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My father has asked to be the fourth er at the Joy Luck Club. I ato repbsp; ther, whose seat at the h jong table has beey since she died two nths ago. My father thinks she was killed by her own thoughts.
quot;She had a new idea inside her head,quot; said father. quot;But before iuld e out of her uth, the thought grew too big and burst. It st hae been a ery bad idea.quot;
The doctor said she died of a cerebral aneurys And her friends at the Joy Luck Club said she died just like a rabbit: quickly and with unfinished business left behind. My ther was supposed to host the eting of the Joy Luck Club.
The week before she died, she called , full of pride, full of life: quot;Auntie Lioked red bean soup for Joy Luck. Igoing tok bck sesa-seed soup.quot;
quot;Dont show off,quot; I said.
quot;Its not showoff.quot; She said the two soups were alst the sa, chabudwo. Or ybe she said butong, not the sa thing at all. It was one of those ese epressions that ans the better half of ed iions. I eer reer things I didnt uand in the first pce.
My ther started the San Franc ersion of the Joy Luck Club in 1949, two years before I was born. This was the year ther and father left a with oiff leather trunk filled only with fancy silk dresses. There was no ti to paything else, ther had epio father after they boarded the boat. Still his hands swafrantically between the slippery silks, looking for hitton shirts and wool pants.
When they arried in San Frany father de her hide those shiny clothes. She wore the sa brown-checked ese dress until the Refugee Wele Society gae her two hand--down dresses, all toe in sizes for Ari won. The society osed of a group of white-haired Ari ssionary dies frothe First ese Baptist Church. And because of their gifts,  arentuld not refuse their initation to join the churould they ighe old dies practical adiproe their English through Bible study css on Wednesday nights and, ter, through choir practi Saturday . This was how  arents t the Hsus, the Jongs, and the St. Cirs. My theuld sehat the won of these falies also had unspeakable tragedies they had left behind in a and hopes theuldnt begin to epress in their fragile English. Or at least, ther reized the nuness in these wons faces. And she saw how quickly their eyes ed wheold theher idea for the Joy Luck Club.
Joy Luck was an idea ther reered frothe days of her first rriage in Klin, before the Japanese ca. Thats why I think of Joy Luck as her Klin story. It was the story she would always tell when she was bored, when there was nothing to do, when eery bowl had been washed and the Forca table had been wiped down twice, when father sat reading the neer and sking one Pall Mall cigarette after another, a warning not to disturb hi This is when ther would take out a bo of old ski sweaters sent to us by unseeies froVuer. She would snip the bottoof a sweater and pull out a kinky thread of yarn, anch it to a piece of cardboard. And as she began to roll with one sweeping rhyth she would start her story. Oer the years, she told the sa story, ecept for the ending, which grew darker, casting long shadows into her life, aually into ne.
quot;I dread about Klin before I eer saw it,quot; n, speaking ese. quot;I dread of jagged peaks lining a g rier, with gic ss greening the banks. At the tops of these peaks were white sts. And if yould float down this rier ahe ss for food, you would be strong enough to cli the peak. If you slipped, you would only fall into a bed of soft ss and ugh. And once you reached the top, you would be able to see eerything and feel such happiness it would be enough to neer hae worries in your life eer again.
quot;In a, eerybody dread about Klin. And when I arried, I realized how shabby drea were, how poor thoughts. When I saw the hills, I ughed and shuddered at the sa ti. The peaks looked like giant fried fish heads trying to ju out of a at of oil. Behind each hill, uld see shadows of another fish, and then another and another. And then the clouds would e just a little and the hills would suddenly beonstrous elephants rg slowly toward ! you see this? And at the root of the hill were secret caes. Inside grew hanging rock gardens in the shapes anlors of cabbage, winter lons, turnips, and onions. These were things se aiful you t eer igihe
quot;But I dido Klin to see how beautiful it was. The n who was husband brought and our two babies to Klin because he thought we would be safe. He was an officer with the Kuontang, and after he put us down in a sll rooin a two-story house, he went off to the northwest, to gking.
