breakfast and beginnings

(italicized dialogue=speaking in Chinese)

They’ve been playing chess for about fifteen minutes before Ishmael realizes Stone’s been gone for too long. Another ten minutes go by, and his inward fretting gives Mei the opening to take two of his pieces.

He stands up. “I’ll be back,” he says, and Mei smiles at him knowingly. “And don’t you start moving pieces around.”

He checks the downstairs bathroom first and finds Stone sitting at the piano, hunched over and plinking at the keys.

Ishmael takes a seat next to him on the bench. Their sleeves brush and Stone leans against him.

“A song for your thoughts?” He asks and plays the opening notes of Swan Lake an octave lower than it’s supposed to be.

Stone is quiet until he finishes. “Hal was scared when he was dying. Do you think it hurts? Or is it like being turned off, except for the final time?”

Sentient computers aren’t real, is what he wants to say, they’re machines, cold, efficient, expendable. But then he thinks of his own, his first robot, and his heart clenches. Some of them are as close to real as they can be.

“I think… it’s impossible to know for sure what goes through their programming at the end. But it’s such a short time compared to how long they’ve existed. And everything is destroyed eventually. Even machines.”

Stone grabs his hand and squeezes it. “I wish it was different,” he says sadly, “Hal should have outlasted them all. It’s not fair that the humans won. He was better than them.”

Ishmael makes a mental note to avoid sci-fi movies with robots. Stone won’t appreciate the pro humanity themes.

“Did it… remind you of anything?” He asks carefully. Stone nods but doesn’t say anything further. Ishmael plays a little ditty on the piano that turns into one of his favorite jazz pieces. When he looks over at Stone again, he’s smiling softly down at Ishmael's hands.

He plays a few more pieces before they hear shuffling noises and faint voices talking in Chinese coming from the kitchen.

“Bo and Zhi must be back. Come on, they’ll need help getting the groceries in. Do you want to team up with me against Mei playing chess, or would you like to help the husbands in the kitchen with making food?” Robotnik asks, sliding off the bench. Stone follows.

“I don’t know how to play chess."

“Watch me and Mei play then,” Ishmael corrects, and Stone shrugs as they head towards the kitchen.

“I can try to help with the food.” As long as it’s not coffee. Thankfully Mei and her husbands will be spared since they’re strictly tea drinkers.

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Stone helps carry in bags and bags of groceries.

“Did they buy the whole store?” Ishmael grumbles next to him.

They finish bringing the bags to the kitchen. Bo and Zhi have taken off their suit jackets and rolled up their sleeves. They’re both wearing ‘kiss the cook’ aprons.

“Shoo, shoo,” Bo says to Ishmael, “Go play with Mei.”

“We don’t want you here,” Zhi sniffs.

“Be nice to Stone!” Ishmael calls over his shoulder as he leaves the kitchen. Stone stands there as Zhi pulls out a large pan from a cabinet and puts it on the stove. Bo has a flat wooden board and is spreading out… something.

“Precious Stone, come here,” Bo says. “Help me with the dough.”

“He is more like a pebble,” Zhi murmurs.

Stone moves over to Bo and stands next to him. The man makes a tsk sound.

“Roll up your sleeves now,” he instructs. Stone shakes his head. “Why not? It will get messy.”

He hesitates. “I have bad scars. You don’t want to see them.”

Bo pats his arm and he flinches. “I am eight-three years old, Pebble. I’ve seen it all. Come on now, no hiding in the kitchen.”

Stone doesn’t know why he doesn’t stand his ground, why he doesn’t say fuck you and storm out. He just… folds. He slowly rolls his sleeve up to the elbow, then the other. He looks at Bo’s face as he takes in the mess of scars. The older man nods knowingly, says gently,

“Scars are nothing to be ashamed of, Precious Stone. They are reminders of what you have courageously survived. You are a strong man.”

“I don’t want to be reminded,” Stone says weakly, “I want to forget.”

“Then how are you to heal?”

He… doesn’t know. Is that even possible, for someone like him? He shrugs, and Bo pats his hand.

“Help me with the dough, Pebble. We’re going to make dòujiāng and youtiao for breakfast.”

Stone washes his hands in the sink and takes his place next to Bo, who’s sprinkling flour onto the rolled out dough and starts cutting them into strips with a knife.

