumstances, she concluded, she shouldn\u2019t take Yoshio\u2019s behavior too seriously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yet that was how it all started: with his trailblazing tendencies and her complaints, and then her sympathy. Maybe she simply lacked imagination, not knowing what to do next when her objections didn\u2019t produce results. Or maybe she lacked will. Today at least she was doing something\u2014although she still had a failure of imagination when she tried to think where her little investigative trip would lead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n By now she had passed Au Bon Marche. She turned the corner and started down the road to town. Fine raindrops spattered the windshield, got wiped away, and then spattered it again. A small yellow bus stopped in front of her, and a man in striped shorts prepared to climb aboard. She felt trapped behind the bus, conspicuous. If someone saw her, she would just say she was going to pick up Mariko from a play date. That didn\u2019t hold water though. Mariko\u2019s friend lived in the other direction. Finally, the bus started up, and Natalie followed it down the hill. Why, on the other hand, would anyone bother to ask where she was going? Still, they might \u2026. How involved even the simplest lie became!<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yoshio\u2019s office building was on the main road, but his window faced a side street. She slowed in passing just enough to see the two cars she was looking for: Yoshio\u2019s and Dominique\u2019s. Then she drove past the last store on the street and turned around at Trader Vic\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rather than make a second pass in front of the office building, she made her way around and through enormous mud puddles to the rutted gravel road behind the shops. Only one shop was open, Video World. She parked behind it next to three other cars. This was ridiculous, she thought. She should go back home and wait for him. Then, when he arrived, she\u2019d confront him directly. That\u2019s undoubtedly what she would have done a year ago. She couldn\u2019t deny, however, that things had changed since they left the States. Somehow here she always seemed at a disadvantage. Everywhere, even in her own kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For years she\u2019d been serving Japanese and American meals in roughly equal numbers. The arrangement had always suited them both. After eight years of living in Oregon, Yoshio appreciated a thick steak every bit as much as he did a fresh slice of sashimi. <\/em> A month or two after they got settled in Vanuatu, however, suddenly he didn\u2019t want American food anymore. He didn\u2019t come right out and tell her, but nothing American pleased him. If she cooked a beef stew, he wanted rice to go with it. When she baked scalloped potatoes with ham and cheese, he grumbled about no real meat. And one day when she made fish and chips, he told her it was a waste of good snapper. \u201cI don\u2019t know why you didn\u2019t steam it with ginger,\u201d he said. She began to feel uneasy about serving spaghetti, and she knocked meatloaf off the menu entirely. She wasn\u2019t the first woman in the world to give in to her husband\u2019s preferences in food. Her own mother, for example, who always ordered fish or seafood in a restaurant, never cooked it in her own home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Natalie took the key out of the ignition and slammed the car door. She might as well finish what she\u2019d started. Taking the long way around, she walked behind the shops, crossing the street by Ma Barker\u2019s. It was one thing to be willing to indulge her husband\u2019s food fancies; finding the ingredients was something else. She couldn\u2019t buy nori<\/em> in Vila, the wasabi<\/em> she brought from the States was almost gone, and prawns were almost never available. When they were, the price was outrageous. For a month after the first cyclone, they were consistently out-of-stock. Natalie remembered the day she finally found some at the fish market. It was the same day Yoshio brought Stevens and Dominque home after a cocktail party at the Australian High Commission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Natalie turned down the side street next to Ma Barker\u2019s\u2014one short side street that was Vila\u2019s Chinatown. It was alive that afternoon, but not exactly lively: one car, two ni-Vanuatu men leaning against a wall, a couple browsing at the sidewalk rack. Even though the rain was light, Natalie dodged from one awning to another. She passed two little Chinese girls sitting on the curb in front of Chan Store pushing rubber bands through the rainwater with plastic rulers. Chinese smells emanated from an open door, though the bush knives and cheap kettles in the window gave no clue to the source. Yoshio\u2019s office was on the next block. She could approach it from behind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At the intersection near the police station, she stopped. She was almost perpendicular to the reflective glass of his window, but even so it might be possible for him to see her. She backtracked and hurried across the street farther down, then, hidden by awnings and overhangs, she approached the entrance to his building.