Unbeknownst

Table for Three

19 Table for Three We made our selections without much deliberation. We all went for the same. Our waiter returned with the tea. The tea was —we’d never had a tea like it before. I said it was somber. It seemed familiar . . . Roasted corn, our waiter told us, and after that it tasted more like broth to me, but it was the perfect complement to everything. The spicy cold cabbage, the sushi and tempura, the rice and teriyaki. We were subdued as we ate. It was very unlike us. We’d asked our questions on the drive there and our son had answered them. Seated at Aoeshe, we had little left to say. My attention was drawn now and then to my neck and face, my forearms and wrists, I think because of the circulating air. It felt good to be reminded of the skin that way, 20 with no discomfort whatsoever, only pleasure. Just beyond the stainless steel, the one chef visible to us was preparing sushi, we supposed, or shaving carrots into butterflies that would come to rest atop the dab of wasabi on each plate. His gestures were snake-quick and lost to us, but accurate, reminding us to notice the presentation of the food before us, even to the spacing of the shapes. We lifted bowls between our hands and drank. We turned our hands into cranes and fed ourselves with beaks. ...