A Plum Pudding of Fiction

A Plum Pudding of Fiction

Chapter 1.

An Interesting Breakfast                                                by  Ægidius  May 2013

Grandfather Rong was an unusual person. He liked a bowl of warm milk for breakfast. 

Grandfather Rong woke very early before the rest of the family had risen. He woke early because a rude bird was laughing at him in the tree beside his bedroom window. Grandfather Rong thought how crazy this place Australia was where the birds would laugh at you in the morning. In China the birds did not laugh at people. After the ‘Kill the 4 Harms’ Campaign the birds were very quiet and kept respectfully to themselves. 

How crazy was this place where his son and daughter in law had chosen to live. 

Grandfather Rong was looking forward to a breakfast of warm milk and a steamed bun. He had made the steamed buns himself the day before. They were of fluffy white bread that had been boiled with red dates in the centre. How strange it was that Australians did not know how to make bread.

As he put on his plastic house slippers and draped a dressing gown over his old pyjamas Grandfather Rong thought of that delicious bowl of warm milk. He would bring the bowl right up to his lips and go “slurp, slurp, slurp” leaving only a very little to dribble onto the carpet of the breakfast room. How crazy these Australians who have fluffy woollen carpet on the floor of their house. Much better to have proper squares of linoleum in standard black and white pattern like in all houses in China. Easy clean with old rag kept in corner of kitchen. 

Grandfather Rong went to the crazy Australian kitchen that was much too big and had only one proper big gas burner called a Wok burner. All the other gas burners were obviously much too small to heat small saucepan with one cup of milk that Grandfather Rong took from the fridge. 

Crazy Australian all drank cold milk in glass. Grandfather Rong knew that was unhealthy and would cause coughing blood and short life. Milk must be boiled until healthy. Grandfather Rong knew this. So he placed the smallest saucepan with one cup of cold milk on the big wok burner turned up to its highest setting because he wanted really very healthy milk for long life. 

Grandfather Rong did not worry about the special exhaust fan over the kitchen range, or the exhaust fan in the kitchen ceiling. He was only going to boil a little milk until it was healthy enough to drink; he was not making a huge stir fry meal with hot sesame oil and flames everywhere. It would not take long. 

Grandfather Rong’s back hurt very much and his poor old feet were feeling cold in the plastic slippers on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor. Particularly as the sun was not yet up. 

So Grandfather Rong shuffled to the comfort of the lounge room with the fluffy woollen carpet and the feather soft lounge chair and turned on the huge TV that his daughter in law had bought for him and had specially tuned to Grandfather Rong’s favourite channel. They were playing special patriotic songs from the time of defending friendly neighbour from imperialist aggression. Grandfather Rong turned the TV up very loud because his old ears did not hear very well anymore. Grandfather Rong fell into a dream like state remembering his own youth. A youth who commanded a brigade in the great patriotic war for liberty from foreign aggression. The TV were showing patriotic dancing by grateful loyal allies and parade of huge missiles being driven on even bigger trucks through cold foggy capitol of friendly neighbour. Grandfather Rong started to drift off into a well earned doze. 

He did not see the milk as it sizzled and steamed. He did not smell the plastic handle of the saucepan as it melted and charred or the bottom of the pot as it buckled and split. 

Grandfather Rong thought he heard the tinkle tinkle of an ice cream van. Strange that it should come so early in the morning but there was no accounting for the crazy behaviour of these Australians. The kitchen smoke detector was connected to another smoke alarm as well. An alarm with a big hooter louder than the air raid siren in Shenyang. When the hooter started its moanful wail Grandfather Rong thought there must be an ambulance coming somewhere nearby. Or possibly the police. He was sure daughter in law was a thought criminal and would be taken away by special political police very soon. 

The hooter woke up the next door neighbour’s dog who started to howl in pain. It also woke up the neighbour who came over to put out the fire. 

When the TV finished patriotic singing with special patriotic dancing Grandfather Rong came awake again. The TV were showing a news broadcast and the news did not interest Grandfather Rong. It was all about politics and the new Premier of China. Grandfather Rong had stopped listening to the political news when Chow En Lai died. Chow En Lai had been a favourite of Grandfather Rong. Nothing important had happened since then. 

Suddenly Grandfather Rong remembered there was some small thing of almost as much importance. Breakfast of warm milk in bowl. Grandfather Rong sprang as fast as his elderly bones would allow to the kitchen. He was again surprised, annoyed and bewildered at what had happened. 

“There must be something very strange about this Australian milk” thought Grandfather Rong, ‘every morning it burn up and leaves nasty stink in kitchen’.

Dutiful Daughter in Law hit Respectful Son over the head with a pillow and said “its your turn to buy another pot”.