Now I was free to put on Nainai's costume and take part in Dad's program. I left the living room, slowly climbed the stairs, and went to my room.
Nainai was upstairs sitting at my desk, reading one of Dad's Chinese paperback books. For years I thought those were serious books about philosophy or history. Then Dad confessed that they were adventure stories about outlaws and bandits, full of sword fights and chases and kung fu. When I told Ron about it, he said it was worth learning Chinese to read those books. I bet anything he'd do it, someday.
When Nainai saw me come in, she smiled and put the book down. “Ready to try on your costume, Fiona?” she asked.
She opened her suitcase and carefully took out the shiny silk jacket and trousers. Seeing the jacket unfolded, I caught my breath again. Against the green silk material, the embroidered flowers stood out and sparkled like a garden in spring.
I took off my T-shirt and put on the jacket. Nainai laughed when she saw me inserting a button into the wrong loop. She undid the button and put it into the right loop. Then she helped me with the other four buttons.
The silk jacket felt like cool water against my skin, and it made a wonderful swish sound as I moved. I felt like a Chinese princess.
Then I remembered my hair and moaned. “How can I appear onstage as a Chinese girl with my orange hair?”
Nainai smiled. “No need to worry. You see, I know you have short hair, and Chinese girls in the old days wore a long braid down their back. So I came prepared.”
From her other suitcase, Nainai took out a black wig with a long braid. So that was what she and Dad had meant when they said that it was all right as long as my features hadn't been changed. The color of my hair wasn't a problem for them.
After Nainai carefully fitted the wig over my head, I turned and looked in the mirror. An elegant stranger looked back at me.
From behind me, Nainai said softly, “It's the cover illustration come to life.”
I laughed. “Not with jeans!” I took off my jeans and pulled on the silk trousers. They were a little snug around the waist, but I could stand it. The trouble was that the pants were way too short.
Nainai gasped as she looked at my bare ankles showing under the pants. “Your father gave me your measurements only two months ago!”
Grandma MacMurray said I had grown three inches since she last saw me. That was an exaggeration. But I had certainly grown at least two inches since Nainai's last visit. Dad may have even given her my new measurements (at least they were new a couple of months ago), but I suspect she refused to believe them.
“Maybe I can put a border around the bottom cuff, something really pretty,” said Nainai. She started rummaging around in her suitcase and took out a bag of silk remnants.
I took off the silk pants and put on my jeans again. “I want to show Dad his book cover coming to life,” I told Nainai, and went across the hall to Dad's studio.
He looked up from his worktable and grinned. “Like the costume?”
“It's gorgeous!” I told him. “But the pants are too short, and Nainai is adding some strips at the bottom to make the legs longer.”
Dad laughed. “She refuses to believe that a girl can grow as fast as you do!”
“Can I look at the cover of the new book?” I asked. He doesn't show anybody his work until it's finished, but this time things were different. Since I was on the cover, I had a right to know what I looked like.
“All right.” He got up and opened the big cupboard where he stores his folders. It's Dad's treasure chest. I've always wanted to poke around in that cupboard and look at all his pictures, both old and new. But it's strictly off-limits. Even Mom doesn't look inside without Dad standing close by.
So I eagerly peered inside while I had the chance, but all I saw were big folders, neatly arranged in the vertically divided shelves. Dad took out a folder and closed the cup-board .He untied the string of the folder and laid out the paintings for his latest book.
“I'm not finished yet,” he said. “My editor says I have too many pictures crowded around the beginning of the story and not enough at the end. So I have to paint two more for the second half of the book.”
He took out the picture that was to be on the cover. I looked at the girl standing next to the familiar figure of the dragon that appears in all Dad's books. Dad paints in watercolors, so his pictures are not as bright as the covers of some other children's books. But the softer colors are perfect for the clouds and mist that always swirl around his dragon. The backgrounds of his pictures remind me of Chinese landscape paintings I've seen in museums.
I stared at the figure of the girl on the cover. Was I really as pretty as that? I felt a warm glow as I realized that this was how my father saw me.
