Jewel of the East

by Ann Hood

  China!

  Slowly, Maisie got to her feet and went back into the marketplace. Felix has to be in here somewhere. Doesn’t he? she wondered. Stalls lined both sides, and people haggled over prices in loud Chinese. The first stalls had piles of live crabs and high heaps of small silver fish and piles of ugly, flat fish. Next came stalls that sold glistening, brown ducks cooking on spits over coals, their long necks tucked against their wings. Maisie paused over the mountains of chilies—red, green, yellow, skinny, fat, round, long—and then at the baskets of spices. Cinnamon sticks and whole peppercorns, gnarly ginger root and clusters of purple garlic.

  At the vegetable stalls, Maisie crossed to the other side of the market to avoid the old man whose rice she had landed in. Although she could recognize most of what she saw, she stopped and picked up a long, squash-type thing with a reddish-brown skin. The woman who ran the stall slapped Maisie’s hand and took the vegetable from her, speaking rapid Chinese to her.

  “Sorry,” Maisie said again. Would she spend her whole time here apologizing?

  The woman pointed to a row of the vegetables. She lifted one, pointing to the white interior dotted with holes. It looked like lace. Maisie understood that the woman was trying to convince her of its freshness.

  Maisie nodded politely, then moved on, past red peppers and melons in all sizes and shapes and colors.

  “Were you even going to try to find me?” Felix said from behind her.

  For an instant, she forgot how angry she was at him for taking Lily Goldberg to The Treasure Chest and just felt relief that he was all right.

  “We’re in China!” she said with delight.

  But then she remembered what he had done, and she spun around angrily, pretending to be fascinated with some watermelons.

  “I landed in a cart filled with radishes,” Felix said. “The woman selling them laughed so hard she cried when she saw me.”

  Maisie ignored him.

  “She gave me some,” Felix said. He opened his hand in front of his sister’s face, revealing five pinkish-red radishes with skinny stems still attached.

  When she didn’t answer him, Felix said, “I just wanted to impress her.”

  “Impress her?” Maisie said, her eyes flashing angrily. “The Treasure Chest is ours. Ours.”

  “It’s just that she’s—” he began.

  But Maisie would have none of it. “You can keep your stupid radishes. In fact, you can do anything you want. Alone.”

  With that, she pushed him aside and joined the crowd in the marketplace, letting herself get carried along past yet more stalls until she reached the exit at the other end. Tears stung her eyes, but Maisie refused to give in to them. Felix had betrayed her. And she wasn’t sure if she could ever forgive him.

  Felix followed Maisie through the marketplace and out to the street, keeping a safe distance behind her. She had certainly been mad at him before. When they were six, she wanted a puppy, but their parents told them their apartment was too small. Felix took their side, and Maisie gave him the silent treatment for an entire night. When they were nine, she didn’t speak to him for an entire week because he told their parents that she and Flora Mingus had taken the Staten Island ferry. Alone.

  But this was different. The Treasure Chest was important to Maisie, and he’d gone there purposely without her. If the jade box resting in his pocket now had taken him and Lily Goldberg here, he would have been happy. Maisie seemed to know somehow that he wanted to leave her out. And now they were all the way in China, and she was trying to escape from him. If he lost Maisie here, he might lose her forever.

  The street was lined with men cooking on woks perched on crates. Felix smelled chilies sizzling in oil, ginger and garlic, and fried fish. People squatted by the woks, eating with chopsticks from small, white bowls. Some of them stared up at him as he walked past. Others openly glared. He searched his mind for anything he knew about Chinese history. Was there a period when China and the United States were at war? Felix didn’t think so. Without speaking Chinese, how would he ever find out what year it was?

  At the end of the street stood a larger, busier one. Dazzled by all the action there, the colorful banners of silk flapping in the breeze, the red paper lanterns hanging above shop doors, and a seemingly endless array of jugglers, magicians, musicians, and puppeteers, Felix paused. As soon as he did, he lost sight of Maisie.

  Panicked, he called her name.

  The entire crowd seemed to stop moving and turned to stare at the skinny American boy in the bright-red bow tie and glasses with his cowlick sticking up.

  “Maisie!” he called again.

