with one customer and you have started to grab another. How greedy!"
Wild Ginger tried to move her fingers faster. The blisters on her palm and around her fingers looked swollen. The blood from her cuts mixed with the eels'. Wild Ginger's scarf got blown off by the wind. She reached out her right leg to hold the scarf down while her fingers continued to work with the snails. "Madam, I'll give you one cent back for the delay."
"You ought to," the woman said.
"Wild Ginger," I called.
She raised her head. "Maple!" She turned to the lady. "She is no customer. She's my friend."
"Hurry up!" The woman was irritated.
"Thanks for the business. Thanks for waiting." Wild Ginger was talking to me.
"May I help?" I offered.
"I'm almost done. Don't dirty your hands. The stink will stick to you all day. Here you are, madam, done." She shoveled the finished snails into the customer's basket.
The woman gave Wild Ginger a dirty look. She threw three cents to her and walked away.
Wild Ginger began to work on my snails as I went to fetch vegetables. By now the day was bright. The market was much less crowded. Most of the booths were empty. The late customers looked miserable—there was nothing except frozen radishes to buy. People had been eating radishes for months.
By the time I came back, Wild Ginger was selling her cat food. She piled the fish heads, tails, and intestines neatly on the washed-clean board and waited for the customers. She sat on a piece of brick and saved her stool for me. A couple of old ladies came and bargained.
I sat down next to Wild Ginger. I was hungry and frozen. I'd love to have a bowl of hot tofu soup, I thought. But I dared not spend the money. I was sure Wild Ginger was hungrier. The smell of baked yams wafted over. Wild
Ginger got up and yelled, "Cat food!" Her eyes sought eagerly. "Fresh intestines!" She rubbed her hands to warm them. Her nose was red. Her cheeks were splotched with black squid ink. Fish scales glinted in her hair. She yawned and stretched her arms and legs.
"The other day, Evergreen came to visit," Wild Ginger told me. "He helped me with the Mao reciting and dropped a lot of tips, even knowing that I was a rival."
"I told you he was a nice fellow."
"He said the purpose of the contest was not to win but to promote Mao study. He was impressed by my work. He thought that I had a good chance to win."
"I agree, Wild Ginger. You work so hard."
"There was something else Evergreen said that disturbed me."
"What is it?"
"It's Hot Pepper. Do you know Hot Pepper has registered for the contest too? She said that she was determined to beat me. But she's no match. So she uses political excuses to make sure I won't enter."
"The spy stuff again?"
"What else can she say?"
"This is going to be tricky."
"I know. Evergreen is fighting for me. He believes that the Communist party promotes justice and fairness. And I believe him."
The tinkling of bells reached our ears. Two bicycles with large containers hung on each side arrived. They were the
refinery and herb shop workers. Wild Ginger went up to greet them.
"It's not fresh. I don't want it," the refinery man bargained.
"I haven't gone home yet, big uncle," Wild Ginger negotiated. "You won't get fresher stuff this morning."
"One cent a pound."
"Two cents, uncle. I have to eat too."
"One cent or I am leaving." The man rang his bell.
"Fine, one cent." Wild Ginger gave the man her buckets.
"The squid bone is too small, I don't want it," the herb man said, ringing his bell too, as if hurrying to move on.
"Half price. One cent a pound," Wild Ginger yielded.
The man took out his scale, weighed the bucket, then paid Wild Ginger. "You smart kid. You know I'm your last stop."
Wild Ginger counted the money and placed the pennies carefully inside her pocket. She looked satisfied and went to close her stall.
I said goodbye and walked toward home. I tried to fight against a welling sorrow. My mornings were never the same after that day. I
Wild Ginger tried to move her fingers faster. The blisters on her palm and around her fingers looked swollen. The blood from her cuts mixed with the eels'. Wild Ginger's scarf got blown off by the wind. She reached out her right leg to hold the scarf down while her fingers continued to work with the snails. "Madam, I'll give you one cent back for the delay."
"You ought to," the woman said.
"Wild Ginger," I called.
She raised her head. "Maple!" She turned to the lady. "She is no customer. She's my friend."
"Hurry up!" The woman was irritated.
"Thanks for the business. Thanks for waiting." Wild Ginger was talking to me.
"May I help?" I offered.
"I'm almost done. Don't dirty your hands. The stink will stick to you all day. Here you are, madam, done." She shoveled the finished snails into the customer's basket.
The woman gave Wild Ginger a dirty look. She threw three cents to her and walked away.
Wild Ginger began to work on my snails as I went to fetch vegetables. By now the day was bright. The market was much less crowded. Most of the booths were empty. The late customers looked miserable—there was nothing except frozen radishes to buy. People had been eating radishes for months.
By the time I came back, Wild Ginger was selling her cat food. She piled the fish heads, tails, and intestines neatly on the washed-clean board and waited for the customers. She sat on a piece of brick and saved her stool for me. A couple of old ladies came and bargained.
I sat down next to Wild Ginger. I was hungry and frozen. I'd love to have a bowl of hot tofu soup, I thought. But I dared not spend the money. I was sure Wild Ginger was hungrier. The smell of baked yams wafted over. Wild
Ginger got up and yelled, "Cat food!" Her eyes sought eagerly. "Fresh intestines!" She rubbed her hands to warm them. Her nose was red. Her cheeks were splotched with black squid ink. Fish scales glinted in her hair. She yawned and stretched her arms and legs.
"The other day, Evergreen came to visit," Wild Ginger told me. "He helped me with the Mao reciting and dropped a lot of tips, even knowing that I was a rival."
"I told you he was a nice fellow."
"He said the purpose of the contest was not to win but to promote Mao study. He was impressed by my work. He thought that I had a good chance to win."
"I agree, Wild Ginger. You work so hard."
"There was something else Evergreen said that disturbed me."
"What is it?"
"It's Hot Pepper. Do you know Hot Pepper has registered for the contest too? She said that she was determined to beat me. But she's no match. So she uses political excuses to make sure I won't enter."
"The spy stuff again?"
"What else can she say?"
"This is going to be tricky."
"I know. Evergreen is fighting for me. He believes that the Communist party promotes justice and fairness. And I believe him."
The tinkling of bells reached our ears. Two bicycles with large containers hung on each side arrived. They were the
refinery and herb shop workers. Wild Ginger went up to greet them.
"It's not fresh. I don't want it," the refinery man bargained.
"I haven't gone home yet, big uncle," Wild Ginger negotiated. "You won't get fresher stuff this morning."
"One cent a pound."
"Two cents, uncle. I have to eat too."
"One cent or I am leaving." The man rang his bell.
"Fine, one cent." Wild Ginger gave the man her buckets.
"The squid bone is too small, I don't want it," the herb man said, ringing his bell too, as if hurrying to move on.
"Half price. One cent a pound," Wild Ginger yielded.
The man took out his scale, weighed the bucket, then paid Wild Ginger. "You smart kid. You know I'm your last stop."
Wild Ginger counted the money and placed the pennies carefully inside her pocket. She looked satisfied and went to close her stall.
I said goodbye and walked toward home. I tried to fight against a welling sorrow. My mornings were never the same after that day. I
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