quot;We khe Japanese were winning, eehe neers said they were not. Eery day, eery hour, thousands of people poured into the city, crowding the sidewalks, looking for pces to lie. They ca frothe East, West, North, and South. They were rid poor, Shanghaionese, northerners, and not just ese, but fners and ssionaries of eery religion. And there was, ourse, the Kuontang and their ar officers who thought they were top leel to eeryone else.
quot;We were a city of leftoers ed together. If it hadnt been for the Japahere would hae beey of reason fhting to break out ang these different people. you see it? Shanghai people with north-water peasants, bankers with barbers, rickshaw pullers with Bur refugees. Eerybody looked down on soone else. It didnt tter that eerybody shared the sa sidewalk to spit on and suffered the sa fast-ing diarrhea. We all had the sa stink, but eerybody pined soone else slled the worst. Me? Oh, I hated the Ari air force officers who said habba-habba sounds to ke face turn red. But the worst were the northern peasants who etied their noses into their hands and pushed people around and gae eerybody their dirty diseases.
quot;So you see how quickly Klin lost its beauty for . I no longer clied the peaks to say, How loely are these hills! I only wondered which hills the Japanese had reached. I sat in the dark ers of house with a baby under each ar waiting with nerous feet. When the sirens cried out to warn us of boers, neighbors and I jued to our feet and scurried to the deep caes to hide like wild anils. But you t stay in the dark for so long. Sothing inside of you starts to fade and you bee like a staring person, crazy-hungry fht. Outside uld hear the boing. Boo Boo And then the sound of raining rocks. And inside I was no longer hungry for the cabbage or the turnips of the hanging rock garden. uld only see the dripping bowels of an a hill that ghlpse on top of . you igine how it is, to want to be her inside nor outside, to want to be nowhere and disappear?
quot;So when the boing sounds grew farther away, we would e back out like newborn kittens scratg our way back to the city. And always, I would be azed to find the hills against the burning sky had not been torn apart.
quot;I thought up Joy Lu a suer night that was so hot eehs faio th藏书网e ground, their wings were so heay with the da heat. Eery pce was so crowded there was no roofor fresh air. Unbearable slls frothe sewers rose up to sed-story window and the stink had nowhere else to go but into all hours of the night and day, I heard sg sounds. I didnt know if it easant slitting the throat of a runaig or an officer beating a half-dead peasant for lying in his way on the sidewalk. I didnt go to the window to find out. What use would it hae been? And thats when I thought I needed sothing to do to help e.
quot;My idea was to hae a gathering of four won, one for each er of h jong table. I knew whien I wao ask. They were all young like , with wishful faces. One was an ar officers wife, like self. Another was a girl with ery fine nners froa rich faly in Shanghai. She had escaped with only a little ney. And there was a girl froNanking who had the bckest hair I hae eer seen. She ca froa low-css faly, but she retty and pleasant and had rried well, to an old n who died a her with a better life.
quot;Each week one of us would host a party to raise ney and to raise our spirits. The hostess had to sere special dyansyin foods t good fortune of all kinds—dulings shaped like siler ney ingots, long rioodles for long life, boiled peanuts for g sons, and ourse, ny good-luck es for a plentiful, sweet life.
quot;What fine food we treated ourseles to with er allowances! We didnt notice that the dulings were stuffed stly with stringy squash and that the es were spotted with wor holes. We ate sparingly, not as if we didnt hae enough, but to protest how wuld another bite, we had already bloated ourseles froearlier in the day. We knew we had luuries few peopluld afford. We were the lucky ones.
quot;After filling our stochs, we would then fill a bowl with ney and put it where eeryonuld see. Then we would sit down at the h jong table. My table was fro faly and was of a ery fragrant red wood, not what you call rosewood, but hong , which is so fiheres no English word for it. The table had a ery thick pad, so that when the h jong pai were spilled onto the table the only sound was of iory tiles washing against one another.