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The night of the Australian High Commissioner\u2019s cocktail was the first of many nights that Yoshio unexpectedly showed up with his friends, and Natalie cooked for them. That afternoon, thinking she would use only half the prawns for tempura <\/em>for herself and Yoshio, she froze the rest. She gave Mariko an early dinner of chicken fried noodles. Then she got to work shelling and butterflying the prawns.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When Yoshio came through the door, he looked agitated. \u201cGet some snacks,\u201d he told Natalie as soon as he saw her. Bob Stevens and Dominique, the new technical assistant from the office, were right behind him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry to barge in like this, Natalie,\u201d Stevens said. \u201cDamned bad manners.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat would you like, Bob?\u201d Yoshio asked, \u201cScotch? Martini? Beer?\u201d He pulled open the upper doors of the china cabinet and waited to choose a glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat kind of Scotch do you have.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGlenfiddich. Only the best for the boss.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, I\u2019ll stick with Scotch. A splash of water.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGin and tonic for me,\u201d Dominique said. She picked up a small figurine and sat down on the arm of the nearest chair. \u201cWhat\u2019s this guy doing?\u201d She tapped a pretty tapered finger on the palm of the little porcelain man\u2019s hand. Her straight black hair fell over one eye, reaching to the tip of her small breast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe\u2019s begging,\u201d Natalie said, offering Dominique a choice of two varieties of rice crackers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOooooh! I don\u2019t like beggars,\u201d Dominique said, holding the figurine at arm\u2019s length.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Natalie took the offending monk from the young woman\u2019s hand and returned it to the end table. \u201cHe\u2019s a Buddhist monk,\u201d she said. \u201cWould you like some crackers?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe don\u2019t have any beggars in Tahiti,\u201d Dominique said, as she gracefully filled her hand with crackers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCome on. Every country has beggars,\u201d Stevens argued, swirling his Scotch. \u201cDon\u2019t knock \u2018em. Anybody could end up a beggar; I could myself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dominique snickered, dropping her head abruptly so that her hair fell like a waterfall over her face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, I mean it,\u201d he said. He lowered himself into the chair beside her as though he didn\u2019t notice she was sitting on the arm. \u201cIf you need to, you beg. Of course, if you\u2019re smart enough, you\u2019ll never need to.\u201d He looked straight ahead, lecturing the Japanese scroll on the far wall. \u201cAnd, if you\u2019re fast and mean besides, you can force the bloody buggers to get down on their knees and come begging to you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dominique snorted. She tossed her head back and lifted both arms to smooth the hair across the top of her head. \u201cWhat bloody buggers?\u201d she asked sweetly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAsk Yoshio,\u201d Stevens said. \u201cHe understands these things.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yoshio closed the small refrigerator behind the bar and motioned for Natalie. \u201cMe?\u201d he protested. \u201cDo you ever see crowds of supplicants kneeling on my office floor?\u201d And to Natalie he whispered urgently, \u201cLime, we need slices of lime.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou see, Dominique,\u201d Stevens said, \u201che\u2019s been imagining just such a scene. This man of yours is going places, Natalie. Someday you\u2019ll be a manager\u2019s wife.\u201d He turned to Dominique, his eyes at breast-level, \u201cYoshio\u2019s got the right instincts for playing the game.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDoes he?\u201d Dominique said, leaning closer to Stevens as she studied Yoshio.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you want me to call Cynthia for you?\u201d Natalie asked. \u201cLet her know you\u2019re here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, she\u2019ll eat when she gets hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Guessing at the course the evening would take, Natalie brought out some sliced limes. Then she went back into the kitchen and started thawing a couple of chicken breasts and the rest of the prawns.