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January
Chinese New YearIn the Year of the Dog, 4645, there lived halfway across the world from New York a girl called Sixth Cousin. Otherwise known as Bandit.
One winter morning, a letter arrived at the House of Wong from her father, who had been traveling the four seas. On the stamp sat an ugly, bald bird. The paper was blue. When Mother read it, she smiled. But the words made Grandmother cry and Grandfather angry. No one gave Sixth Cousin even the smallest hint of why.
It is so unfair, she thought. Must I drool like Chow Chow, eyeing each mouthful until someone is good and ready to toss a scrap my way? If Father was here, he'd tell. He would never treat me like a child, like a girl, like a nobody.
Still, Bandit dared not ask. How many times had she been told that no proper member of an upright Confucian family ever questioned the conduct of elders? Or that children must wait until invited to speak? Countless times. Only the aged were considered wise. Even the opinion of her father, the youngest son of the Patriarch, did not matter. No wonder he had gone away to seek his fortune.
She tried to pretend nothing had happened, but it was hard. All day, the elders behaved unnaturally in her presence. No unintended slights, quick nods, easy smiles, teasing remarks or harsh words. They were so kind, too kind. Bandit felt as if she had sprouted a second head, and they were all determined to ignore politely the unsightly growth.
That evening, as she and Fourth Cousin sat on the bed playing pick-up-beans, she confided in her best friend. "Something's happened. Something big has happened!"
"Oh?" said the older girl."'You are always imagining things! Remember the time you told everyone there was a goldfish swimming in the bamboo trees? It was only a fallen kite. Remember the time you overheard the cook plotting to murder the washerwoman? He was only sharpening his cleaver to kill a hen."
Bandit scowled as she scattered the dried lima beans. "That was then. Now is now!"
"All right, all right," sighed her dearest friend. "What has happened now?"
"That's it. I don't know," she answered.
"Well then, let's play. My turn. Sixies."
"No!" shouted Bandit, grabbing the other girl's hands. "Think! Think! What would make Mother smile, Grandmother cry and Grandfather angry?"
Fourth Cousin shrugged her shoulders and began to unbraid her hair. She was always fussing with her hair.
Bandit thought and thought, annoyed at her friend's silence, sorry that no matter how Fourth Cousin tried she would never be pretty.
Soon the coals in the brazier were dying, and suddenly the room was cold. The cousins scrambled under the covers. The beans tumbled onto the floor. Bandit knew she should pick them up, but she just stayed put. She had thinking to do.
Finally Bandit had the answer. Fourth Cousin was asleep.
"Wake up! Wake up!"
"Mmmmmmmmmm?"
"Listen. I've got it. Remember the time the enemy planes bombed the city for two straight days and we had to hide in the caves with only hard-boiled eggs to eat? What happened when we came home?"
"Who cares?"
"Father brought us that pony of a dog. Mother thought it was cute and smiled. But Grandmother was frightened and cried and hid behind the moon gate. And Grandfather was very angry. He said, "Youngest Son, are you mad? Unless you mean for us to eat that beast, take him away. Take him away this minute.' His voice was as cold as the northwest wind." Bandit stood up and threaded her hands into her sleeves as Grandfather did. She cleared her throat the way he did whenever he was displeased, and stomped up and down the bed.
Fourth Cousin never opened an eye. She turned on her side and curled up like a shrimp.
Bandit pounced on her. "Don't you see? Father is bringing the dog back."
"Never!"
Bandit thought it over and sighed. "You're right. You're always right." Quietly, very quietly, she slipped under the covers.
Sleep still would not come. Bandit heard the sounds of laughter and voices, footfalls and bicycle bells, as guests departed from one court, then another. It was the season for merrymaking, when the New Year approaches and old debts are paid. At last the lanterns along the garden walk were snuffed out, and the room was dark. Bandit reached out. Fourth Cousin's hand was warm.
Through the wall came the faint strains of a song. Mother was playing Father's record again.
The music carried Bandit away, thousands of miles to the sea. Its waters were not muddy like the River of Golden Sands that churned at the bottom of the Mountain of Ten Thousand Steps on which the House of Wong was perched. The sea was calm; deep green like jade. As far as the heavens, the skies soared. In the distance, something blue. A boat in the shape of a bird. Slowly it floated toward shore. She shaded her eyes to get a better look. On the deck was Father. She shouted and waved, but he did not seem to hear.
"Father! Father!" She shouted until she was hoarse. Then she ran into the sea, forgetting she could not swim. Soon he was just a fingertip away. "Father! Father!"
Her cries angered the sleeping demons of the deep and they sent a wall of water to quiet the intruder. . . .
Splash! She awoke. Her face was wet.
"Look what you've made me do, you Bandit!"
She sat up to find Fourth Cousin gone and Awaiting Marriage, the servant, sprawled on the floor. Beside the old woman was a shattered water urn. All about, the offending beans.
Before Bandit could apologize, Awaiting Marriage screwed up her skinny face and wailed. The sight was ugly enough to frighten the devil himself. Cook was right. One hundred wedding trunks could not buy Awaiting Marriage even a hunchbacked, lame-footed husband.
In the Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson. Copyright © by Bette Lord. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