  A round-faced woman with a mole above her lip shook her finger in his face and reprimanded him in rapid Chinese.

  “My sister,” Felix said. “I can’t find her.”

  Another woman, this one skinny and long faced, joined her.

  “My sister?” Felix tried again, hoping maybe this woman spoke English.

  But both women just continued to speak to him in rapid Chinese. Felix swallowed hard. He’d seen movies where angry mobs threw strangers into jail. Or worse. His eyes scanned the crowd for a friendly face, but everyone seemed to be frowning at him. Their voices sounded angry, he thought. Or was that just because he couldn’t understand anything they were saying?

  Felix appealed to the small crowd that had gathered around him.

  “Does anyone speak English?” he asked.

  “I do,” someone said.

  The crowd parted to let a boy walk through to Felix. He was as tall as Felix, dressed in a blue cotton jacket and trousers, soft, black cloth shoes, and a red hat trimmed with gold Buddhas.

  The boy spoke to the crowd in Chinese, shooing them away. They moved back, away from him and Felix, but didn’t leave.

  Then the boy turned his attention toward Felix. To Felix’s surprise, the boy had round, blue eyes. Despite his fluent Chinese, he was clearly American.

  “I’m so glad you showed up,” Felix said with relief.

  “Oh, they’re just not used to seeing Westerners walking the streets like this,” the boy said. “In fact, they don’t like Westerners very much at all.”

  He smiled at Felix in a way that made Felix relax a little.

  “I’m here with my sister,” Felix explained. “And I lost her in the crowded street.”

  “Ah,” the boy said. “She can’t go too far. After this street there’s just fields and houses.”

  “Yíqiè dóu hên hâo,” he shouted to the crowd. “Yû nî wû guáng.”

  Slowly, the people dispersed, still glancing over their shoulders as they walked away.

  “Wow,” Felix said. “What did you say?”

  “That everything was fine and they should go about their business.”

  “How do you know Chinese like that?” Felix asked.

  “I’ve lived here my entire life,” the boy said.

  He began to walk down the street, waving for Felix to follow him.

  “But you are American, aren’t you?” Felix said. He felt certain this boy would help him find Maisie.

  “Well, I was born there,” the boy said, clearly not pleased. “In West Virginia, where my parents come from. But I’ve lived practically my whole life here. My father’s a missionary.”

  “What’s that?” Felix asked.

  “He came for the Southern Presbyterian Mission,” the boy explained. “To convert the Chinese. He isn’t having much luck, but he keeps trying.”

  “Oh,” Felix said. “You mean convert them to a religion?”

  “To Christianity. He thinks they’re all heathens.”

  “Heathens?” Felix said. Maisie would know what that meant, but he wasn’t sure.

  “Someone who’s uncivilized,” he said. “Who hasn’t converted to Christianity.”

  “Do you think that?” Felix asked.

  The boy stopped, his blue eyes alert and certain.

  “Oh no. Not at all. But don’t tell my mother and father,” he
said, winking.

  They were standing by several men writing Chinese characters in thick black ink on white paper.

  “Letter writers,” the boy explained. “For the people who aren’t educated. These men write letters for them.”

  Felix nodded, mesmerized by the graceful and intricate characters.

  “What’s this sister of yours called, anyway?” the boy asked.

  “Maisie. She’s taller than you, with kind of curly, blondish hair, and she’s wearing a black T-shirt with a fancy, brown skirt.”

  “And what are you called?” the boy said.

  “Felix. Felix Robbins.”

  The boy stuck his hand out. “I’m Zhenzhu.”

  They shook hands briefly.

  “Very American, shaking hands, right?” Zhenzhu said, laughing.

  “I suppose so,” Felix said. “What do people do when they meet here?”

  “You cup your left hand over your right, this high”—here Zhenzhu did this in front of his chest—“and then you raise your hands like this.”

  He lifted them slightly in the air.

  “Like a salute?” Felix said, imitating him. He placed his left hand over his right and lifted them to his forehead.

  “Yes! That’s it,” Zhenzhu said happily.

  The two boys grinned at each other, and in that moment Felix knew: Zhenzhu was who they had come to China to meet. The jade box filled with dirt needed to go to him.

