A Fistful of Feet

An illicit visit in a possible future

“Steps”, by Ricky Sadiosa

Tonight, Jane Chan will break the law for the first time. She opens her shoe cabinet and wonders which of her ballet flats is most appropriate when planning to commit a felony. She selects the plain, black pair from the dozen that are lined up on the shelf. She glances at herself in the mirror in the hallway one more time and concludes that she looks decidedly unmemorable in her jeans and gray crewneck. At four foot eleven and weighing a hundred pounds, she might easily be dismissed, but doing so would be a mistake. Jane sweeps her palms down her straight, shoulder-length hair once more as if to confirm every strand is in its place. Then, she fishes out her house keys from the crystal bowl and leaves.

The subway is close by and the ride to New York’s Chinatown short. Jane hasn’t dined there since her parents died over five years ago. So much has changed since then, but not Chinatown. She is glad her parents didn’t live to see what happened, and the path Jeffery subsequently chose.

Four years ago, yet another global pandemic struck, and this time wiped out nearly ten percent of the world’s population. Much like the others, it originated in the wildlife trade. As memories of the pandemic before that one were still fresh, it was enough to propel the Green Party to power, which then outlawed the use of all products derived from animals. Price-gouging and hoarding of remaining stocks gave way to violent protests, until the country descended into an uneasy acceptance.

Jane arrives at the Canal Street subway station and walks for a few minutes to the address on her phone. At any other time, she would have been sure it was wrong, but she has heard that eateasies are hidden behind unmarked doors or legitimate businesses even. Jeffery’s text is clear:

Look for the brown door halfway down this alley, a back exit to a walk-up. Third floor, unit B. Ask for me.

Jane arrives at the door and hesitates. Is she really going to do this? Eateasies, initially called Underground Restaurants, began sprouting up soon after the new law had passed. Not wasting any time, opportunists and entrepreneurs set up these illicit dining clubs and their supply chains all over the city. There were whispers that one could find eateasies for every possible cuisine, from tandoori chicken in the folds of Little India to classic New York style pepperoni pizza tucked away in the corners of SoHo. Operating under extreme secrecy, getting a table or a fresh cut of meat is nearly impossible for the average New Yorker, unless you know a guy. And Jane knows a guy.

She takes a deep breath and knocks twice. No answer. She knocks again and waits for a longer time. Wondering if she has the right address, she pulls out her phone to text Jeffery when the door opens, held ajar with the chain on.

“What?” A man peers from the crack and asks in Cantonese.

“Uh, hi,” she says. “I’m here to meet Jeffery.” Nowadays she only speaks in Cantonese with an elderly aunt, and the words feel foreign in her mouth.

The man lets her in. The room is empty except for a few folding chairs up against a wall. The windows are boarded over and the only source of light is a solitary bulb. He tells Jane to wait here and leaves through a back door. Jane waits for a few minutes, then takes out a packet of tissues from her handbag and wipes down one of the chairs. Just as she sits down, the inside door opens and a different man tells Jane to follow him.

They walk down a narrow corridor, as basic as the waiting room. Before opening the door at the end of the hallway, he tells her to hand over her cell phone. He lets her in after she complies.

The scene is what Jane had imagined: no more than a dozen folding tables packed with diners crowded in a small room, without table dividers. The sound of melamine dishes clacking as wait staff buzz around small spaces clearing tables and taking orders, and patrons compete to be heard. On one end of the room is a counter with a pane of plexiglass separating the makeshift kitchen from the eating area. Chunks of barbequed meat hang from hooks above the counter, and the chef cooks in a small space behind the display. For a moment, the smells transport Jane to the cha chaan tengs her mother used to take her and Jeffery to after school on Fridays for wonton mein. Jane hasn’t smelled or eaten meat since the new law had passed, and now the heavy odor of death hangs in the air, assaulting her.

Across the room, she spots Jeffery. She smiles and walks over, unsure how to greet her estranged brother after two years.

“Hi, Jeffery,” she says.

Jeffery smiles back at his baby sister and leans in for a half-hug, surprising her. His dimples are more pronounced than Jane remembers.

“Thanks for coming, sis,” he says. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I almost didn’t,” she says, then pauses. “But I wanted to see you and, well, I suppose there was some curiosity on my part about all of this.” She gestures to the room.

Jeffery smiles again as they both sit down at the small, corner table. He is tall and gaunt, his boyishness replaced with a leathery, worn face that makes him look older than his years.

“They do have food I can eat too, right?” Jane asks.

“Yeah, sure!” He says. “Ah Wing serves everything you would have found at a Cantonese restaurant and more, but here we pre-order, so I took the liberty.”

She nods. After a pause, he tells her that she looks good.

“Thank you,” she says. “I’m afraid I can’t return the compliment. You’re all skin and bones. Have you been ill?”

“I was for a while … yeah,” he starts. “But I’m better now, so let’s not talk about that. Tell me. How’ve you been these past couple of years?”

Jane tells him a little about her job, her recent promotion at the Midtown company where she works as an accountant. She talks for a while about their cousins and other extended family and friends. She realizes she is chatting more than usual. Jeffery listens without interruption and smiles intermittently. She tells him how cranky Uncle Henry’s been getting in recent years, and they both laugh.