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe could use something more substantial than rice crackers,\u201d Yoshio called to her from the sofa where he was joining the boss in Scotch with a splash of water. \u201cWhat have you got, Nat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next Friday Yoshio invited a bunch of them home after work for drinks: Stevens and Dominique, and also Farley, Hashimoto, and Lopez. Soon Friday nights expanded into Fridays and Wednesdays or Thursdays. Not everyone stayed for dinner; some only stayed for drinks and hors d\u2019oeuvres. Stevens and Dominique almost never missed the drinking and eating sessions; sometimes Dominique dropped by for dinner on her own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One day in exasperation Natalie called Dominique a pest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHoney, you\u2019re like a big sister to her,\u201d Yoshio protested. \u201cShe\u2019s all alone here in Vila. How would you like to eat alone every night?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She tried to ignore the clues. Then one day from the kitchen where she was cooking pork tepanyaki<\/em> for dinner, she saw Mariko staring at Yoshio and Dominique. They were sitting across from each other at the dining room table with a hibachi<\/em> between them. Yoshio was holding a barbecue stick up to Dominique\u2019s mouth and she was gazing into his eyes while she daintily bit into a thin strip of sate-flavored chicken breast and slid it off the end of the stick. When Mariko saw her mother, she blushed. Then she turned away and ran out the front door. Seeing it through her daughter\u2019s eyes, there was no way Natalie could pretend it didn\u2019t exist. Nor could she ignore any longer Yoshio\u2019s newly discovered love for working at the office on weekends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The rain was becoming heavier now. Standing under the overhang at the entrance to his office, Natalie hesitated. She had prepared an excuse. She would say she\u2019d left a letter from her mother on Yoshio\u2019s desk. She\u2019d started to answer it when she realized it was gone. Did she leave it in his office? She wiped the accumulated rain off her shoulders and the tops of her arms, fluffed it out of her hair, and opened the door to the dark stairway. Halfway to the first landing she stopped to remove her shoes. A warm dampness settled around her. As she continued up the stairs, the sound of her breathing filled the enclosed stairwell. A few stairs from the top she leaned against the wall and put her shoes back on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Once she was standing in front of the one-way mirror of the door to the suite of offices, there was no turning back. She pushed the door gently and stepped inside. Dominique\u2019s computer was humming, its blue screen bright and still. Her handbag was resting against the leg of her chair. This was the central open area for secretaries and technical assistants. She walked deeper into the suite toward Yoshio\u2019s door and stopped. In the empty office, Dominique\u2019s giggle easily penetrated the closed door. Then Yoshio\u2019s voice, low, intense. Silence. Some rustling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This was what she\u2019d come to find out. Turning away, she fled, tip-toeing, pursued by a high pitched \u201coo-la-la.\u201d Before she could open the door to the stairs, she heard his low, breathless growl and the scraping of furniture.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The sounds seemed to follow her as she plunged down the first flight of stairs. She stopped to catch her breath at the landing. Then, starting down again, she almost ran into Bob Stevens slowly making his way up the stairs. \u201cHi, Natalie,\u201d he said without changing his pace, looking past her as he sometimes did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Outside, she collapsed against the building, too weak to move, as though something solid inside her had fizzled out. The possibility of an affair had been nothing more than speculation, easy to pretend out of existence. But a suspicion had no giggles, no oo-la-las, no passionate grunts. If only she\u2019d left it that way! She might have been able to live with it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A car splashed through some puddles on the main street and disappeared. At the corner, a man squatting under an awning stared at her. Natalie forced herself to stand independently of the wall. Soon everything would be out in the open: Yoshio\u2019s affair, her spying. Despite her rage, she cringed at the thought of Stevens opening the door on Yoshio and Dominique.