"What's with him, you think?" Dr. Lai asked over dinner that night. He was the gossip clearinghouse for the home's Chinese speakers. Tubby had never liked him, but his society was the price of Mrs. Xin's. She was slim, calm, and still beautiful, with silk-fine silver hair, and carrying on an incomprehensible affair with Dr. Lai, who could only be enjoined from talking about it by the threat of physical brutality. The three of them were staring at Mr. Chen from across the cafeteria. He was working the room, shaking hands and snapping pictures as though he were the photographer at his own wedding. "Probably early-onset Alzheimer's," said Mrs. Xin.

"They like to keep those people in hospitals where they can scan their brains," said Dr. Lai. "Maybe brain trauma? But he doesn't look like he was in an accident. Not stroke." He rubbed his chin with his forefinger. "Did he smell like booze?" he asked Tubby.

"I don't stick my nose in strangers' faces," said Tubby.

"He looks too fit to be an alcoholic," said Mrs. Xin.

"Hypoxia," said Dr. Lai, lingering on the word.

Mr. Chen had made it to their table at last. He said something in English to Mrs. Xin. "No, we haven't met," she said politely in Mandarin, and introduced herself and Dr. Lai. Then she gestured to Tubby. "You two have met, though."

"Dr. Hanrahan," said Tubby. "Charmed."

Tubby's granddaughter Daphne came over after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the days field hockey practice didn't meet. She was eleven and about to start high school. Tubby thought it was a waste of time for a slip of an eleven-year-old girl to spend her afternoons chasing balls and getting hit with sticks by teenagers, so she told her son that Daphne needed more practice at physics and mathematics. In fact, Daphne had an excellent foundation in mechanics and electromagnetism, which would form the context for the calculus lessons that Tubby would start in the fall while Daphne spent advanced algebra drawing pictures of princesses and penguins. (After meticulously illustrated bloodbaths that could easily blight half a notebook page, the penguins usually won; but since Tubby had pointed out the considerable technological and neurocognitive advantages of princesses, Daphne would condescend to hand the flower of humanity an occasional Pyrrhic triumph.)

Of course, one could only force an eleven-year-old girl to spend so much time on math and physics. Luckily, Daphne was also developing a real finesse at five-card draw.

"If you get good enough at this," said Tubby, "you can break even on the video machines at casinos all night."

"That sounds like a waste of time," said Daphne.

"No, they like regulars," said Tubby. "You can get free food and drinks, sometimes free hotel rooms. Mrs. Xin told me all about it."

"I get three free meals a day," said Daphne. "And a free room with all my books and—"

"Hush," said Tubby. Daphne looked at her indignantly. A balding, middle-aged man in shirtsleeves brushed through the half-closed doorway. Daphne squealed and jumped up to hug him; he said some English greeting and swung her up on his hip, kissed her forehead, and put her down. "Hi, Ma," he said in Mandarin.

"You're early, Taisheng," said Tubby.

"I wanted a couple of minutes to talk to you about the lunar new year," said Taisheng. He said something in English to Daphne. She and Tubby said a quick goodbye, and she ran from the room.

"The lunar new year?" Tubby asked, doubtful.

Taisheng sighed. "Can I sit down?" he asked. Tubby gestured and grunted. Taisheng sat, slumped back in the chair, and pinched the sides of his forehead with his hand. When he took his hand away, Tubby noticed the circles under his eyes. "Ma, you have to stop being late for Bio-E."

Tubby grunted. "I make up the time. If I'm a half hour late, I sit a half hour extra. So what?"

"Three times they've had to pay someone to take an extra shift because you were late. A day of your subsidy isn't worth an extra shift at time and a half. You understand? They have the discretion to remove you from the program. We can't afford the home without the program."

Tubby squinted at him. "You could before."

Taisheng looked away; his face twisted, as though with nausea or tears. Tubby felt the old house in Banqiao all around her: The little living room with all the calendars on the walls; the curtain separating the kitchen from the dining room, with its kawaii ninja and geisha and its stains from decades of aerosolized oil; and Taisheng at the table, knob-elbowed and smooth-faced, turning away from his rice and pork as though the food were spoiled. He had failed one of the national biology exams. Tubby had never felt a purer pain, a sharper helplessness. That had been when Taisheng had started to work so hard at English. He had feared that exam would keep him from admittance to Taida; and, although Tubby and her husband had tried to console him, he had been right.

"They downsized the department," Taisheng said. "We all took pay cuts so they wouldn't fire anyone." His eyes focused on empty space for a moment. "They did anyway."

"I don't have to stay here."

Taisheng made that same agonized face again. Tubby traced that to its source, fast as electrons through copper wire. "You didn't tell Quinn," Tubby said.

Taisheng said "Ma," and Tubby could not tell whether it was a plea or an admonition. "Just come to Bio-E on time."

"All right." She said the words with the dangerous agreeableness that was every mother's birthright, a spike straight through the breastbone. "But stop taking your daughter away early. She really needs to work on E&M."

"You don't have to keep pretending to teach her, Ma," said Taisheng. "I know her Chinese isn't any good. You can just play cards if you want."

Tubby looked at Taisheng as though he'd just dropped his pants. "Daphne's Mandarin has improved tremendously since I came here. She speaks like a native. I've told you that a hundred times."

Taisheng sighed. "Sure, Ma."

"You look like shit," said Tubby. "Take better care of yourself."

"OK, Ma," said Taisheng, standing. "I'll do that."

Taisheng turned and jumped to dodge Dr. Lai, hustling into Tubby's room as fast as his old bowlegs would carry him. "Come quick," he said to Tubby. "The new guy's having a convulsion."