JOURNEY OF A MOON CAKE

Khanh and Ngan 

As I was planning a trip to Minnesota to visit Ngan, a dear former school mate of mine, Mid-Autumn festival was nearing. I suggested bringing Ngan a moon cake as present, but she hurriedly rejected the idea. First, her sister had already bought some; second, neither of them really liked this kind of pastry. Neither did I. so I decided to bring just myself. Wouldn’t that be “present” enough??!!
However, after my last class on the day before my flight, a student came to me with a pretty moon cake in her hand.

“Cô” (teacher), she said, “this is a homemade moon cake, a really special one. I made it myself, choosing only ingredients of first quality, baking it with special techniques that a professional baker just taught me. Just try it, you’ll see.”

With the pretty cake in my hand, I uttered an inevitable “thanks” while wondering about this unplanned circumstance that would make me decide to travel with a moon cake. Surely enough, it eventually made its way into my backpack, together with the croissant meant to be my breakfast on the plane. Later, as I was slowly chewing my croissant, I couldn’t help noticing the rather imposing smell of the moon cake.

Out of the plane, I moved quickly along the airport shopping hall then took the escalator down the baggage claim area. There, I was warmly greeted by my dear friend. We used to go to junior high together in the distant past and in a distant land, but here we were, so close to each other, hugging each other, both feeling privileged by our special long-lasting friendship.

When Ngan drove into the garage of her senior 7500 Co-operative building, she headed directly toward the specific parking space she was allotted to. After she had parked, I fumbled a bit with my backpack because one part of it seemed to be accidentally unzipped. I quickly checked its content and was relieved that everything looked intact.

Inside Ngan’s house, she showed me the early lunch readily prepared for me. Thinking of the moon cake that had been traveling with me all the way from California, I said:
“And I have some dessert for us.”

But I grew more and more embarrassed as I fumbled all over my backpack, trying to find the moon cake I had packed.

“Strange! I remember putting it inside the bag with the croissant.”

“Forget it,” Ngan said eventually and I decided it was the wisest thing to do right then. In fact, I was so impressed by my friend’s talents displayed in the room - her flower arrangements, stained glass and knitting products – that a moon cake became very insignificant. That evening, after a quick dinner and a joyous musical performance by the senior residents in the yard, we came back to Ngan’s house to find a note stuck on the door. It said “Ngan, please call Carolyn at 927 5210. She has something that might belong to you.”

Ngan said “I don’t lose anything” as she showed me the note.

“Are you going to make the phone call?”

“Later. Now, I need a shower before my rehearsal and you do need some rest if you want to join me”.

It was, indeed, my plan. So I laid down on the cozy sofa in the living area, admiring the stained window glass right next to me, thinking how delightful my trip had turned out to be, and soon fell into sleep. When I opened my eyes, Ngan was nowhere to be seen and I realized I had missed her rehearsal.

“Don’t worry,” Ngan said when she came back. “You’ll see the real show the day after tomorrow and enjoy it even more.”

On that “D- day”, before the performance, I had a nice talk with a senior named Andy, who was  sitting between a lady – who later  I found out to be his girlfriend- and myself – a stranger he met for the first time. Then I had more talks with other seniors during a dinner held by the group of sign language learners after their successful performance. By then, I was very convinced that the Minnesota seniors, in spite of their age, were still fully living their lives and were doing a good job making visitors feel at home in their home state. Indeed, I felt welcome, very happy and totally unconcerned about whatever incidents that might come in my way. I meant incidents like the loss of a moon cake.

After the group dinner, Ngan received a lengthy message from her cell phone which she played and replayed many times before she could figure out the story of the “pastry”. Here was the timeline of what happened:

- The pastry – my moon cake - was found by a senior named Lee Orchard, who put it on Carolyn’s car trunk.

- Carolyn mentioned it to her daughter who used to teach in Hong Kong and could read Vietnamese. She identified the moon cake as popular to the Vietnamese.

- Carolyn was putting a notice on the bulletin board about the found moon cake when she ran into Mikki Lindsay, who was in charge of receiving newcomers in the 7500 Yorke Co-Op. Mikki recommended contacting Ngan, a  newcomer of Vietnamese origin, therefore, a possible owner of the moon cake.

-   Carolyn left a message on Ngan’s door, which she read after the sign language group’s dinner.
Who would imagine my little moon cake could be such a trouble maker!

The next day was my last day in Minnesota, so Ngan drove me and her sister to Minneapolis Park. It was a charming place of nature with big green trees, colorful flowers and winding romantic paths and the sisters were the best companions I had ever had. At the end of the day, we came back to Ngan’s house, tired but perfectly satisfied. After a quick dinner, the moon cake loomed again in our mind! Fair enough, since we had not finalized its story.

“We should drop by Carolyn’s house,” Ngan decided, then checked her apartment number (on the same floor as Ngan’s). Before we left, Ngan took out one of her own moon cakes.

“I will give one of mine to Carolyn,” she said.

From afar, we noticed a “crowd” of three amidst a heated conversation. It was Carolyn talking to her neighbors, who turned out to be Andy and Marcia (I was so delighted to meet them again). They were definitely talking about us and the moon cake. At our sight,  they all exclaimed “They are coming!” and, as soon as the two of us joined them, we all talked together, each trying to relate one’s own perspective of the story.

Finally, Carolyn said:
“Let me give you back your moon cake.”

She came back to get it, but it looked weird to me. She explained:

“I put it in the freezer to make sure it’s still good.”

I grinned at the idea of a frozen moon cake.

Then, Ngan presented her moon cake to Carolyn as a gift.

Carolyn had a better idea:

“Why don’t you transfer this gift to your sign language teacher?”

So would Ngan.

Back to my quiet room in California, I continued to ponder over that team of kind-hearted seniors at 7500 York Avenue. They cared for each other, for their visitors and also for little things like the moon cake of mine.

By Doãn Kim Khánh