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She hurried past the Chinese trade stores. From the doorway of Chan Store the same two little girls looked out, twirling rubber bands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dodging the potholes behind Video World, Natalie fumbled in her purse for the car keys. When she got to her car, though, she walked right past it. Of course not, she realized suddenly. Stevens wouldn\u2019t open the door. That wasn\u2019t his way. Heading toward the bay, her eyes clouded with tears, she tripped over the irregular chunks of coral rock that dotted the grassy strip between the gravel road and the seawall. Stevens would wait for Dominique to come out and then, ten or fifteen minutes later, he\u2019d think of an excuse to talk to Yoshio. Casually he\u2019d mention something about seeing Natalie on the stairs. That was all. Everyone would know; no one would admit knowing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As she approached the seawall, Natalie could see deep fissures running across the ground next to it. In places the earth had completely given way. She jumped across a small chasm. Vila\u2019s seawall was undermined not only by the recent cyclones but also by the everyday waves that lapped at it, waves like those that now whispered against it innocuously. Raindrops, larger and more than before, hit the water and jumped out again. Not far away an outboard engine hummed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She wouldn\u2019t have to admit hearing anything either, she realized. Suddenly it seemed as though an alternate world was coming into focus before her eyes, a world where, in the absence of public disclosure, truth was irrelevant and anything was possible as long as everybody conspired in the illusion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n All the way home in a pelting rain, Natalie could think only of sleep, of her bed\u2014even though it was their bed\u2014of closing her eyes, forgetting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She dropped her handbag and her wet clothes on the bedroom floor and sprawled naked and exhausted on the bed for thirty minutes, her mind numb, unthinking. Then she dressed and forced herself into the kitchen to wait for Yoshio.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She was butterflying prawns when he drove up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n From the moment he called to her from the living room she sensed what he expected. \u201cI\u2019m in the kitchen,\u201d she replied, her voice as normal as his. No embarrassing scenes, no public humiliation. No need to change. She sliced halfway through the convex side of a prawn. Then with the tip of her knife, she lifted its slender gut, carefully so the transparent tube with its blackish waste stayed intact.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s for dinner?\u201d he asked, appearing in the doorway. His face was a perfect mask of normality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Holding a prawn up by its tail, she faced him. \u201cI haven\u2019t decided on a recipe yet,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat would you suggest?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He blinked. \u201cIt\u2019s entirely up to you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes,\u201d she agreed. \u201cThat it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He stood there a moment longer, watching her\u2014for some clue, she thought. Or was he willing her to play the game?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n As soon as he left, she covered the prawns with plastic wrap and put them in the fridge. She needed some air. Their little charade had been brief but exhausting. She stumbled out onto the veranda and sank into a chaise lounge. There wasn\u2019t even the shadow of a breeze, and the air, warm and heavy after the rain, had a sickening odor, sweet and tropical and ripe for fermentation. If she drove to town now, she wondered, would Dominique\u2019s car still be there next to Steven\u2019s? And if she tip-toed upstairs, would Dominique\u2019s computer still be humming blandly; would the boss\u2019 office door be closed? And then if she sat on the receptionist\u2019s desk until his door opened and waved her mother\u2019s letter as an excuse before she left, would Stevens merely smile at her and wish her a good day?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Natalie closed her eyes and thought of Cynthia with her tall hedges, her careful smile and straight back. Her empty respectability. Suddenly at the edge of the veranda there was a rustling of leaves. Then the air\u2014pretending freshness\u2014swept across Natalie\u2019s skin and lifted the hem of her skirt. Through the red black of her eyelids shadows danced, forming a circle around her. They were nothing but specters, bloodless shapes smiling and shaking bangles on their invisible wrists. \u201cEasy,\u201d they called to her. \u201cIt\u2019s easy, easy.\u201d And though they had no substance, she felt their lure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And she knew enough to fear them.