quot;Once we started to py, noboduld speak, ecept to say Pung! or Chr! when taking a tile. We had to py with seriousness and think of nothing else but adding to our happihrough winning. But after siteen rounds, we would agai, this ti to celebrate ood fortune. And then we would talk into the night until the saying stories about good tis in the past and good tis yet to e.
quot;Oh, what good stories! Stories spilling out all oer the pce! We alst ughed to death. A rooster that ran into the house screeg on top of dinner bowls, the sa bowls that held hiquietly in pieces the day! And one about a girl who wrote loe letters for two friends who loed the sa n. And a silly fn dy who fainted on a toilet when firecrackers went off o her.
quot;People thought we were wrong to sere bas eery week while ny people iy were stariing rats and, ter, the garbage that the poorest rats used to feed on. Others thought we were possessed by dens—to celebrate when een within our own falies we had lost geions, had lost hos and fortunes, and were separated, husband frowife, brother frosister, daughter frother. Hnnnh! Hould we ugh, people asked.
quot;Its not that we had or eyes for pain. We were all afraid. We all had our series. But to despair was to wish back for sothing already lost. Or to prolong what was already unbearable. How bsp; you wish for a faorite warat that hangs in the closet of a house that burned down with your ther and father inside of it? How long you see in your nd ar and legs hanging frotelephone wires and staring dogs running dowreets with half-chewed hands dangling frotheir jaws? What was worse, we asked ang ourseles, to sit and wait for our owhs with proper soer faces? Or to choose our oiness?
quot;So we decided to hold parties and pretend each week had bee the new year. Each week wuld fet past wrongs doo us. We werent allowed to think a bad thought. We feasted, w;s?;/se ughed, we pyed gas, lost and woold the best stories. And each week, wuld hope to be lucky. That hope was our only joy. And thats how we ca to call our little parties Joy Luck.quot;
My ther used to end the story on a happy note, bragging about her skill at the ga. quot;I won ny tis and was so lucky the others teased that I had learhe trick of a cleer thief,quot; she said. quot;I won tens of thousands of yuan. But I wasnt rio. By then paper ney had bee worthless. Een toilet paper was worth re. And that de us ugh harder, to think a thousand-yuan note wasnt een good enough to rub on our botto.quot;
I hought thers Klin story was anything but a ese fairy tale. The endings always ged. Sotis she said she used that worthless thousand-yuan o buy a half-cup of rice. She turhat rito a pot of pe. She traded that gruel for two feet froa pig. Those two feet beca si eggs, those eggs si chis. The story always grew and grew.
And then one eening, after I had begged her to buy a transistor radio, after she refused and I had sulked in silence for an hour, she said, quot;Why do you think you are ssing sothing you neer had?quot; And theold a pletely different ending to the story.
quot;An ar officer ca to house early one quot; she said, quot;and told to go quickly to husband in gking. And I knew he was tellio run away froKlin. I knew what happeo officers and their falies when the Japanese arried. Hould I go? There were no trains leaing Klin. My friend froNanking, she was so good to . She bribed a n to steal a wheelbarrow used to haual. She prosed to warn our other friends.
quot;I packed things and two babies into this wheelbarrow and began pushing to gking four days before the Japanese rched into Klin. On the road I heard news of the sughter fropeople running past . It was terrible. Up to the st day, the Kuontang insisted that Klin was safe, protected by the ese ar. But ter that day, the streets of Klin were strewn with neers rep great Kuontang ictories, and on top of these papers, like fresh fish froa butcher, y rows of people—n, won, and children who had neer lost hope, but had lost their lies instead. When I heard this news, I walked faster and faster, asking self at each step, Were they foolish? Were they brae?
quot;I pushed tking, until wheel broke. I abandoned beautiful h jong table of hong . By then I didnt hae enough feeli in body to cry. I tied scares into slings and put a baby on each side of shoulder. I carried a bag in each hand, oh clothes, the other with food. I carried these things until deep grooes grew in hands. And I finally dropped one bag after the other when hands began to bleed aoo slippery to hold onto anything.
