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"Okay," he said, placing the plate in front of her and smiling. "This is dak-gui, you know, chicken - and the vegetable things on the side are kimchi and the little dumpling things are mandu."
Jesse perched himself on the chair opposite her, and taking a bowl from the table, adeptly lifted a dumpling to his mouth with the chopsticks. He munched thoughtfully.
"You'd really like this dish, actually. I had it in my first week there, you know, when I got lost and this guy who didn't speak much English had to show me back to the hostel." He glanced over at his mother, as if expecting a response. "Yeah, 'course you do," he continued, chattily. "It was when I'd walked towards the docks..."
His mother was slumped on a green chair that stood solitary in the middle of the floor. It seemed out of place, a sudden blot on the landscape of the room. In front of her had been set a small, wooden table holding a meticulous array of bowls and plates, even some real ceramic, along with chopsticks, napkins and other such finery. A napkin had been laid across her lap. Her mouth was open, but her eyes were shut, and occasionally she shifted as if asleep.
More noticeable was the saline bag which hung from the ceiling by a loop of blue string. It silently fed into Dulcie's arm. Jesse had set it up himself.
"...so I'd got round the corner and who should turn up but this Korean guy, and -"
Jesse faltered, the food in his mouth suddenly tasteless. He swallowed.
"...Mum, why don't you come home?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
His head lowered as he curled up on the chair. And the bowl fell from his hands, as if it might tumble forever.
Mich Sampson, 05/11/01
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