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" By Nicki Chen A rainy day, though the blank-faced sky pretended innocence, shining in the puddles and on the rain-slicked pavement. Behind her Toyota\u2019s fogged-up windows, Natalie leaned across the steering wheel like a student driver and looked straight ahead, feigning invisibility. Without turning her head, she saw a group of ni-Vanuatu women carrying big […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"off","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-10569","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/P3Kn1e-2Kt","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":10561,"url":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/stories\/","url_meta":{"origin":10569,"position":0},"title":"Stories","author":"Nicki Chen","date":"February 29, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"A Blind Eye By Nicki Chen A rainy day, though the blank-faced sky pretended innocence, shining in the puddles and on the rain-slicked pavement. Behind her Toyota\u2019s fogged-up windows, Natalie leaned across the steering wheel like a student driver and looked straight ahead, feigning invisibility. Without turning her head, she\u2026","rel":"","context":"Similar post","block_context":{"text":"Similar post","link":""},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"","width":0,"height":0},"classes":[]},{"id":10938,"url":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/the-housesitters\/","url_meta":{"origin":10569,"position":1},"title":"The Housesitters","author":"Nicki Chen","date":"July 18, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"THE HOUSESITTERS by Nicki Chen The day is breezy and warm, clouds forming and reforming, dropping a little rain and moving on. A typical day in the South Pacific. Julie has opened all the windows in the Zhangs\u2019 living room and is dancing across the shiny tile floor to the\u2026","rel":"","context":"Similar post","block_context":{"text":"Similar post","link":""},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"","width":0,"height":0},"classes":[]},{"id":10671,"url":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/the-pool-at-piula\/","url_meta":{"origin":10569,"position":2},"title":"The Pool at Piula","author":"Nicki Chen","date":"April 9, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"She could have slid into the pool on her own. Russell was waiting below her, though, his arm raised to help her down, his weight carefully balanced to receive either possibility: her hand or her rejection. She took his hand. She even smiled. These were the efforts she must make\u2026","rel":"","context":"Similar post","block_context":{"text":"Similar post","link":""},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"","width":0,"height":0},"classes":[]},{"id":9257,"url":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/love-locks\/","url_meta":{"origin":10569,"position":3},"title":"Love Locks","author":"Nicki Chen","date":"November 1, 2020","format":false,"excerpt":"Padlocks attached to a bridge railing. Forever. That's the idea. The keys thrown into the bay or taken away. My daughter and I stopped to read the names scratched, engraved, or indelibly painted on the locks--lovers and spouses, forever faithful. This being a time of pandemic, some were of a\u2026","rel":"","context":"Similar post","block_context":{"text":"Similar post","link":""},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/10\/IMG_2681-e1603913007490.jpg?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":10838,"url":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/exposed\/","url_meta":{"origin":10569,"position":4},"title":"Exposed","author":"Nicki Chen","date":"May 22, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"Exposed by Nicki Chen It\u2019s early morning and Bob and I are eating breakfast on the patio. Anyone peeking over the steel gate at the side of the garden would see us\u2014Bob in his cream shirt and silk tie squeezing lime onto his papaya, and me, lightly covered in raw\u2026","rel":"","context":"Similar post","block_context":{"text":"Similar post","link":""},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"","width":0,"height":0},"classes":[]},{"id":8933,"url":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/q-a-2\/","url_meta":{"origin":10569,"position":5},"title":"A Q & A with Nicki Chen","author":"Nodebud1721","date":"October 20, 2020","format":false,"excerpt":"What did you appreciate most about living in the Philippines and Vanuatu? How were your experiences similar? Different?\u00a0\u00a0 When you live in a foreign country (as opposed to visiting as a tourist),\u2026","rel":"","context":"Similar post","block_context":{"text":"Similar post","link":""},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"","width":0,"height":0},"classes":[]}],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/10569","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=10569"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/10569\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10570,"href":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/10569\/revisions\/10570"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nickichenwrites.com\/wordpress\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=10569"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}