  “In earlier times,” Zhenzhu was saying, “it was customary to raise the hands as high as the forehead and to give a low bow. But we don’t do that anymore. Now we ask, Chí le ma? Have you eaten?”

  “Chí le ma,” Felix said slowly, the unfamiliar words clumsy on his tongue.

  “Not bad,” Zhenzhu said.

  Zhenzhu scanned the crowd and shook his head. “I think your sister would stand out easily, don’t you?”

  Felix followed the boy’s gaze. “Yes,” he agreed, sighing. Despite Zhenzhu’s confidence that Maisie couldn’t go very far, Felix was starting to worry all over again.

  “She either went toward the fields or toward the river,” Zhenzhu said, clapping his hand on Felix’s shoulder to comfort him. “Really, you can’t get lost in Zhenjiang.”

  When he saw Felix’s puzzled face he added, “That’s where you are. Zhenjiang.”

  “Zhenjiang,” Felix said softly.

  “Let’s go this way,” Zhenzhu said, pointing away from the river. “No doubt she walked along the street here, and it leads this way.”

  “Zhenzhu?” Felix said as they moved past silk shops and tailors and stalls selling elaborate kites.

  “Yes?”

  “What’s the date today?”

  “December 9, 1899,” Zhenzhu answered without hesitating.

  “1899,” Felix said. “In a few weeks it will be a new century.”

  Zhenzhu laughed. “Not here,” he said. “In China, the New Year is in February, and it will be 4598, the Year of the Rat.”

  Felix was about to tell Zhenzhu that he had been to Chinese New Year’s parades and feasts in Chinatown back in New York. But just then he caught sight of his sister’s tangled hair up ahead.

  “Maisie!” Felix yelled.

  This time, she did stop. But she didn’t return his smile.

  “That’s her,” Felix told Zhenzhu.

  “The unhappy-looking girl?” Zhenzhu said.

  “That’s the one,” Felix said.

  Maisie didn’t take even one step toward her brother and the boy he was with. She just waited for them to make their way to her.

  “How could you leave me like that?” Felix said immediately.

  Maisie laughed. “You had every intention of leaving me back home, didn’t you?”

  “No,” Felix said. “Not exactly.”

  Maisie glared at him, her arms folded across her chest defiantly.

  “That doesn’t even matter now,” he continued. “We’re here. In China. It’s 1899, and we need to stick together.”

  Zhenzhu cleared his throat.

  “Oh,” Felix said. “Sorry. Maisie, this is Zhenzhu.”

  His eyes, she realized, were a vivid blue.

  “You’re not Chinese!” she blurted.

  “I am in my heart,” Zhenzhu said. “I’ve lived here practically my entire life.”

  “Without Zhenzhu’s Chinese, I don’t know what would have happened back there,” Felix said.

  Zhenzhu nodded. “It’s true. These are difficult times for Westerners here. The empress does not like their interference. In the north there’s been a lot of trouble.”

  “Are we safe?” Felix asked, worried.

  “Here, yes. But my father has seen some disturbing attacks. His mission is up north. He carries a stick with him everywhere he goes to defend himself.”

  “From who?” Felix felt a shiver of fear.

  “Westerners call them Boxers, but they call themselves the Righteous Fists of Harmony. Their goal is to rid China of foreigners.” When Zhenzhu saw the look of fear in Felix’s eyes, he added, “Don’t worry. So far in Zhenjiang nothing has happened.”

  The words so far offered little comfort to Felix. He tried to catch his sister’s eye, but she ignored him completely.

  Despite her anger at Felix, Maisie felt excited to be in China. When her parents had first told them about the divorce, she had imagined running away—far away, to someplace like India or Argentina or China. And now here she was, right in the middle of China, and there was an empress and dangerous warriors and a blue-eyed boy with Buddhas on his hat and a bustling marketplace filled with kites and silk and food cooked in woks. She almost smiled.

  Zhenzhu looked from Maisie to Felix. “But tell me, why are you two here? How did you get here?”

  “Um,” Felix said. “We’re… I mean… we…”

  “We came down the river on one of those boats,” Maisie said.

