Chapter Thirteen
I was getting better at disappearing. Gu Ma’s house was like a jail—when I wasn’t cooking or working in the factory, I was expected to be in my room, and in bed by eight-thirty. As soon as I could hold my breath for more than two minutes, I started sneaking out.
No one ever suspected. I walked in on Sai Ma’s parties, I stood next to Gu Ma while she gambled, I even watched Baba smoke in his den. My favorite thing to do was steal inside the parlor to look at the records.
I was young and I was bored. Turning invisible was a harmless game I played with myself—until I found the gun.
It was a revolver, tucked away behind a pile of Cantonese operas. Plenty of people had hid weapons during the war; that my family owned a gun didn’t disturb me in the least. I didn’t even think twice that there were Japanese words engraved on the frame.
What startled me was how my hand had passed through the records as though I were made of air. As though I were a ghost. Shaken, I put the records back in front of the gun and clasped my hands to my body, breathing out and out until I was whole again. Even then I trembled. I’d gone too far.
The next morning, I took a loquat and a tangerine from the kitchen—lucky fruits—and scattered their seeds along my route to Chan Kiu Factory.
I hoped that planting them might placate the little demon inside me.
If not, at least when the plants sprouted, their roots knitting through the soil, they’d become extra anchors mooring me to this earth.
I’d wait until they bloomed before I went invisible again.
“Yut Ying!” my stepmother cried one evening. As the weeks passed, her belly had swelled to the point where she looked like she’d swallowed a car tire, and Gu Ma confined her to a rattan daybed in the parlor lest she knock down anything expensive. “Yut Ying! I called three times.”
I hurried into the parlor. “I’m sorry.”
As ever, she was in a cranky mood. “Did Tingting lock the herbs drawer? My parents brought some premium astragalus root and pangolin scales, very expensive. Go check, and don’t touch anything.”
“Yes, Sai Ma.” I hurried to look. “It’s locked.”
“That’s a good girl.” She reached for her fan, batting at her face before collapsing onto the daybed.
“Yut Ying, you must forgive me for sounding cross, I’ve simply been tired to death.
You can’t imagine what it’s like carrying this baby inside.
My feet ache so dreadfully. Can I trouble you to massage them? ”
Massage her feet? I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly. “Doesn’t Tingting—”
“Tingting can’t do it for me right now.”
Her brow flickered, betraying her irritation. I took the stool beside the daybed.
Sai Ma stretched her legs long and kicked off her slippers. Her toenails were varnished red like hawthorn berries. “Your accent has gotten better,” she said, changing the topic. “You’ve been practicing diligently like I told you to. Sometimes I swear you sound like me.”
I perked up. “Thank you.”
“You do learn quickly.” Sai Ma gave me a faint smile. She leaned back against the daybed, folding her hands over her lap. “More pressure, darling.”
I kneaded her muscles with my knuckles, waiting until she let out a contented sigh. Sai Ma no longer seemed to be in a bad mood; her eyes were closed, her expression doll-like and serene. I gathered my courage.
“Sai Ma,” I broached warily, “when will you teach me music? When will you send me to school?”
I could feel her muscles stiffening, the map of lines across her body tensing to even the soles of her feet. “To tell you the truth, dear, I doubt you’ll have time for school, not with your work at the factory.”
“I’ll tell Gu Ma I don’t want to work in the factory anymore.”
Sai Ma swung her feet back to the ground. “I wouldn’t,” she said. “Having you in the factory makes your aunt happy. Don’t forget that this is her house.”
“But—”
“You don’t want to seem ungrateful, do you?
” Sai Ma pressed. “There are thousands of Chinese coming into Hong Kong every day. You want to be living in the slums begging for scraps like them? A pretty girl like you is fit for only one line of work.” She made a deliberate pause.
“You have family that cares enough to give you work and provide a roof over your head. Do you understand how lucky you are?”
Something in my stomach twisted. Be good, I reminded myself, thinking of that first time I’d gone invisible in the cupboard. You promised the gods—and Mama.
So I said, “Yes, Sai Ma.”
“Good.” My stepmother offered a piece of dried persimmon. “A word of advice, Yut Ying. Don’t ever bring this up again.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. My stomach hurt on and off, as if I’d eaten some rotten rice, so I stayed up waiting for my brother.
Yi Gor still drove trucks for the factory. He worked late, occasionally returning as I was getting up to make breakfast. Sometime after midnight I heard his quiet steps.
I opened my door, and my breath caught in my throat. “What happened to your face?”
His lip was swollen, and a bruise was blooming just left of his eye.