The girl on the cover was wearing Nainai's costume. On me, the unfamiliar outfit felt a little awkward, but in the picture, this girl looked graceful and comfortable. Her head was slightly bent as she looked thoughtfully at the dragon. She showed no fear, in spite of the dragon's fierce, bulging eyes, his sharp fangs, and his murderous-looking claws. Obviously, she had already guessed that he was a coward.
Next to the fearsome dragon, the figure of the girl looked dainty. Then I realized that something was not quite right: the girl in the picture had tiny hands and feet. Not only do I have fingers that are already an inch longer than Nainai's, but the size of my feet horrifies her. And of course we had just discovered that my legs were too long.
But Dad still saw me as a dainty, graceful Chinese beauty. So I hugged him. “Thank you, Dad. That's the greatest compliment I ever got in my life!”
If the Chinese prefer dainty maidens, then how did Dad happen to fall in love with Mom? Was it because she was a gifted mathematician? I didn't think it could have been Mom's Scottish accent, her long legs, her red hair, or her hazel eyes.
Then I saw the row of Dad's books on the shelf. He writes books for young people because he loves children. I remembered Mom's mischievous smile when she pulled another one of her thrifty tricks. She never gets tired of playing games, and maybe Dad was attracted to her because he saw that, in some ways, Mom would always stay a child.
Nainai came in with the pants she had lengthened. Dad only laughed when she told him what she had had to do. “Fiona can't remain a little girl forever, Ma,” he said. “Let's enjoy her while we can.”
So I put on the whole costume and did my best to look like a dainty Chinese beauty. Nainai wanted to teach me how to walk with tiny, mincing steps. She also told me to keep my eyes down, instead of boldly staring at the audience.
“Don't make her too timid, Mother,” said Dad. “Remember, in the story she's the brave one who shows the dragon the meaning of courage.”
“She still has to be modest, like a proper Chinese girl,” insisted Nainai.
They began to argue, and soon they started speaking in Chinese again. For once Dad didn't use his high, little boy voice.
Since I couldn't understand them, I left the room and changed back into my regular clothes. Then I went downstairs to see how the rehearsal was going. The dancers were working on their last number, one of the slower reels called a Strathspey. I was glad to see that Ron was keeping up pretty well.
I sat down next to Grandma MacMurray and did my best not to feel left out. She put her arm around me and gave me a little squeeze. I think she knew how I felt.
By now the dancers were sure of themselves, and from the smiles on their faces, I could tell they knew they were doing a good job. Suddenly I noticed that Ron was not smiling happily like the rest. Of course he was new at the dancing, and he was probably still concentrating hard to avoid mistakes.
Then I remembered that I had had a great time from the very beginning. Maybe Ron was thinking about his kung fu competition and didn't want the dancing to tire him out for his bouts.
No, that couldn't be it, since Ron does all sorts of exercises, like bicycling or jogging, before a bout. I guess he just doesn't love dancing as much as I do.
&n
bsp; I glanced at Grandpa, who was fiddling away. Occasionally he glanced at Ron and beamed happily as he watched his laddie treading the steps of the dance. Grandpa didn't notice that Ron wasn't enjoying himself. In his eyes, this was his redheaded grandson doing a Scottish dance, at last.
In Nainai's eyes, I was a graceful, modest, little Chinese maiden—even with my orange hair. I guess our folks see what they want to see.
Ron's kung fu group was performing at eleven on Saturday, and he wanted to be there early to warm up. The rest of the family planned to wait until it was time for Ron's appearance before they went to the festival. But Amanda and I decided to go with Ron so we could take in some other shows first.
At first we just walked around, staring at the rows of stands that sold everything from scary African masks to silver bracelets from Mexico. On the lawn, a crowd gathered around a man wearing only a loincloth, lying on a bed of nails. It made me wince just to see him, but when he got up, there wasn't a mark on his back! Another crowd gathered around a little boy playing a violin. He was only about five years old, and he produced a scared, squeaky sound. Maybe that got him sympathy, because a lot of people threw money into his violin case.