  “From Shanghai?” Zhenzhu asked her.

  “Yes,” Maisie said quickly.

  He nodded. “That explains it.”

  “It does?” Felix said.

  “Of course. Shanghai is not even really China. It’s filled with British and Americans. It doesn’t even look like China.” He paused, concentrating. “But where are you staying?”

  Felix shrugged.

  “Have you run away from home?” Zhenzhu said, obviously delighted by the idea.

  Before they could answer, he continued. “Yes! That’s it! Your parents are dreadful, cruel people, and you two were kept prisoners in Shanghai. Desperate to see the real China, you snuck onto a boat and traveled down the Yangtze River to Zhenjiang. What an adventure!”

  “Yes,” Felix agreed, “we are having an adventure.”

  Zhenzhu clapped his hands together. “You’ll stay with me!”

  “Really? Will it be all right with your parents?” Felix said. But even as he asked this he knew that of course it would be all right. Zhenzhu had to be the person they were supposed to meet. He touched the jade box in his pocket. It was meant for Zhenzhu.

  “My father’s away all the time, anyway. And Mother always takes people in. She likes a full house. Come on! Follow me. We’ll go there now.”

  They walked past fields of cabbage, up a hill, to a small brick house with a covered porch in front. Roses climbed the walls, their vines thick with flowers. Maisie took a deep breath of the fragrant, floral scent. Large earthen pots of chrysanthemums in shades of yellow and orange flanked the front door.

  “Mother!” Zhenzhu called when they entered.

  A tall woman appeared. Felix thought she must have been pretty once, with her blond hair and high cheekbones. But her eyes looked so sad and her face so weary. She reminded him a little of his mother.

  “These are my new friends,” Zhenzhu said. “Maisie and Felix Robbins. They’re American.”

  Her eyes lit up at that.

  “Americans! Where are you from?”

  “New York,” Maisie said at the exact same time that Felix said, �
��Rhode Island.”

  Zhenzhu’s mother frowned.

  “We’re from New York,” Maisie said.

  “But we moved and we live in Rhode Island now,” Felix explained.

  “My family hails from West Virginia,” she said sadly. “I do miss home,” she added, shaking her head. “The apples and berries. The clean grass and water.”

  “Mother,” Zhenzhu said, “do you think you might give us some dinner?”

  “Of course,” his mother said.

  “Thank you for having us, Mrs.…”

  “Sydenstricker. You’re quite welcome, Felix.” Her voice grew quiet. “It’s lovely to have more children in the house.”

  “What’s for dinner tonight?” Zhenzhu asked.

  “Wang Amah made your favorite.”

  Zhenzhu grinned at Maisie and Felix. “That would be cabbage cooked in bean oil and rice seasoned with mustard seed.”

  Felix gave his new friend a weak smile. Cabbage was slimy, and he never, ever put mustard on anything, even hot dogs.

  “You children all need to wash your hands first,” Zhenzhu’s mother said. “And for goodness’ sake, take that hat of yours off inside.”

  Zhenzhu grumbled but reached up and removed the red hat with gold Buddhas.

  Both Maisie and Felix stared in disbelief as long, blond hair tumbled down Zhenzhu’s shoulders.

  “Pearl,” Zhenzhu’s mother said. “Show your friends to the sink.”

  Zhenzhu, they realized, was a girl.

  In the morning, the little house did not look as wonderful as it had in the dark. The bricks, Maisie saw now, were faded and chipped, and the little front porch sagged. Even the silk curtains and straw rugs did little to hide the condition of Pearl Sydenstricker’s home. She looked down at the blue cotton trousers and tunic Mrs. Sydenstricker had given her. The fabric was slightly worn and frayed at the edges. Felix’s was, too, Maisie noticed.

  Felix nudged Maisie and tilted his chin toward a corner of the small room where they’d slept on a futon on the floor.

  She had resolved to continue to ignore him, maybe forever. Hadn’t Great-Aunt Maisie and Uncle Thorne done just fine without each other all these years? But she sneaked a glance at what he was trying to show her. The biggest bugs she had ever seen slithered across the floor. They must have been eight inches long, with hard shells and lots of yellow legs.