Page 12 of The Society of Unknowable Objects
He gave her an appraising sidelong glance.
“Yes, I know.” She grinned. “I look pretty sturdy.”
He laughed once more, lifting his face to the sky briefly to throw his amusement out into the night, and Magda liked that this charming man who likedTintinand who loved eating seemed to enjoy her company.
They reached the end of the block and James pointed across the road. “That’s where we’re going. Mac’s Noodles.” Magda saw a squarewindow beneath a yellow sign on the far side of the street, a man in a white coat working away behind a counter and a busy dining room beyond. As they crossed the street Magda detected the scent of something rich and savoury in the air, like a meat broth, and her stomach rumbled in appreciation. She hadn’t eaten since the flight, and she realised the walk had worked up her appetite.
“Best noodles in Kowloon, in my humble opinion,” James said. “Come on, let me buy you some beef brisket noodles, and I will tell you all about what I have discovered.”
Noodles
The restaurant was a brightly lit square room with the kitchen area at the front and small, round tables and booths at the back, the air filled with the sounds of customers slurping soup and tapping spoons on bowls. Everyone was talking noisily, it seemed to Magda, except for the staff and the chef, who were taking turns to shout at each other. James led her through the hubbub to a booth at the rear of the shop, many of the other customers staring at her openly as they passed.
“Sorry about that,” James said, as they sat. “We Chinese can be quite rude whenever we see someone...”
“Someone with amazing red hair,” Magda finished for him, waving a hand at her head.
An old man appeared, a rag for cleaning tables hanging loosely from one hand. He shouted a question at James in what Magda assumed was Cantonese. James replied in a few quick sentences and the man walked away without responding.
“I ordered for us.” James smiled. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“That was ordering?” Magda asked, meeting his smile with one of her own. “This is fun.”
James proceeded to pull out chopsticks and a couple of soup spoons from the tub on the table, and then wiped them with napkins. He passed a set to Magda. As soon as this was done, the old man appeared againwith two deep bowls, steam curling up from them, and placed them on the end of the table. He walked away without saying anything.
“The food is so good they can get away with service like that,” James commented, flicking his head towards the receding server. He slid one of the bowls towards her. “This is beef brisket noodles. Basically noodles, beef, and broth.”
“What more could a girl ask for?” Magda reflected as she peered into the dish. The steam clouded her glasses, but she saw dark broth and noodles as white as pearls, and small chunks of meat floating around. Immediately her senses were filled with the savoury, umami smell and her stomach rumbled impatiently.
“If you don’t make a mess when you’re eating,” James advised, “you’re not doing it properly. Don’t worry about table manners.”
As he said this, James reached into his pocket and removed a small glass bottle. Magda watched as he tipped a pill out into his hand and swallowed it, tossing his head back. Then he returned the bottle to a pocket and grabbed his chopsticks.
“Vitamins,” he explained. “I’ve taken them every day since I was a child, since I got better.” He shrugged. “They probably don’t do anything but it’s a habit. Maybe I’m superstitious.” He picked up some noodles and curled them onto his spoon, then dunked the spoon into the broth and sucked the soup noisily through the noodles.
Magda chuckled and tried to copy him, aware that he was watching her as she slurped up her own mouthful of broth and noodles. “Oh my god, this is amazing,” she tried to say, her mouth full of food.
James nodded enthusiastically, and they ate in silence for a few moments, appreciative glances interspersed with chopsticks tapping the bowls and the slurping of soup.
“What do you do, Magda?” James asked in between mouthfuls. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I write novels,” she said. “Pretty much all I ever wanted to do, ever since a childhood spent with my nose in books.”
James’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “An author? Really?”
She nodded. “Very disposable thrillers. The kind you see at airports, not the sort of books that win prizes. I studied law at university but neverever wanted to be a lawyer. I did it just because I had to do something, and I thought it would help me get a job. But I only ever wanted to be a writer. So I did a few years in the corporate world, writing in the evenings, and eventually I wrote something good enough to get published.”
“How fabulous,” James said.
Magda shrugged modestly. “I sell enough books that people keep publishing them, but nowhere near enough that anyone pays me any attention.”
“Forgive me, but I’ve never heard of Magda Sparks the author.”
Magda shook her head. “I use a pseudonym. Miranda Hepworth. I like to think of her as the tall and glamorous version of me. She’s the one who dresses well and gets invited to parties.”
James chuckled as he pincered some noodles.
“Now, enough about me,” Magda said. “Tell me about the item you discovered. That’s why I’m here.”
