FOR
MY MOTHER
AND
HUSBAND
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
There is a Chinese story that goes like this:
An old man lived at the edge of the northern frontier. One day, his horse ran away, and the neighbors came to comfort him. What a loss! But the old man didn’t worry. “This may turn out to be good,” he said.
Sure enough, a few days later, his horse returned, bringing another horse with it. This new horse was beautiful and swift. Now the neighbors complimented the old man on his good fortune. “While it is true that I have gotten this other horse for free, something bad may happen,” replied the old man.
The old man had a son who loved this new horse, and he often took it out to race in the fields. One day, the son fell off the horse and broke his leg. The neighbors shook their heads at the man’s bad fortune, but the old man was not concerned.
Shortly after that, the emperor called up all the young men in the kingdom to fight in a war. The son of the old man could not go because of his broken leg, but many other young men lost their lives in the bloody battles that followed.
In Chinese, if you want to say that something good may turn into something bad, or vice versa, you say, Sai weng shi ma, or The old man at the frontier lost his horse.
I wish I had known this saying when I thought I was going to have the perfect year.
When I think back on it, I’d have to say that it all started with the Golden Lotus. The Golden Lotus is a famous Chinese restaurant, about two hours away from where I live. It is a long way to go for dinner, as Mom pointed out to Dad when his cousin first invited us to come for a birthday party.
Dad said, “I haven’t seen B.D. for years and my uncle is turning seventy-five — we should go.”
My big sister, Regina, squealed, “The Golden Lotus is supposed to be amazing! We have to go. They have Peking honey bananas.”
My big brother, Kenny, said, “I’m in. Chinese banquets are seriously loaded.”
I said, “Mamma Lucia’s is having a pizza and pasta special on Saturday and they’re showing the NBA All-Star Game on the big screen.” Guess who didn’t get her way?
When we walked into the Golden Lotus, though, even I had to admit that it was the most beautiful restaurant I had ever been to. The first thing I saw were dozens of glittering, sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The carpet was thick and springy, with an intricate pattern of medallions and flowers on a royal blue background. The hostess was really pretty, too, dressed in a red qipao and matching high-heeled sandals. The dress had a slit that went up high along one leg. Mom raised her eyebrows when she saw that.
The hostess led us through the whole huge restaurant, past tanks of fish and long scrolls and tables full of diners. As we approached each table, I tried to guess if it was the table with B.D. I wondered if he had the thick, glossy hair that my dad claims is the pride of the Wu family. But no, instead we went past the whole roomful of tables to the back of the restaurant, and into a hallway.
The hallway had several doors leading off of it. I was beginning to wonder whether the hostess was going to show us the bathrooms, when she stopped and opened a door.
“Cool!” said Kenny. “We get a private room.”
The room had dark paneling and a big round table in the middle. The people in the room were laughing and talking, but when we walked in, they all stopped and looked at us. I ducked behind Mom — I hate that feeling of everyone staring at me.
“Steve!” One man stepped forward, calling my dad. He did not have the pride-of-the-Wu-family hair — he had a round, shiny, bald head.
“B.D. — it’s been too long,” said Dad. They hugged, thumping each other on the back. After Mom and B.D. shook hands, Dad introduced Regina. I held my breath and waited for it.
B.D.’s eyes bugged out. “Na ma piao liang!” he exclaimed. So pretty! He stepped backward, as if Regina’s beauty actually took up room.
Regina blushed, but you’d think she’d be used to it by now. People can’t help themselves, admiring her smooth pink-white skin and her long, thick eyelashes — so unusual for a Chinese girl! And yes, she has the Wu family hair, so silky and shiny that children reach up to stroke it. If you don’t know the word for pretty in Chinese, you’d learn it soon enough hanging around Regina in a Chinese restaurant.
Kenny, who is four years younger than Regina and three years older than me, bent down and whispered, “Whaddya want to bet Dad mentions Mathwhiz when he introduces me.” I rolled my eyes. Last year Kenny came in third in a statewide math contest; now he stays after school twice a week so that he can practice and become an even bigger math geek.
“This is Kenny,” Dad said, putting a hand on Kenny’s shoulder. Before Dad could say anything else, B.D. said, “The math genius! Of course! Have you started thinking about colleges?”
“Ummmm.” Kenny looked around the room and started to drift away. I think he was looking for a place to hide. Kenny usually avoids sustained contact with adults.
“And of course, Lucy.” Dad patted me on the head as if I were a dog. B.D. looked at me and smiled politely. I guess after exclaiming over Regina and Kenny he had run out of things to say.
All around the room, people were speaking Chinese. One group of ladies was involved in an excited conversation, their voices rat-a-tatting like machine guns. I grabbed Kenny by the elbow. “Don’t leave me,” I begged. I was terrified that someone might try to start a conversation with me. If we got past How are you? and How old are you? I was in deep trouble in the Chinese-speaking department. Wo shi-yi sui, I practiced in my mind. I’m eleven.
