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Authors: Duncan Jepson
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and Ba. It was already dark and I was tired. I sat waiting in the kitchen with Grandfather. The maid made us strong tea, the kind we had at banquets. Normally I was only allowed to drink two cups but today the maid let me drink as many as I liked.
Eventually I fell asleep. It was Ba who woke me. I was still sitting at the table in the kitchen with Grandfather watching over me. Ba told me to go to Sister’s room.
I entered quietly. Sister was lying in bed with Ma sitting holding her hand. The room smelled airless and bad, and was dark except for the light from two candles. I could not make out Sister’s face from where I stood by the door. I went closer and could see she was very ill. Her skin was white, and without the usual makeup she looked old and drained. Ma was crying.
Sister grabbed my arm hard and pulled me close to her. She tried to say something that I could not understand. Her nails dug hard into my skin, and I wanted to pull away but Ma told me to stand still. Sister could not make herself understood. Her eyes flickered in all directions, barely looking at me. She continued mumbling. I wanted to leave and run to Grandfather, but Ma insisted I must stay. Sister’s words were slurred and drowned by saliva. Finally, without saying anything audible, she fell back, looking exhausted. I realized I already knew what she’d been trying to say. I pulled my arm away and stepped back next to Ma.
Ma whispered to me, “You should have behaved properly. This is your elder sister and you must give her the respect she is due. Please go and pray to our ancestors for her. You should leave now, you are only upsetting her.”
She opened the door for me and I left. I went straight to Grandfather, who hugged me tight. He was still in the kitchen, where he had been all evening. I told him that Sister looked terribly ill and asked him what was wrong with her.
Grandfather nodded and simply said, “Yes,” but ignored my question.
The maids were already sleeping, so he made some noodles himself, with spring onions, ginger, and two dumplings. We ate in silence, framed by the half-light from outside and the flame of a single candle set on the chopping board, and while Grandfather ate, tears slid gently from his cheeks into his bowl.
The next day I woke to a loud thud. I came out of my bedroom to find some men taking a stretcher into Sister’s room. Seeing me, Ma came over and quickly took my hand, leading me to the kitchen.
“Xiao Feng, please sit down and listen to me. You must listen properly. Your Sister has been very ill.”
She took a breath and I had time to look at her. Her hair was not neatly arranged as normal and she looked pale and tired. She hunched her back when she would usually stand so straight.
“Your sister died early this morning. Your father and I will organize the mourning arrangements, for people to pay their respects to her and us.”
“But I thought she was to have a baby?” I asked.
“Baby? What baby? Feng, this is not the right time to be so foolish. You must grow up! Your Sister was very ill and the doctors could not heal her. There’ll be a lot to do so we expect you to help.” Ma drew in a sharp breath through her nose. “Nothing has gone right . . . the fortune-teller was wrong. It’s a curse on us.” It seemed as though she would cry then but she restrained herself.
I did not understand at the time, but I know now that I saw in Ma’s distress and bitterness someone who had spent the last months battling against fate, someone who had exhausted all her hope and prayers attempting to prevent destiny from fulfilling its dread work. It was all true: the men were carrying Sister’s dead body, Ma was grief-stricken, the doctors were presenting their bills, and now, in keeping with tradition, the maids were no longer allowed to clean the house. Yet none of it felt true. Ma called for the cook.
“Please can you make Feng some Ovaltine? She must keep up her strength for the mourning
Eventually I fell asleep. It was Ba who woke me. I was still sitting at the table in the kitchen with Grandfather watching over me. Ba told me to go to Sister’s room.
I entered quietly. Sister was lying in bed with Ma sitting holding her hand. The room smelled airless and bad, and was dark except for the light from two candles. I could not make out Sister’s face from where I stood by the door. I went closer and could see she was very ill. Her skin was white, and without the usual makeup she looked old and drained. Ma was crying.
Sister grabbed my arm hard and pulled me close to her. She tried to say something that I could not understand. Her nails dug hard into my skin, and I wanted to pull away but Ma told me to stand still. Sister could not make herself understood. Her eyes flickered in all directions, barely looking at me. She continued mumbling. I wanted to leave and run to Grandfather, but Ma insisted I must stay. Sister’s words were slurred and drowned by saliva. Finally, without saying anything audible, she fell back, looking exhausted. I realized I already knew what she’d been trying to say. I pulled my arm away and stepped back next to Ma.
Ma whispered to me, “You should have behaved properly. This is your elder sister and you must give her the respect she is due. Please go and pray to our ancestors for her. You should leave now, you are only upsetting her.”
She opened the door for me and I left. I went straight to Grandfather, who hugged me tight. He was still in the kitchen, where he had been all evening. I told him that Sister looked terribly ill and asked him what was wrong with her.
Grandfather nodded and simply said, “Yes,” but ignored my question.
The maids were already sleeping, so he made some noodles himself, with spring onions, ginger, and two dumplings. We ate in silence, framed by the half-light from outside and the flame of a single candle set on the chopping board, and while Grandfather ate, tears slid gently from his cheeks into his bowl.
The next day I woke to a loud thud. I came out of my bedroom to find some men taking a stretcher into Sister’s room. Seeing me, Ma came over and quickly took my hand, leading me to the kitchen.
“Xiao Feng, please sit down and listen to me. You must listen properly. Your Sister has been very ill.”
She took a breath and I had time to look at her. Her hair was not neatly arranged as normal and she looked pale and tired. She hunched her back when she would usually stand so straight.
“Your sister died early this morning. Your father and I will organize the mourning arrangements, for people to pay their respects to her and us.”
“But I thought she was to have a baby?” I asked.
“Baby? What baby? Feng, this is not the right time to be so foolish. You must grow up! Your Sister was very ill and the doctors could not heal her. There’ll be a lot to do so we expect you to help.” Ma drew in a sharp breath through her nose. “Nothing has gone right . . . the fortune-teller was wrong. It’s a curse on us.” It seemed as though she would cry then but she restrained herself.
I did not understand at the time, but I know now that I saw in Ma’s distress and bitterness someone who had spent the last months battling against fate, someone who had exhausted all her hope and prayers attempting to prevent destiny from fulfilling its dread work. It was all true: the men were carrying Sister’s dead body, Ma was grief-stricken, the doctors were presenting their bills, and now, in keeping with tradition, the maids were no longer allowed to clean the house. Yet none of it felt true. Ma called for the cook.
“Please can you make Feng some Ovaltine? She must keep up her strength for the mourning
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