We are restless and eager to continue on. The walk to the village had taken
longer than we expected and already the mist had caught up with us in the
valley. Ping has disappeared into the kitchen and is cooking. She hasn't
indicated what is happening, so I don't know if she is cooking for her
family or for us. I ask if we can move on soon. (We are feeling out of place
in her home.) She looks a little panicked. "I have cooked for you." she says.
I try to keep my face neutral. "What about your family?" I ask. "They have
already eaten" she replies.
I don¹t think they have. I saw how much pork she bought at the markets and
it is consistent with the amount sizzling in the wok. "We will eat
together." she says. I know I have no choice.
A small oil-stained wooden table is produced. And Ping serves our lunch on
three brightly coloured plastic plates. Her 10 year old son, serves us rice
from an electric rice cooker, that I notice for the first time in the corner
of an adjacent room. The rice cooker is stained white with starch where the
rice has has bubbled over many times before. The food smells delicous. I eat
the potatoes cooked with garlic, the broccolini and the rice, but I am sworn
off eating the pork. Stan eats some of the pork, and feeds some to the dog
when Ping isn't watching, a la Sienfield. A hen and a couple of chicks wander
into the room and are shooed away by the children. Ping's baby girl sits on the
tiny stool while her brother attempts to feed her. She is wearing only a jumper
and pair of sandals. Her bottom is bare. The dog licks the table top when no-one
but me is looking.
Ping notes that we don't eat much. I hope I haven't offended her. I would rather she
gave the pork to her family. On the wall opposite where I am sitting is a corkboard.
The photos I gave Ping yesterday are pinned to it. Ping's wedding photo is there too.
I make a note to photograph it before I leave. Then promptly forget. Later I try to
remember what else was pinned to board, but I can't.
There is a poster of the Virgin Mary on the back wall of the hut. Behind Ping's house is
a functioning Catholic church. A legacy of the French occupation.