The boys were doing what they usually did in one of the bedrooms, but their voices now seemed very distant to her. She tried to eat more and behave naturally, showing that she didn’t see or care. Meanwhile, she carefully cast a sidelong glance at Bing, her husband.
He was wearing the same suit as when she had last seen him. Just this time there were more wrinkles and the suit looked too loose, too untidy on him, as though he had suddenly become too old and too small to wear that style. Once or twice he scratched his stubble, like one would do unconsciously when playing mahjong. It was short but visible, and he would normally shave clean. Before sitting down at the table he shook his slightly curly hair aside, which was messy with some of the oily ends reaching his ears and a bit too long for his usual hairstyle. The light seemed too bright for his bloodshot eyes with deep purple circles. He took the seat beside her with a noise she couldn’t stand any longer. A strange air was fl owing around. When she really started facing him, his face turned into the color of eroded sandstone, and his eyes focused on hers. Their gaze intensifi ed. She regarded this as the beginning of his typical grumpiness. Now that he was here, face to face, all her attention was concentrated on his grumpier and grumpier look. Somewhere in her imagination, this grumpy face was growing bigger and bigger.