Baba says that it’s pronounced pū-kè. I insist that it’s pow-kr, where the pow is whispered like a quiet delicacy and the kr is growled out from the throat, but he insists otherwise.

Either way, we play. 

He takes a seat across from me. The table’s glass—a round, smooth, circle. Baba’s drinking water (must I mention that it is boiled) and the bottom of the glass leaves circular water stains on the tabletop. I’ve never known why the glass does that and it still confuses me because the water is still in the cup and hasn’t been moving and it doesn’t make sense how it can evaporate below. I suppose I could google the result if I wanted—I suppose you could say I just would prefer to stay ignorant, but sometimes I like to think.

To wonder about stupid things when I can.

The deck’s already out of its box. What a shame. My favorite part of every card game has got to be taking the cards out—it’s incredibly satisfying to feel the cards slide out of the box into your hand, their surfaces fresh and gleaming smooth. 

Baba takes the deck. Of course—first, I don’t get to take the cards out, and second, I don’t get to shuffle either. But it’s perfectly fine because I like watching him shuffle. When Baba shuffles, the cards are always well mixed and it's quite a show because he likes to add in a fancy bridge and a flourish. I do prefer it if I’d shuffled, though, because it allows me to intentionally do a poor job of shuffling which will ultimately lead to an upper hand on the game. 

Surely it does. 

Baba splits the deck, but he splits it the lazy way. Instead of dealing all the cards out and alternating between every player—I prefer that way—he takes one half of the cards away and eyes it, then hands it to me. I quirk an eyebrow at him but I don’t say anything anyways, because I know there’s no point in talking back because he’s so stubborn. 

We sit in silence for some time because we’re rearranging our cards. We’re playing Chinese poker—not the mainstream type with money and bets and poker chips but Chinese poker. Both games are pretty similar but I prefer the Chinese style because there’s only one other opponent. You know their cards and they know yours, so it’s just a matter of playing with the best possible strategy—no strings attached. 

Baba moves first. The player who is dealt with the lowest card makes the first move, and from there the next player puts a card based on its suit and number and from there it’s game.

“I never tell you about the first game I played, did I?” 

I shake my head. I’ve heard plenty of Baba’s stories, but never this one.

“I am seven. Seven years younger than you, I play my first card game. We move from Wenzhou to Beijing. I speak only Shanghainese. Beijing people treat Shanghainese like scum, me like scum.” 

His hands shake a little. The water in the cup splashes a little, and the stains branch out like flowers. 

“I remember most. My first memory. First cards. I was two, your two great-uncles, the ones you said were ‘so nice.’ I very skinny, too skinny. For there no food. I cry for the uncles, they at least twenty then, for the food. I remember it was water, water with rice. Only rice, nothing else. They do not give to me. They were selfish. Always selfish.”

I place my second card over his. The seven of spades.

“All because of Mao, it was. Your great-great grandfather—my great-grandfather, they all very rich. Stinking rich it was, and I can say. He had nine kids. Nanny for all of them. When the table was shaky they place silver coins under them. They never need worry. Good food, good money, good life.

“But then stinking Communist come along, they take everything. They do not care. My father was professor at Tshingua University. Best university in China, it still is. Yet pay very low.

“This morning, you drink whole glass of milk. Whole glass of milk is for five people for seven days. Was very bad. Barely enough to eat.”

I bite my lip. I didn’t finish it. He doesn’t know that I poured at least a quarter of it in the sink.

“My aunt could not have children, she desperately want children. So my mother give my sister to her, they raise her. My dad like my brother more than me. Gave him everything better. Gave him food first, priority for him. I am the older one. Always working. Doing dishes, mopping, sweeping, cooking. I cook at age seven. My father often angry. He often beat me. It was a miserable childhood.” 

He puts the king of hearts down on the pile. It’s the one with the sword over his head.

“But I am always strong, strong, and very smart. I start to play cards with old men on street. I beat them quickly. I learn how to speak Mandarin. In class I am #1, always, almost always. I go to the bookstore, stay the whole day and read. I love animals, I often go out swimming in the river, catch the cicadas.”

I put the ace of clubs on the pile. I would call the clubs clovers, but Baba doesn’t, so I don’t.

“In high school I am always on top of class. I am also very athletic, go to run and swim every day. I take the gaokao, the Chinese national entrance exam. The gaokao back then is hundred times harder than gaokao now. Gaokao is definitely at least thousand times harder than SAT. It test in every subject you can name, Geometry, Algebra, Chinese, English, Physics, Biology, Chemistry, Astronomy, Geography, Grammar. Whole test is three days.”

He places the colored joker down. The highest card. 

“I score very high. I go to Peking University, Peking like Harvard, Tsinghua like Stanford. My brother and father went to Tsingahua, only I go to Peking. I major in chemistry. But in college I find out how China really is. No meritocracy. Family connections. Status. No meaning.”

I pass my turn. I can’t put any more cards down.

“So I don’t like it. I get a very high paying job, a stocks buyer, seller, I travel, all to Germany and Japan, I learn the all languages, but I am very unhappy. I want to move to America, better future for myself, my future family.

“In 1995 I get to go to America for the first time. I enroll in university in Arizona, study, get a job. Nowhere as high paying, but yes, more freedom. Four years later I come here with your mother. I have to study very hard, because after undergraduate in America I enroll in multiple graduate schools. Too many. I study for my Ph.D in chemistry. It is useless, meaningless because of my status. An immigrant. America does not bend. Neither does China.”

He puts down a four-card flush. I can’t do anything. 

“After we had your brother in 2001, we move to Philadelphia, to NJ, then to NY, all for my studies. But the more schooling did not get better job. My job not bad now. But nothing compared to that I had in China, and nothing compared to my education.”

He puts down a double jack. I can do that. I put both of my aces on the pile, triumphantly.

“I only get my Ph.D in 2012. After so many years of schooling. You were also seven then. I graduated at Lincoln Center—the place you love, Lincoln Center.”

Lincoln Center is where I watched my first opera. It was four years ago when I saw it. 

I was ten years old and we’d seen Tchaikovsky’s Queen of Spades. I absolutely adored it.

The Queen of Spades is an opera based on a short story by Alexander Pushkin. It retells a story about supernatural elements, combined with the natural avarice in every human.

It is a dark story. It is an unhappy story, with an unhappy ending. But it was the first opera I had ever watched, and I loved it unconditionally, infinitely. 

Baba passes. 

“Full house,” I say. I smile in spite of myself. Part of me knows he’s letting me win, but I feel a sense of victory nonetheless.

I have one card left. I put it on the pile. 

My hands are empty as Baba looks over at the card. 

It’s the Queen of Spades.