quot;Along the way, I saw others had dohe sa, gradually gien up hope. It was like a pathway inid with treasures that grew in alue along the way. Bos of fine fabrid books. Paintings of aors and carpeools. Until onuld see cages of dugs now quiet with thirst and, ter still, siler urns lying in the road, where people had been too tired to carry thefor any kind of future hope. By the ti I arried in gking I had lost eerythi for three fancy silk dresses which I wore one on top of the other.quot;
quot;What do you an by eerything?quot; I gasped at the end. I was stuo realize the story had been true all along. quot;What happeo the babies?quot;
She didnt een pause to think. She sily said in a way that de it clear there was o the story: quot;Your father is not first husband. You are not those babies.quot;
When I arrie at the Hsus house, where the Joy Luck Club is eting tonight, the first person I see is father. quot;There she is! Neer on ti!quot; he announces. And its true. Eerybodys already here, seen faly friends in their sities aies. They look up and ugh at , always tardy, a child still at thirty-si.
Ishaking, trying to hold sothing ihe st ti I saw the at the funeral, I had broken down and cried big gulping sobs. They st wonder now how soone like take thers pce. A friend oold that ther and I were alike, that we had the sa wispy haures, the sa girlish ugh and sideways look. When I shyly told ther this, she seed insued and said, quot;You dont een know little pert of ! How you be ?quot; And shes right. How I be ther at Joy Luck?
quot;Auntie, Uncle,quot; I say repeatedly, nodding to each person there. I hae always called these old faly friends Auntie and Uncle. And then I walk oer and stao father.
Hes looking at the Jongs pictures frotheir ret a trip. quot;Look at that,quot; he says politely, pointing to a photo of the Jongs troup standing on wide sb steps. There is nothing in this picture that shows it was taken in a rather than San Franc, or any other city for that tter. But father doeso be looking at the picture anyway. Its as though eerythihe sa to hi nothing stands out. He has always been politely indifferent. But whats the ese word that ans indifferent because you t see any differehats how troubled I think he is by thers death.
quot;Will you look at that,quot; he says, pointing to another nondescript picture.
The Hsus house feels heay with greasy odors. Too ny ese aloked in a too sll kit, too ny once fragrant slls pressed onto a thin yer of inisible grease. I reer how ther used to go into other peoples houses aaurants and wrinkle her hen whisper ery loudly: quot;I see ahe stiess with nose.quot;
I hae not been to the Hsus house in ny years, but the liing roois eactly the sa as I reer it. When Auntie An-i and Uncle Gee ed to the Su district froatowy-fie years ago, they bought new furniture. Its all there, still looking stly new under yellowed pstic. The sa turquoisuch shaped in a secircle of nubby tweed. The ial end tables de out of heay ple. A of fake cracked por. Only the scroll-length dar, free frothe Bank of ton, ges eery year.
I reer this stuff, because when we were children, Auntie An-i did us touy of her new furniture ecept through the clear pstic cs. On Joy Luights,  arents brought to the Hsus. Since I was the guest, I had to take care of all the younger children, so ny children it seed as if there were always one baby who was g frohaing bued its head on a table leg.
quot;You are responsible,quot; said ther, whit I was in trouble if anything illed, burned, lost, broken, or dirty. I was responsible, no tter who did it. She and Auntie An-i were dressed up in funny ese dresses with stiff stand-ulrs and bloong branches of eroidered silk sewheir breasts. These clothes were too fancy for real ese people, I thought, and toe for Ari parties. In those days, before ther told her Klin story, I igined Joy Luck was a shaful ese , like the secret gathering of the Ku Klu Kn or the totodances of TV Indians preparing for war.