“Watch, Pebble.” Bo stacks one dough piece on top of another, and then picks up a chopstick. He presses down on the center, sets the chopstick down, and pulls on both ends of the dough until it’s longer. “Simple, yes? You try now.”

Stone repeats the motions, the dough soft under his hands. He finishes and looks at Bo, who smiles.

“Good job! Now finish the rest of the youtiao and I’ll help Zhi with the dòujiāng.” Bo goes over to Zhi, who’s still near the oven. Stone turns back to the dough- youtiao?- and starts shaping more and more of them. He finds a comfortable rhythm in it, though white powder gets all over his hands and starts creeping up his arms. He does his best not to look down at his scars, the few times he does anxiety rolls in his stomach.

Bo is wrong. Scars aren’t signs of being courageous. They’re reminders of his failures, of punishments, of how powerless he is. What’s courageous about that?

Stone finishes the line of shaped dough and turns around. Bo and Zhi are standing next to each other in front of the stove. He steps closer, moves to the side to see what they’re doing. Zhi is stirring sugar into a pot of what looks like milk, and Bo is checking the temperature of a larger pot of boiling oil.

Bo looks over at him. “Finished, Pebble?” Stone nods. “Bring them over here and stand by me.”

Stone picks up the wooden tray and brings it next to Bo, standing to his right in front of the counter. He slides the tray onto it.

“The oil is ready. Now, on my count you’re going to slide a youtiao into the oil.” Stone nods and picks up one of them. Bo brings out a set of chopsticks. “Go.”

Stone slides a dough stick into the pot. There’s a loud sizzling sound and Bo immediately begins rolling the dough in the oil, turning it around in circles. He continues the movement until about a minute passes, when the dough has turned a light golden brown. He then plucks the finished piece out and sets it back on the tray.

“Go.” Stone finds himself smiling as he drops another one in and watches Bo spin it. They repeat it, piece after piece being fried in the oil, until they have a dozen ready. A few drops of hot oil splatter on him during it, but that’s alright.

“We’re done now, Precious Stone. Thank you,” says Bo, and Zhi nods as he begins ladling milk into five bowls. Stone washes his hands in the sink and pulls his sleeves down. He brings the finished youtiao on a tray to the dining room table, placing it in the center. Bo and Zhi follow, carrying the bowls.

Stone goes over to the living room, where Ishmael and Mei are studying a chessboard. Ishmael looks up at him.

“Breakfast ready, Stone?”

Stone nods, and Mei and Ishmael stand up, Mei grabbing onto her walker.

“I smell youtiao!” Mei says cheerfully. The three make their way to the dining room, where Bo and Zhi are already seated. Mei takes her seat at the head of the table, Ishmael next to her, and Stone sits next to Ishmael.

They begin to eat, Stone watching as Bo and Zhi dip the fried bread into their bowls of milk. He copies them and takes a bite. It tastes sweet, chewy and delicious. The milk has a different taste too, other than just sugar being added to it. He enjoys it, quickly finishing his first stick and then taking a second. Bo winks at him from across the table and he smiles back.

Mei says, “Thank you all for making breakfast. Better than any street vendor out there, my boys.”

“Of course, darling,” Bo reaches over and takes her hand, brings it up to his lips and kisses it. Mei’s eyes crinkle as she smiles at him fondly.

Stone is getting full after the third piece, and drinks the rest of the sweet milk out of the bowl. Bo and Zhi stand up and begin to clear the table, Stone trailing after them.

“Thank you for teaching me, Bo,” Stone says, putting his bowl in the sink. Bo pats his arm, and he doesn’t flinch this time.

“Anytime, Pebble. We can make dinner together, yes? Ishmael says you’re going to be helping teenagers with a project this afternoon.”

Stone nods.

“Stone!” Ishmael calls, “The brats are here.” He heads back into the dining room, where Ishmael is scowling down at his phone. Mei looks amused.

“Can you meet them outside and bring them to the workshop? They’re walking up now. Don’t let them bother us, Mei and I will be… busy.” Mei nods solemnly, eyes twinkling.

Stone goes over to Ishmael, leans down, and kisses his cheek. “Of course, darling.” He says, repeating Bo, and gets to see red bloom on Ishmael’s cheeks. The man flaps a hand in dismissal, still looking down at his phone. Stone walks out of the room.

“Shut up, Mei,” he hears Ishmael hiss.

"I didn’t say anything!”