Then she asks him when he got back into the city.

“You mean when did I get out of prison?” He asks. “A couple of months ago.”

“It wasn’t a prison, Jeffery,” she says, immediately regretting it. “I’m sorry, please continue.”

“No, no, that’s okay,” he says, barely audible. “I want to hear what you think it was.”

“Jeffery, it was a rehabilitation program on a farm.”

He inhales deeply as if he is doing his breathing exercises, then says, “They shipped us up-country for ‘empathy training,’” Jane has to strain to hear the words. “Like cattle on a truck! We lived with and cleaned up after pigs and chickens, never being able to eat any of them. They made us watch videos of slaughterhouses over and over and tried to brainwash us.”

The pungent smell of meat mixed with sweat is overpowering now, and Jane struggles to breathe. She wonders how difficult it would be to yank out one of the slabs of wood to crack open a window. She stares at the panel closest to her, then looks back at Jeffery, bracing herself for this conversation. “You knew the law and flouted it anyway,” she says. “You went about your business as if nothing had changed, but everything had!” Jeffery shakes his head as she speaks, and looks away.

“I’m not doing this again,” he says and continues to shake his head. “I’m not having this conversation with you.” Like many families, the siblings are divided on the approach and adoption of the stringent measures.

They stop speaking just as the food arrives. First comes the char siu, then beef balls and choi sum, followed by the rest. Jane looks at the wood ear mushrooms with tofu skin and is thankful Jeffery remembered her favorite. They eat in silence for a few minutes. She tries not to look at Jeffery’s bamboo baskets and plates but cannot resist. He has ordered all the same foods he used to at the family dinners many years ago. Her eyes linger on the char siu in particular – the glossy film, succulent pieces of flesh on top of the pink gelatinous layer with its sweet, heady aroma. She chews on the tofu skin without expression. It smells milky, and she wonders if it’s fresh; she decides that she cooks it better at home. She looks at the char siu again as Jeffery tears into it, not realizing she’s watching him eat. The room doesn’t feel stuffy anymore, as Jane relaxes surrounded by her childhood comfort foods, even if she can’t eat them.

“Do you miss it?” Jeffery asks, as if reading her mind.

“No!”

“Right,” he says, picking up a perfectly round beef ball. Jeffery puts away a lot for a man his size. It’s as if he doesn’t know when he will be able to eat like this again.

Finally, Jane breaks the silence by asking about the children. Jeffery’s divorce and subsequent incarceration meant that he didn’t see his children much. He had a supervised visit last weekend, and that brings him to the reason he wanted to see her. A couple of months on a fishing boat with his buddy Pete from Maine and some others … yes, it is dangerous and yes, this would be his third strike if caught, but the money is great and it’s the closest to what he did before … get back on his feet … the catch would be amazing now, the need to stay under the radar, literally. Would she continue to check in on the kids every now and then?

“Why, Jeffery?” she asks, her eyes widening. “This is it, this is our world now. Why can’t you accept it?”

“Because it’s wrong,” he says, his voice is louder now and the people at the next table stop their conversation to stare at him. “It’s messed with our rights and it’s messed with the natural order of things.”

“The order has evolved, Jeffery, and we have all the alternatives we need,” Jane says, matching his volume. “We haven’t needed animals for sustenance for decades or longer even. What was once a necessity is now hubris! I mean, what good is our cognitive reasoning when we can’t even read the writing on the wall?” Fearing that she sounds like the posters from the early years of the change, she stops.

Jeffery, two years older, has been losing arguments to Jane since they were kids. He waits for her to finish, then says, “I didn’t invite you here to fight, lil’ sis.” His shoulders relax as if a weight has been lifted off them. “We will never agree on this issue, so let’s drop it. I just wanted to tell you about my plans, not ask for permission.”

She promised her parents that she would look out for Jeffery, but she has failed them, and him. They eat the rest of their meal in silence. Jeffery settles the bill in cash, declining Jane’s offer to pay. They stop at the counter to speak to Ah Wing through the glass pane on their way out. Jane thanks him, and waits for her brother to finish his conversation with his old buddy. In the corner of the counter, she notices a plate full of marinated chicken feet, the kind her mother used to make. Jane looks around to see everyone consumed by their meals and conversations, even Jeffery. She grabs a fistful of feet, swiftly shoving them into her handbag, and wipes her hand on her jeans. Jeffery says good-bye to the staff and they exit, receiving their cell phones back in the front room.

Jeffery walks Jane to the main street and waits with her while she hails a cab. When one pulls up, Jane hugs her brother tight this time.

“You know, in spite of everything, you and me, we’re not that different,” he says, and smiles. “I love you, lil’ sis.”

“I love you too, Jeffery, and please be careful out there.”

At this hour, Jane arrives home in under ten minutes. She pays the fare and sprints up to her apartment, nearly tripping on a step. Letting herself in, she flings her shoes off in the hallway and throws the keys on the table so hard they slide off the edge and fall on the floor. She slams the light on and reaches into her handbag, pulling out a foot. Then, she settles into the sofa and begins sucking it, smacking her lips with pleasure.

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Rinkoo Ramchandani is a writer and Assistant Lecturer at The University of Hong Kong's MFA Program.