But tonight, theres no stery. The Joy Luck aunties are all wearing scks, bright print blouses, and different ersions of sturdy walking shoes. We are all seated around the dining rootable under a that looks like a Spanish debra. Uncle Gee puts on his bifocals and starts the eting by reading the nutes:
quot;Our capital at is 24,825, or about 6,206 uple, 3,103 per person. We sold Subaru for a loss at si and three-quarters. We bought a hundred shares of Sth Iional at seen. Our thanks to Lindo and Tin Jong for the goodies. The red bean soup was especially delicious. The March eting had to be celed until further notice. We were sorry to hae to bid a fond farewell to our dear friend Suyuan aended our syathy to the ing Woo faly. Respectfully subtted, Gee Hsu, president aary.quot;
Thats it. I keep thinking the others will start talking about ther, the wonderful friendship they shared, and why I ahere in her spirit, to be the fourth er and carry on the idea ther ca up with on a hot day in Klin.
But eerybody just nods to approe the nutes. Een fathers head bobs up and down routinely. And it see to thers life has been sheled for new business.
Auntie An-i heaes herself up frothe table and es slowly to the kit to prepare the food. And Auntie Lin, thers best frieo the turquoise sofa, crosses her ar, and watches the n still seated at the table. Auntie Ying, who see to shrink een re eery ti I see her, reaches into her knitting bag and pulls out the start of a tiny blue sweater.
The Joy Lucles begin to talk about stocks they are ied in buying. Uncle Jack, who is Auntie Yings younger brother, is ery keen on a pany that nes gold in ada.
quot;Its a great hedge on inftion,quot; he says with authority. He speaks the best English, alst atless. I think thers English was the worst, but she always thought her ese was the best. She spoke Mandarin slightly blurred with a Shanghai dialect.
quot;Werent we going to py h jong tonight?quot; I whisper loudly to Auntie Ying, whos slightly deaf.
quot;Later,quot; she says, quot;after dnight.quot;
quot;Ladies, are you at this eting or not?quot; says Uncle Gee. After eerybody otes unaniusly for the ada gold stock, I go into the kit to ask Auntie An-i why the Joy Luck Club started iing in stocks.
quot;We used to py h jong, wiake all. But the sa people were always winning, the sa people always losing,quot; she says. She is stuffing wonton, one chopstick jab of gingery at dabbed onto a thin skin and then a single fluid turn with her hand that seals the skin into the shape of a tiny nurses cap. quot;You t hae luck when soone else has skill. So long ti ago, we decided to i iock rket. Theres no skill in that. Een your eed.quot;
Auntie Aakes t of the tray in front of her. Shes already de fie rows of eight wonton each. quot;Forty wonto people, ten each, fie row re,quot; she says aloud to herself, and then tiuffing. quot;We got srt. Now we all win and lose equally. We hae stock rket luck. And y h jong for fun, just for a few dolrs, wiake all. Losers take ho leftoers! So eeryone hae so joy. Srt-hanh?quot;
I watch Auntie An-i ke re wonton. She has quick, epert fingers. She doesnt hae to think about what she is doing. Thats what ther used to pin about, that Auntie An-i hought about what she was doing.
quot;Shes not stupid,quot; said ther on one oasion, quot;but she has no spine. Last week, I had a good idea for her. I said to her, Lets go to the sute and ask for papers for your brother. And she alst wao drop her things and ght then. But ter she talked to soone. Who knows who? And that person told her she get her brother in bad trouble in a. That person said FBI will put her on a list and gie her trouble in the U.S. the rest of her life. That person said, You ask for a house loan and they say no loan, because your brother is a unist. I said, You already hae a house! But still she was scared.
quot;Aunti An-i runs this way and that,quot; said ther, quot;and she doesnt know why.quot;
As I watch Auntie An-i, I see a short bent won in her seenties, with a heay bosoand thin, shapeless legs. She has the fttened soft fiips of an old won. I wonder what Auntie An-i did to inspire a lifelong streaof criticisfro ther. Then again, it seed ther was always displeased with all her friends, with , and een with father. Sothing was always ssing. Sothing always needed iroing. Sothing was not in bahis one or that had too ch of o, not enough of another.
