No more questions? But I had a hundred. How long had she known that Baba had gotten married again? Was he ever coming back to Tunglam? Had he forgotten her?
In my pan, the eggs sizzled.
I let them burn.
It was easy to pack since I didn’t have much. My three-drawer chest was sparsely endowed with my brothers’ old shirts and jackets, two of Mama’s faded cheongsams, and undergarments I had sewn myself from a fraying blanket. I folded my clothes into a brown wicker suitcase, packed an extra pair of shoes and one of Mama’s wooden combs, and I tucked my doll inside, too. Her clothes were stained and her porcelain face had yellowed from the humidity, yet everything we’d gone through together endeared her to me. I had nothing else I loved as much.
Mama slipped into my room, a gray shawl draped over her shoulders. She said, “I don’t remember you having a mark on your chest. It’s new, isn’t it?”
“Ah Ma says such marks are unlucky,” I mumbled.
“Only certain ones.”
Like yours?I thought. I was still angry with her. These last few years, I’d begrudged her for not letting me go to Hong Kong.Now I was furious that shewantedme to go. She should have told me about Baba’s new wife from the start. I would never have wanted to live with them.
Sensing my frostiness, Mama sat on my bed. On her lap was a small box bundled in a sheet of lumpy cotton. “Open it.”
My curiosity won out over my indignation. I undid the fabric, and inside the box were two silk ribbons for tying my hair, and a carefully folded cotton undergarment.
My eyes widened with surprise. “Glasses?”
That was what we called bras.
“You’ll need it soon,” Mama said. “Maybe when you’re twelve, or the year after. I won’t be there with you, so if you have questions, ask your aunt or your second mother.”
“I don’t know them.”
“You will soon enough, after living in Gu Ma’s house.”
Gu Ma was Baba’s only sister. Though I hadn’t seen her since I was a baby, Ah Ma grumbled about her plenty. Her husband owned a shoe factory in Hong Kong, but he’d died recently, leaving her solely in charge. Ah Ma was sore that she hadn’t sent money back, unlike my dutiful father.
Mama, I sensed, also didn’t like Gu Ma. But I doubted it was about money; Mama didn’t care about such things.
“There’s nothing to be scared about.” Mama drew me close to braid a ribbon into my hair. “Study well, and keep your thoughts to yourself. Hong Kong is a big city, bigger even than Guangzhou. Don’t be too trusting of others—not everyone will want what’s best for you. And don’t make trouble for your father.”
Or your stepmother,she left unsaid.
I made a mute dip of my head.
“And be polite to your aunt,” Mama added. “Your father has always been close to her. He works for her factory, and she’ll pay for your clothes, your food, your schooling.”
Again, I could hear what she left unsaid.It’s more than I can do for you.
She rose and walked to the door. Something else was on her mind. I could tell from how purposefully she slid the door open.
“Show me what you did,” she said then, very quietly, “when the Japanese came into our house.”
My eyes flew to hers. We hadn’t spoken of that day in years.
I followed Mama down the narrow corridor to her bedroom. Her windows were shut, trapping stale smells of chrysanthemum tea and newspaper ink within the alabaster walls. Over it all, the sharp tang of vinegar tickled my nostrils. After the Japanese had left, we scrubbed every room clean with vinegar, yet I could still make out an undertone of cigarette smoke.
I faced that wretched spot in the room—the cupboard against the wall where I had nearly died.
“You said you hid in here.” Mama opened the two wooden doors wide. “Show me.”
I gawked. I couldn’t fit in there anymore. I was almost twelve!
“Ying.” Mama raised her voice a step, a gentle warning.