On an open-air stage was a bunch of musicians from Peru. They wore pointed caps with earflaps and woolen ponchos woven in bright colors. They played all sorts of weird instruments. I was especially fascinated by something that looked like a bundle of small pipes tied together. It sounded strange but I liked it.
Of course we had to go listen to the Celtic storytelling. Amanda was disappointed when she found out the storyteller with the harp wasn't coming. Instead, a young girl sang sad songs in a high, sweet voice.
“What do you want to go see next?” I asked Amanda after we left the auditorium.
“Let's go to the taiko drum exhibit,” she said. “My folks expect me to take in at least one Japanese show.”
“Gotta do what our folks expect,” I said, and we headed for the open-air amphitheater, where the drummers were scheduled to perform.
“It's true, about doing what people expect you to do,” said Amanda after we got ourselves settled on the lawn. “For instance, your mom is saving every penny because her people are Scotch and they're supposed to be thrifty. When nobody's looking, she's probably throwing money away.”
The idea of Mom throwing money away made me laugh so hard that I fell back on the grass. People around us stared. “No, that's just Mom being a thrifty mathematician!”
“Okay,” said Amanda, “so she's still doing what people expect. Since mathematicians are supposed to be thrifty, she has to save every penny.”
“Just because some Scots and some mathematicians are thrifty,” I said, “you can't expect all of them to be the same.”
“Yeah,” Amanda said, “like Japanese housewives are supposed to be meek and follow three steps behind their husbands when they go out.”
I stared. “Does your mom really do that?”
Amanda laughed. “Of course not! But once, when Dad started barking out orders at her, Mom bowed deeply, sucked in her breath, and said, ‘Hai, hai!' Dad burst out laughing and stopped being so bossy.”
I thought about Nainai expecting me to be a dainty little Chinese maiden, and Grandpa expecting Ron to be a typical redheaded Highland laddie. “What about people who are half and half?” I asked Amanda. “Do half of our folks expect us to behave one way, while the other half expect us to behave the other way?”
Amanda grinned. “I bet they expect you to behave one way half the time, and another way the other half of the time!”
The drummers appeared and we stopped talking. Even without knowing much about taiko, I could tell that these drummers were good. Rhythm is always what I find most exciting. Maybe that's why I like dancing so much.
There was a murmur from the crowd when the biggest drum was wheeled onstage. It was more than three feet across, and it rested on its side. According to our program, the big drum was the climax of the show, and it was scheduled to be the last piece in the program. “You mean we're already at the end of the show?” I asked, disappointed.
A man sitting in front of me turned around. “No, they're changing the order of the program and playing the big drum now. I heard that the drummer is from out of town and has to leave early to catch a plane.”
The solo drummer walked onstage, stripped to the waist. He stood in front of the drum and began to whack at it with a pair of clubs almost as thick as rolling pins. He started with a few slow taps, then gradually built up the tempo and increased the force of his pounding. Swaying with the beat of the drum, I could feel the same drive that I felt during the Scottish dancing.
I also got a thrill from seeing the way the drummer's muscles rippled. Hey, maybe I could join a taiko group someday!
As the drummer came to the climax of his piece, his sticks whirled so furiously that all I could see was a blur. We gave him a big hand as he left the stage. The other players came back onstage to play on the smaller drums, but they were less exciting than the performer on the big drum.
Amanda poked me. “Say, isn't it almost time for Ron's kung fu exhibition?”
I jumped up. “Yikes! What time is it?”
Amanda didn't have a watch, either, so we asked a woman next to us for the time. “It's ten to eleven,” she said.
We ran for the exhibition hall. When we got there, Mom was standing by the door looking for us. “What took you so long?” she asked.
We rushed inside and made it to our seats just as Ron's group came out. They bowed to the audience. Then the announcer called out the names of the contestants for the junior group. Ron and his opponent were next to the last pair, which meant Ron was in one of the top levels.