The elents were fro thers own ersion anic chestry. Each person is de of fie elents, she told .
Too ch fire and you had a bad teer. That was like father, who ther always criticized for his cigarette habit and who always shouted back that she should keep her thoughts to herself. I think he now feels guiy that he did ther speak her nd.
Too little wood and you bent too quickly to listen to other peoples ideas, uo stand on your own. This was like Auntie An-i.
Too ch water and you flowed in too ny dires, like self, for haing started half a degree in biology, then half a degree in art, and then finishiher when I went off to work for a sll ad agency as a secretary, ter being pywriter.
I used to disss her criticis as just re of her ese superstitions, beliefs that ely fit the circes. In twenties, while taking Introdu to Psychology, I tried to tell her why she shouldnt criticize so ch, why it dido a heahy learning eniro.
quot;Theres a school of thought,quot; I said, quot;that parents shouldnt criticize children. They should enstead. You know, people rise to other peoples epectations. And when you criticize, it just ans youre epeg failure.quot;
quot;Thats the trouble,quot; ther said. quot;You neer rise. Lazy to get up. Lazy to rise to epectations.quot;
quot;Ti to eat,quot; Auntie An-i happily announces, bringing out a steang pot of the wonton she was just ing. There are piles of food oable, sered buffet style, just like at the Klis. My father is digging into the ein, which still sits in an oersize alunupan surrounded by little pstic packets of soy sauce. Auntie An-i st hae bought this o Street. The wonton soup slls wonderful with delicate sprigs of tro floating on top. Idrawn first te ptter of chas, sweet barbecued pork cut into -sized slices, and then to a whole assortnt of what Ie always called finger goodies—thin-skinned pastries filled with chopped pork, beef, shri, and unknown stuffings that ther used to describe as quot;nutritious things.quot;
Eating is not a gracious eent here. Its as though eerybody had been staring. They push rge forkfuls into their uths, jab at re pieces of pork, ht after the other. They are not like the dies of Klin, who I always igined saored their food with a certaiached delicacy.
And then, alst as quickly as they started, the up ahe table. As if ohe won peck at st rsels and then carry ptes and bowls to the kit and du thein the sink. The won take turns washing their hands, scrubbing theigorously. Who started this ritual? I too put  te in the sink and wash hands. The woalking about the Jongs a trip, then they e toward a rooin the back of the apartnt. We pass another roo what used to be the bedrooshared by the four Hsu sons. The bunk beds with their scuffed, splintery dders are still there. The Joy Lucles are already seated at the card table. Uncle Gee is dealing out cards, fast, as though he learhis teique in a o. My father is passing out Pall Mall cigarettes, with one already dangling frohis lips.
And the to the rooin the back, which was once shared by the three Hsu girls. We were all childhood friends. And now theye all grown and rried and Ihere to py in their rooagai for the sll of cahor, it feels the sa—as if Rose, Ruth, and Ja soon walk in with their hair rolled up in big e-juice s and plop down on their identiarrow beds. The white ille bedspreads are so worn they are alst translut. Rose and I used to pluck the nubs out while talking about our boy proble. Eerything is the sa, ecept now a hoganlored h jong table sits ier. Ao it is a floor , a long bck pole with three oal spotlights attached like the broad leaes of a rubber pnt.
Nobody says to , quot;Sit here, this is where your ther used to sit.quot; But I tell een before eeryos down. The chair closest to the door has aio it. But the feeling doesnt really hae to do with the chair. Its her p the table. Without haing aell , I know her er oable was the East.
The East is where things begin, ther oold , the dire frowhich the sun rises, where the wind es fro
Auntie An-i, who is sitting on left, spills the tiles onto the greeabletop and then says to , quot;Noash tiles.quot; We swirl thewith our hands in a circur tion. They ke ol swishing sound as they bu into one another.
quot;Do you win like your ther?quot; asks Auntie Lin across fro. She is not sling.
quot;I only pyed a little illege with so Jewish friends.quot;
quot;Annh! Jewish h jong,quot; she says in disgusted tones. quot;Not the sa thing.quot; This is what ther used to say, ahough shuld neer epily why.
quot;Maybe I shouldnt py tonight. Ill just watch,quot; I offer.