“Relax,” said Kenny. He pulled out a huge paperback biography of Benjamin Franklin and slid into a chair. Once Kenny immerses himself in a book, there’s no chance of a decent conversation, so I pretended to be fascinated by the carved chair I was sitting in. Oooohhh, such nice carvings of flowers and leaves! What pretty wood!
Luckily, a waiter showed up, and everyone took that as a signal to find a seat. At least Kenny would have to put his book away now and talk to me. The chairs around the table began to fill with people. I was glad that I had grabbed one next to Kenny.
I caught one of the rat-a-tat ladies giving me a funny look. Then she leaned over and said something to the person next to her, and she pointed her chopsticks at me. How rude! Before I could glare back at her, Regina tapped me on the shoulder.
“Lucy, get up. You need to change seats.”
“Excuse me? You’re not the boss of me.” I turned aw
ay from her. She probably wanted to sit next to Kenny.
“I’m serious. Get up.” She was using that mean whisper that I’d seen mothers use with small children at the library.
I looked around the table. There were two empty seats left. I could see Regina’s purse hanging from one, and there was one by the door next to another rat-a-tat lady.
“What is your problem?” I mean-whispered back.
Then I heard a gentle cough behind Regina. An old man was standing there — I think it was his birthday we were celebrating. He made a little wave with the back of his hand and said something. It looked like he was saying, Don’t worry about it.
Regina shook her head, and then smiled pleasantly as she gripped my arm tightly and lifted me out of my chair with one hand. Ouch! Suddenly, I realized that everyone at the table was watching us.
I dropped my head and let Regina steer me toward the last empty chair. When the table began to rumble with conversation again, Regina said, “The chair farthest from the door is for the oldest person. Didn’t you know that?”
Obviously I didn’t know that. Regina, on the other hand, wasn’t even in college yet, but it was like she practically majored in Being Chinese. Me? I just wanted a menu to hide my face. Maybe they had my favorite, orange beef.
We didn’t get menus. Instead of asking what we wanted, the waiters just brought in a huge tureen of soup on a cart and starting serving bowl after bowl. At first I was excited, because I love wonton soup, but this soup turned out to have veiny green vegetables and big black mushrooms. While everyone else happily slurped down their soup, I pressed the back of my spoon into the soup so that I only scooped up the broth.
The waiters started to bring in a whole line of dishes, each one scarier than the last. A whole fish with dead eyes that stared at me. Baby octopus with tiny tentacles that I imagined tickling the insides of my mouth. There was one plate I would not have even figured out if Regina hadn’t squealed, “Jellyfish! Yeah!” I heaped some plain white rice on my plate and began to eat it slowly. Slowly enough to last the whole meal.
Mom caught my eye and made a mmm … yummy! face. I scowled back.
Clank! The lady sitting next to me plopped two small oysters onto my plate. She seemed nicer than Mrs. Rude-Pointer, so I smiled as politely as I could and shook my head. This only seemed to encourage her. She plucked up an oyster and gulped down the slimy insides and then showed me the empty shell. I shuddered and ate another mouthful of rice.
To be fair, I’m kind of a picky eater. Everyone loves blueberries, but to me, they just look like tiny blue eyeballs. And milk? Don’t get me started on milk.
“Ta hui jiang zhong-wen ma?” The oyster lady looked at my parents and gestured toward me. I knew what that meant: She wanted to know if I could speak Chinese.
“Ta tingzhe dong,” Dad answered. She understands what she hears. This was being generous — I only understood a little bit.
At the other end of the table, Kenny was having a great time. Kenny eats anything and everything, and the old man who took my seat and the other woman sitting next to Kenny took turns heaping food on his plate, urging him to eat more.
B.D. leaned over and said something to Mom while tilting his head toward Regina, who was practically ruling over the table, enjoying her food and chatting in perfect Chinese. My mom beamed and said something back. And something else. And something more.
Even though I couldn’t hear what she was saying exactly, she was undoubtedly telling him that Regina had won a full scholarship to Hamilton University, and she had won it because she had started the Chinese Culture and Language Society at school. Regina had single-handedly gotten the school to offer Chinese as a class, persuaded the PTA to buy Chinese language software, and brought dozens of speakers to school to discuss Chinese language, food, history, and culture. I could tell that Mom was about to induct one more person into the Isn’t Regina Wu Wonderful Club.
At that moment, I really, really hated Regina and I really, really wanted a plate of lasagna.
The Oyster Lady now seemed to make it her personal mission to find me something to eat. She spooned some beef on my plate that looked promising, but it was so spicy it made my eyes water. Some tofu? The texture made me shudder. She lifted a thin pink slice of something onto my plate. It looked like ham, but at this point I was suspicious.
“Zhi shi shenma?” I asked in my best, politest Chinese. What is this?
