Back in our chairs, we watched Ha move the screen gently toward the other end of the tank, trapping the fish against its glass wall. There was a splash of water as the fish fought its imprisonment. Keeping pressure on the screen, Ha lifted a long gleaming pick and placed it above the fish. We waited.
'Must be just right,' Ha muttered.
He stared into the water, and we saw him take a breath, hold it, then plunge the pick downward. Instantly he let go of the screen and lifted the pick and the wriggling, impaled fish into the air. The pick had gone straight down into the fish's nose, through its mouth, and out the bottom side. Ha inspected the fish. 'Very healthy,' he noted.
He nailed the fish onto his board, held its back with his other hand, drew a short knife, and quickly severed the fish's spinal column. 'Now,' he announced with the affability of a television show gourmet, 'we make very good Shao-tzou fish.'
He bent at the knees, hunched himself toward the fish. 'First we see what you eat.' He sliced open the belly and picked through some greenish-black gunk. 'Maybe some crab, some clam. In China bad boy in my village feed cat meat sometime, when too many cat in the town you know. Very ugly fish. In China they call this fish 'river pig.' '
Working quickly, he removed the organs of the fish and dropped them into small blue ceramic bowls. Then he beheaded the fish, cut out the brain, and deposited it into another bowl. After each operation he dropped his knife into a wide bucket on the floor and withdrew from his gleaming array another identical one, so that the fluids of one part of the fish did not touch any from the others. With the organs and brain segregated, he dropped the remains of the head into another bucket, lifted up his board, wiped it, dropped the towel in the bucket, then flipped over the board. Now he quickly skinned the fish and filleted it.
Meanwhile Shantelle was passing through the room with sets of slate paddles and chalk. She handed each man one and I could see that most, like me, were torn between our desire to study Shantelle and our fascination with Ha's activities. Paddle in hand, I watched him lift the fillets onto a new cutting board, whisk the skin and backbone into the bucket, then remove the old larger cutting board completely.
'How many, Ha?' came Allison's voice.
He bent forward to examine his fillets, made an adjusting trim on one- the fleck of flesh flying instantly into the bucket- then checked the organs in their separate bowls. 'I have just one Sun, just one Moon, and always just one Stars,' he announced.
'Okay, this is the usual number. Those of you bidding on the Sun portion, please write down your sums,' Allison instructed. 'Remember, the Sun is a portion that involves great heat.' She looked about the room. The men appeared tentative, not sure of what to do. But I saw several men leaning over their paddles.
'Please lift your bids… I see $75, that will not do, I see $100, that won't either, $50, you should be ashamed of yourself, sir, this fish came from the other side of the world, I see $250, yes, that's better, I'm ignoring the lesser bids, I see- you may drop your $100 bid, sir- I see $300, I see $600, he's the most motivated, clearly, $600, this will be the cheapest portion of the evening I guarantee you, $600, again, and that's it. Sold to the man in the green tie.'
Instantly Shantelle was next to him, a balding man of about forty-five, indeed wearing a green tie, and he gave her a credit card.
'Please come forward.'
Allison received him, and he stood before us, a bit embarrassed to be the first one, perhaps afraid to be revealed as a fool before the room. Shantelle returned with the credit card slip and a pen. She smiled helpfully as he signed. Ha, meanwhile, was preparing the portion of Shao-tzou sushi, his fingers patting and rolling rice and seaweed and tucking until the tiny delicacy was done.
'Do I get soy sauce?' the man joked.
'I'm afraid not.'
'Okay, here I go.' He picked up his sushi, held it before his mouth, looked at Ha, looked at Allison, then gently took it into his mouth. He chewed slowly and swallowed.
'How's it taste?' someone called.
'That is rather good,' he said.
'Please,' said Allison, leading him by the hand to the chair.
We studied him.
'I feel okay,' he announced. 'I feel really pretty normal.'
Shantelle had collected the slate paddles from the unsuccessful bidders, erased them, and given them back.
'I'm- okay, okay- there… it's-' The first winning bidder gripped the arm of his chair, then tipped his head back. His fingers relaxed, his feet slipped forward, and he eased into the comfortable leather, his eyes still open but blank. He breathed deeply through his nose, as though appreciating a fine wine. Then his mouth sagged open, his eyelids heavy. His eyes fluttered closed, his face still tranquil, attentive to some far pleasure, as if he were listening to exquisitely drifting jazz.
'Is he sick?' asked a worried voice.
Allison held up a hand. 'Wait.'
The man in the green tie slackened further, his head lolling softly on his shoulder. The muscles around his eyes twitched, as did his lips. These movements suggested surprise and deep internal experience, the pleasurable awareness of light across a sleeping form. His face seemed to set itself within a coma of concentration, eager to receive as much sensation as possible. The fingers on both his hands quivered as if it was all too unbearably good, and he moaned indistinctly, the pleasure forcing its release through his mouth.
'For God's sake!' one of the men called. 'Is he dying?'
The room remained hushed, the men looking back and forth at one another, uncertain whether to be worried or outraged or entertained. Allison followed her watch closely.
'This man looks ill!' came a protest. 'I insist you call-!'
Allison held up a calm finger, following her watch. 'One of the training elements for a Shao-tzou chef is to estimate body weight and size the portion accordingly. Mr. Ha is an artist, gentlemen, not a murderer. Please, have a little faith.'
Half a minute more went by agonizingly, then the intensity of the man's pleasure began to subside, and we saw the gradual reassertion of consciousness. He blinked, lifted his head, coughed, focused, lost focus, blinked again, munched his mouth dryly, then sat up in his chair, recognizing the room and the rest of us.
'Oh,' he said in a low, thoughtful voice. He sighed a noise of contentment. Then he noticed the expectant eyes upon him and nodded. 'Yeah, it was unbelievable…'
He started to stand.
'Just wait a minute or so, sir,' said Allison, gently pushing him back down in the chair. 'Just let your body figure it all out.'
He looked up at Allison and smiled coyly. 'Can we do it again?'
'No,' Allison said, rejecting his innuendo.
'Wait, you don't understand,' he protested. 'Just tell me what to pay! I'm good for it.' Despite Allison's insistence, he rose unsteadily, but his halting steps seemed caused by his amazement as much as by any infirmity.
He was pacified by Shantelle and escorted to his seat.
'We have two more pieces of Shao-tzou fish,' Allison announced. 'Next we have the piece of Moon, with the blade wipe coming from the liver. Write your bids, please. Let me remind you that the winning bid in the last round was a mere $600.'
This time more men hunched over their slates and I could see a few of them look up, study the other men, then erase whatever had been on the slate and write another figure.
'Bids please,' Allison said loudly. 'Get the paddles up. Here we go. I see $800, $900, $2,000, $1,000 is it? Yes, very nice, the highest so far is $2,000, please, sir, don't change your bid, ah! $3,316, quite an odd bid, I think we have a winner at $3,316.'
This time a younger, heavyset man in a blazer came forward, sporty and confident. He nodded back to the men, stepped forward to Ha, grabbed the piece of sushi, pivoted, faced us, and pushed the whole thing in his mouth.