I looked at the boy who was Ron's opponent. He was so much taller and bigger that I got worried. Nainai had said that in kung fu size wasn't important. Still, it was a bit scary the way Ron's opponent loomed over him.
“I sure hope Ron gets his growth spurt soon,” I muttered.
“Height isn't everything!” said Amanda. She always defends Ron. “Hideyoshi was one of the greatest generals in Japanese history, and he was a skinny little runt. And don't forget Napoleon. He wasn't much more than five feet!”
“You'd better not let Ron hear you say ‘skinny little runt,'” I said. “And I don't think he likes to be compared to Napoleon, either.”
On my other side, Dad gave me a poke and told me to keep quiet and not distract the contestants.
The bouts began. Each pair of combatants bowed politely to each other before they squared up to fight. I had seen kung fu before, so the moves weren't new to me. I was familiar with the punches, the high kicks, some delivered with the fighter turning his back. Of course in an exhibition fight, the blows and the kicks are not allowed to land and actually hurt anyone. This wasn't a bloodthirsty boxing match.
None of the bouts lasted very long. We all applauded at the end of each match as the referee announced the winner. At times I couldn't tell who the winner was until it was announced, since you never saw a loser lying stretched out on the ground.
My anxiety grew as the time for Ron's fight approached. When the two boys came out and bowed, I saw again the big difference in size between Ron and his opponent, who had a reach almost six inches longer.
But when the bout began, Ron didn't have trouble with his opponent's longer reach. He managed to get inside the bigger boy's guard and “land” a few good punches. I stifled a scream as the other boy aimed a kick at Ron's head. Ron dodged it with a spectacular backward flip, and that ended the bout. The crowd cheered as the announcer declared Ron the winner.
Amanda and I grinned at each other with relief. Grandpa MacMurray took out a grubby handkerchief and wiped his brow.
I hardly noticed what happened in the last bout, and only knew it was over when I heard the applause. After the kung fu exhibition, we all went to the side entrance to meet the team members as they came out.
Mom was the first to spot Ron,
and she rushed over to give him a big hug. Grandma MacMurray was next to hug Ron, while Grandpa shook hands formally with him. But there was nothing formal about the big smile on Grandpa's face.
Ron looked around until he saw Dad. “Well done,” Dad said quietly.
Amanda and I were the last to congratulate Ron. At least I did the congratulating. Amanda seemed to have lost her tongue, and simply stared at Ron with shining eyes.
“Shall we go to the food court and eat lunch?” asked Mom. “Then we can decide which of the afternoon programs we want to watch.”
“Yeah, let's eat!” I said. I suddenly discovered that I was starving.
Ron is usually the first one to complain of starvation, but this time he shook his head. “If it's okay with you, I think I'd better go home and soak my ankle. It's a bit swollen.”
Then I noticed that he was limping. “What happened?” I asked.
“It was the way I landed on it,” he said. He looked embarrassed. “Actually, I didn't have to do a flip to dodge that kick. I was just showing off.”
“Yes, we'd better get that ankle fixed by tomorrow afternoon,” said Grandpa.
We all knew what he meant. You can't do a Scottish dance, especially a Highland reel, with a swollen ankle.
“We'll take you to the doctor right away,” Mom said to Ron. “We have to make sure nothing's broken.”
“That's a bad limp you have, Ron,” said Grandpa. “Maybe you chipped a bone there.”
“Better safe than sorry,” said Grandma. Worry deepened the lines in her face.
“I'm all right!” cried Ron. “Leave me alone!”
Dad stepped in. “Your mother's driving Grandpa and Grandma MacMurray, as well as Amanda and Fiona. So her car is a bit crowded. Why don't you come with me and Nainai in my car? We can drop in at the clinic just for a second, okay?”
Ron calmed down and agreed to go along with Dad's suggestion. Mom asked me if I wanted to stay at the festival and take in other shows. Normally, I would have loved to spend an afternoon without grown-ups. But that day, I didn't feel like enjoying myself at the festival while worrying about Ron. Amanda felt the same. “I'd like to go home, too, Mrs. Cheng,” she said.
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