“Zhu er duo.” She responded cheerfully, taking another slice for herself.
My brain started clicking. These words sounded familiar! Suddenly, I pictured the Chinese Baby video I used to watch ages ago. It had animals, colors, and parts of the body. Wait — zhu meant pig!
For the first time that evening I felt a little excited. Maybe I did know more Chinese than I thought. I smiled at the Oyster Lady and tried to remember what er duo meant. That sounded like a word from the video, too.
My stomach dropped. I remembered — the body parts section of the video. Er duo means ear. Pig ear? No. Thank. You.
I wrinkled my mouth shut and shook my head. I was so grossed out that I couldn’t even eat the Peking duck she put on my plate, its crispy skin just waiting to crackle in my mouth. I took another bite of rice.
A waiter clattered into the room with another cart and began serving each person from a large, shallow bowl. Whatever it was, it must be something so good that they wanted to make sure everyone got one. I turned my head to see what it was, but too many people were leaning over their plates, blocking my view.
Plunk! The waiter dropped it on my plate with a soft thud. It was small and gray, no bigger than a deck of cards. It wasn’t pretty, either, like some of the other dishes. It looked like bits of meat tacked together in one lump. What was this?
I leaned back in my chair, and that’s when I stopped looking at the mystery lump as a bunch of parts. There was a head, body, and legs. It was a perfectly skinned and cooked frog.
The Oyster Lady leaned over and said her first words in English all night. “Like chicken!” She smiled widely.
Suddenly, I was very grateful that Regina had forced me to sit near the door. I jumped out of my seat and started running.
Where was that bathroom?
“I am soooo embarrassed,” whined Regina as we sped down the highway, away from the Golden Lotus. “Could you be more mortifying, Lucy?”
I didn’t answer her. I still felt hot and sweaty after throwing up what seemed like five pounds of rice. I pressed my cheek against the cool car window.
“You know, the Golden Lotus is one of the most famous Chinese restaurants in the country. A lot of people would kill to eat there. But you?” Regina raised her voice, pretending to be me. “Oooh! New food! It’s scaaaaary.” She was extra mad because Mom made her leave before she could try the Peking honey bananas.
“Some of that food was a little unusual,” Mom pointed out to Regina. “Though I wish you had spoken up a little sooner, Lucy.”
Mom didn’t understand. The choice between yelling across the table in English when everyone else was speaking Chinese or having everyone listen to my lurching, broken Chinese had not seemed that appealing.
“Some of that unusual food represented the best of Chinese cooking, how every part of an animal can be made into something incredibly delicious …” Regina went on.
That made me think of the frog. I grabbed my stomach and moaned.
Regina let out a little shriek. “You’re not going to puke in the car, are you?”
I didn’t really think I was going to get sick again, but for just one second, I wanted to. On Regina.
“Do I need to pull over, honey?” Dad yelled from the front of the van.
“No, I think I’m okay,” I called back.
“I’ll bet you wanted … let me guess … lasagna,” accused Regina.
“No, I didn’t,” I lied, but I don’t think she believed me. “What’s wrong with lasagna?”
Regina’s upper lip curved into a sneer. �
��You are Chinese. You are supposed to like Chinese food,” she hissed. When attractive people make faces like that, they look even uglier than normal people would.
“I do like Chinese food,” I told her, even though discussing food was making me slightly queasy. “There are plenty of dishes from Panda Café that are just fine with me, like their egg drop soup and chicken fried rice.”
Regina rolled her eyes. “That’s not real Chinese food. Panda Café cannot even begin to compare with the Golden Lotus.”
“That’s your opinion,” I told her.
She sniffed. “It’s an opinion backed by one of the world’s greatest Chinese chefs. When Chef Yee came to my school for the Chinese Culture and Language Society, he mentioned the Golden Lotus. I don’t believe he discussed Panda Café.” Regina practically spat out the words Panda Café, as if they tasted bad in her mouth.
“Just get over yourself,” I muttered to her.
“Girls,” Dad said sharply from the driver’s seat. “Enough.”
“You’re a banana, a Twinkie,” Regina whispered.
“What are you talking about now?” For a second, I thought Regina was telling me to eat something.
“You’re yellow on the outside, white on the inside. That’s what you are.”
Who did Regina think she was, telling me how or how not to be Chinese? I am sure there are people, maybe lots of people, in China who do not love eating pig’s ears and other weird stuff, and no one ever calls them out and tells them that they are not Chinese enough.
“You know who I am, Regina? I’m someone who’s getting her own room in a few weeks after a certain know-it-all moves out!” After Regina left for college, I was going to have an entire bedroom to myself for the first time, ever. I could decorate all the walls the way I wanted, instead of having to look at pictures of Regina’s stupid friends. Plus, my best friend, Madison, and I were going to have the most incredible slumber party for our joint birthday party, and it was going to be in my room.
The Great Wall of Lucy Wu Page 1