Auntie Lin looks easperated, as though I were a sile child: quot;How we py with just three people? Like a table with three legs, no bance. When Auntie Yings husband died, she asked her brother to join. Your father asked you. So its decided.quot;
quot;Whats the differeween Jewish and ese h jong?quot; I once asked ther. uldnt tell by her answer if the gas were different or just her attitude toward ese and Jewish people.
quot;Entirely different kind of pying,quot; she said in her English epnation oice. quot;Jewish h jong, they watly for their own tile, py only with their eyes.quot;
Then she switched to ese: quot;ese h jong, you st py using your head, ery tricky. You st watch what eerybody else throws away ahat in your head as well. And if nobody pys well, then the ga bees like Jewish h jong. Why py? Theres ny. Youre just eople ke stakes.quot;
These kinds of epnations de feel ther and I spoke two different nguages, which we did. I talked to her in English, she answered ba ese.
quot;So whats the differeween ese and Jewish h jong?quot; I ask Auntie Lin.
quot;Aii-ya,quot; she e a cklding oice. quot;Your ther did not teach you anything?quot;
Auntie Ying pats hand. quot;You a srt girl. You watch us, do the sa. Help us stack the tiles and ke four walls.quot;
I follow Auntie Ying, but stly I watch Auntie Lin. She is the fastest, whis I alst keep up with the others by watg what she does first. Auntie Ying throws the did Itold that Auntie Lin has bee the East wind. Ie bee the North wind, the st hand to py. Auntie Ying is the South and Auntie An-i is the West. And theart taking tiles, throwing the dice, ting ba the wall to the right nuer of spots where our chosen tiles lie. I rearrange tiles, sequences of baoo and balls, doubles olored iles, odd tiles that do not fit anywhere.
quot;Your ther was the best, like a pro,quot; says Auntie An-i while slowly s her tiles, sidering each piece carefully.
Now we begin to py, looking at our hands, casting tiles, pig up others at an easy, fortable pace. The Joy Luck aunties begin to ke sll talk, not really listening to each other. They speak in their special nguage, half in broken English, half in their own ese dialect. Auntie Yiions she bought yarn at half price, sowhere out in the aenues. Auntie An-i brags about a sweater she de for her daughter Ruths new baby. quot;She thought it was store-bought,quot; she says proudly.
Auntie Lin epins how d she got at a store clerk who refused to let her return a skirt with a broken zipper. quot;I was chiszle,quot; she says, still fung, quot;d to death.quot;
quot;But Lindo, you are still with us. You didnt die,quot; teases Auntie Ying, and then as she ughs Auntie Lin says Pung! and Mah jong! and then spreads her tiles out, ughing back at Auntie Ying while ting up her points. We start washing tiles again and it grows quiet. Igetting bored and sleepy.
quot;Oh, I hae a story,quot; says Auntie Ying loudly, startling eerybody. Auntie Ying has always been the rd auntie, soone lost in her own world. My ther used to say, quot;Auntie Ying is not hard of hearing. She is hard of listening.quot;
quot;Police arrested Mrs. Ersons son st weekend,quot; Auntie Ying says in a way that sounds as if she were proud to be the first with this big news. quot;Mrs. told at church. Too ny TV set found in his car.quot;
Auntie Lin quickly says, quot;Aii-ya, Mrs. Erson good dy,quot; aning Mrs. Erson didnt desere such a terrible son. But now I see this is also said for the be of Auntie An-i, whose own you son was arrested two years ago for selling stolen car stereos. Auntie An-i is rubbiile carefully before discarding it. She looks pained.