“What are you doing up?” he growled. “Go sleep.”
“Did you get into a fight?”
He turned away. “Leave me alone.”
“You’re hurt. Let me go boil you an egg.”
“Are you deaf? I said leave me alone.”
“You need to roll all that bad blood out of your eye,” I insisted. “It’ll only take a minute.” I started out the door, but Yi Gor stood in my way.
I was no stranger to my brother’s antics.
He used to pick fights with Dai Gor and purposefully end up with a black eye—all for a morsel of affection from Ah Ma.
Here, he was doing the same thing for a crumb from Baba.
He might as well have set fire to the house.
Our father was always in his den smoking, always calling Yi Gor by our older brother’s name instead of Syun Kit.
Only I hadn’t realized how much it bothered him until tonight.
“Baba’s not going to pay attention to you because you got your face bashed.”
My brother’s eyes narrowed. “He’s not going to send you to school, either.”
I opened my mouth then closed it. “I know.”
“Since when did you stop being stupid?”
“I’m not stupid. I’m just . . .”
“A baby?” Yi Gor suggested. “Babies are stupid.”
I’m disappointed, I thought, but I buried the confession with a breath. “I think I’ve misjudged Sai Ma.”
“Oh?”
“She told me to stop asking about school.” I didn’t give Yi Gor a chance to say I told you so.
“Her promises are about as real as the mole she draws on her cheek, and she says one thing, then does another. Also, isn’t it strange how she treats Lily?
She locks her in her room, hardly ever talks about her—”
“What’s strange about that?” Yi Gor interrupted.
“All daughters are unwanted. You should know that from Ah Ma. What’s strange is everything else in this house.
Ask yourself, if we’re so rich, then why do they need me to drive a truck?
Why are you cooking dinner and sewing in the factory?
Why does Gu Ma bolt her bedroom door at night when she sleeps? ”
I looked at him in surprise, impressed. He was more observant than I’d given him credit for.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “You look like you’re dying.”
I realized that I was folded forward, my hands clenched at my rib cage.
“Stomach hurts,” I replied through the rise of another cramp.
“Here,” he said, tossing a glass bottle without warning. “This’ll help.”
I was bad at catching and fumbled the bottle, so it landed on my bed with a soft plunk. I picked it up. He’d bought me a soda. My very first.
“I don’t know how to open it.”
“You’re so useless, Ying.” Sighing, my brother popped the top open against the corner of the dresser.
The soda was lukewarm, but I didn’t mind. Bubbles fizzed against the roof of my mouth, and a burp soon escaped my throat, gassy and ticklish. It made me laugh.
“Happy birthday,” said Yi Gor.
I was surprised he’d remembered. “You’re three weeks late.”
“I had no money three weeks ago,” he retorted. He tilted his soda to mine, clinking bottles, and we drank. I savored his familiar company. It had been a long time since we were together like this.
“Do you miss Mama?” I asked.
“No.”
“What about Ah Ma?”
Yi Gor let out a purposeful burp. “What do you think?”
“Dai Gor?”
A muscle ticked in my brother’s jaw. “I forgot how annoying you are. Are you done with the questions?”
“No,” I said. Another sip. “Remember when you put a centipede in Ah Ma’s tea?”
At that, my brother’s shoulders relaxed. We snickered at the same time.
I could still hear our grandmother’s shrieks, shrill enough to crack porcelain.
My brothers blamed the prank on me, of course.
Dai Gor had Baba’s silvery charm, always complimenting her smooth skin and offering to cut her toenails.
He was Ah Ma’s favorite, untouched by her cane. By association, Yi Gor was safe, too.
“She knew you were innocent,” said Yi Gor, “yet she punished you anyway.”
“I still hate her for it.” I swirled the soda in my mouth, enjoying the bubbles and forgetting about my stomachache. “I hate her for sending us here, too. I wish we’d never come.”
“You’re only saying that because you’ve caught on to Sai Ma.”
He had a point. Had Mama known what a two-faced viper our stepmother truly was, yet still sent us into her den? No, I told myself. She’d sent us here to make a better life for ourselves. Things had to get better.
“I’m saying that because I feel more alone here,” I answered, rubbing at the tight strap chafing my shoulder. The glasses Mama had given me were getting small. “I miss having someone on my side.”
“Here, you can finish my soda,” he said, taking my bottle and exchanging it with his.
It was more than half empty, and there were only a few bubbles left, but I knew a truce when I saw one.
You have me, spoke the gesture. We have each other.
I took his soda and finished it in one gulp.