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ugly.”
    Suyin blinks and turns away and says, “Tomorrow is an auspicious day. It is the Day of the Smallest Moon. She will come in the morning, early. And now I must go. I have work to do. And you must eat so that you will be strong enough to bear what will happen.”
    Jinhua hears the lock on the door. She remembers Timu saying, “Eat so you will be strong enough when the go-between comes to get you.” She remembers Lao Mama poking her and saying, “Eat so you will become nice and fat and strong for bed business.” And now it is this. “Eat so you will be strong enough to bear what will happen.” She cannot eat another mouthful, and she reaches for the red lip paint. She knows what she will do now and tomorrow and the next day and the next, and she will never stop because she will never forget about Baba again, not even when she is sleeping. She will never stop being sorry and sad. And she will never stop wishing that dead people like Baba and Aiwen could come back.
    Who misses me in my garden—
    I want to go home—

9
    THE DAY OF THE
SMALLEST MOON

    Suyin
    It is early, and Suyin is
leisi
—tired almost to death—and it is time to get the girl ready for the foot binder. Last night seemed endless, with a third-rate host and his third-rate guests; men who can’t keep their hands off even a girl like Suyin, who is there only to sweep the floors and clear away dishes. They were drunk. They named her Madam Working Hands, and then everyone started to call her that. Last night Lao Mama yanked her by the neck and told her to look pleasant for a change and to do whatever the men wanted her to do—even if it was bed business. “They are customers who pay and pay well,” she said, “and there is no accounting for what some men will buy, especially when they are drinking wine. And besides, the landlord will be here tomorrow asking for his money. You must do your part.”
    Another time Lao Mama told Suyin that not even a pig would have her. When she said this she was looking at Suyin’s feet, andwhat Lao Mama said then is the truth. None of the men has ever wanted Suyin in a bed. Some of them like to touch her breasts and laugh at the way she walks, but that is all.
    Every turnip has its hole.
This is what Suyin tells herself.
And this is mine.
She has not told Lao Mama that her first moon cycle has just begun. But Lao Mama will find out soon, probably.

    â€œHao.
”
    Lao Mama is standing in the kitchen doorway taking measure with her sharp eye. Her hands are clenched on her hips, and her knuckles are shiny white like small, tight onions lined up in a row. The bulge in the drape of her sleeve is Xiaoyun, Lao Mama’s dog, which is no bigger than a lady’s small fist.
    It is early and cold and dark in the kitchen. Suyin is wary. The single word Lao Mama said—
good
—means nothing yet. The truer, harsher judgment will still come, depending on her mood. Depending on what she sees with that eye of hers.
    The two houseboys are standing by the fire, sleepy, tending the brew for soaking feet and bandages. Lao Mama’s water pipe is on the table, filled with tobacco, ready to be lit; there is rice and tea and a flowered plate of pickled vegetables, salted duck egg, and strong-smelling
chou doufu
for her breakfast, and the girl is sitting on the stool in the middle of the room, her trousers rolled up to her knees, her legs dangling, her bare feet not quite touching the beaten-clay floor.
    A sweet child—and yet it is better not to care too much. Bad things can happen. Bad things will happen. Suyin is thinking of Little Sister, and of Aiwen, who has been replaced by this child on the stool. She is thinking also of herself.
    The girl didn’t want any breakfast, no tea to warm her up. She has stopped asking questions, and her special shoes are in her lap, where she seems to guard them with every part of her body. Suyin has helped her to