quot;Eerybody has TVs in a no;quot; says Auntie Lin, ging the subject. quot;Our faly there all has TV sets—not just bd-white, bulor ae! They hae eerything. So when we asked thewhat we should buy the they said nothing, it was enough that we would e to isit the But we bought thedifferent things anyway, Vd Sony Walkn for the kids. They said, No, dont gie it to us, but I think they liked it.quot;
Poor Auntie An-i rubs her tiles eer harder. I reer ther telling about the Hsus trip to a three years ago. Auntie An-i had saed two thousand dolrs, all to spend on her brothers faly. She had shown ther the insides of her heay suitcases. One was craed with Sees Nuts Chews, M Ms, dated cashews, instant hot cte with niature rshllows. My ther told the taihe st ridiculous clothes, all new: bright California-style beachwear, baseball capstton pants with estic waists, boer jackets, Stanford sweatshirts, crew socks.
My ther had told her, quot;Who wants those useless things? They just want ney.quot; But Auntie An-i said her brother was so poor and they were so rich by parison. So she ignored thers adid took the heay bags and their two thousand dolrs to a. And when their a tour finally arried in Hangzhou, the whole faly froNingbo was there to et the It wasnt just Auntie An-is little brother, but also his wifes stepbrothers and stepsisters, and a distanusin, and thausins husband and that husbands uhey had all brought their thers-in-w and children, aheir ilge friends who were not lucky enough to hae oerseas ese reties to show off.
As ther told it, quot;Auntie An-i had cried before she left for a, thinking she would ke her brother ery rid happy by unist standards. But whe ho, she cried to that eeryone had a palout and she was the only one who left with ay hand.quot;
My ther fird her suspis. Nobody wahe sweatshirts, those useless clothes. The M Ms were thrown in the air, gone. And when the suitcases were etied, the reties asked what else the Hsus had brought.
Auntie An-i and Uncle Gee were shaken down, not just for two thousand dolrs worth of TVs and refrigerators but also for a nights lodging for twenty-si people in the Oerlooking the Lake Hotel, for three baables at a restaurant that catered to riers, for three special gifts for each retie, and finally, for a loan of fie thousand yuan in fo usins so-called uncle who wao buy a torcycle but who ter disappeared food along with t;s..;/she ney. ulled out of Hangzhou the day, the Hsus found theeles depleted of so housand dolrs worth of goodwill. Months ter, after an inspiring Christsti serice at the First ese Baptist Church, Auntie Aried to up her loss by saying it truly was re blessed to gie than to receie, and eed, her longti friend had blessings for at least seeral lifetis.
Listening now to Auntie Lin bragging about the irtues of her faly in a, I realize that Auntie Lin is obliious to Auntie An-is pain. Is Auntie Lin being an, or is it that ther old anybody but the shaful story of Auntie An-is greedy faly?
quot;So, Jing-i, you go to school no;quot; says Auntie Lin.
quot;Her na is Juhey all go by their Arias,quot; says Auntie Ying.
quot;Thats okay,quot; I say, and I really an it. In fact, its een being fashionable for Ari-boro use their ese nas.
quot;Inot in school ahough,quot; I say. quot;That was re than ten years ago.quot;
Auntie Lins eyebrows arch. quot;Maybe Ithinking of soone else daughter,quot; she says, but I knht away shes lying. I know ther probably told her I was going back to school to finish degree, because sowhere back, ybe just si nths ago, we were again haing this argunt about being a failure, a quollege drop-off,quot; about going back to finish.
On;u;/uce again I had told ther what she wao hear: quot;Youre right. Ill look into it.quot;
I had always assud we had an unspoken uanding about these things: that she didnt really an I was a failure, and I really ant I would try to respect her opinions re. But listening to Auntie Lin tonight rends once again: My ther and I neer really uood one another. We transted each others anings and I seed to hear less than what was said, while ther heard re. No doubt she told Auntie Lin I was going back to school to get a doctorate.
Auntie Lin and ther were both best friends and arees who spent a lifeti paring their children. I was oh older than Waerly Jong, Auntie Lins prized daughter. Frothe ti we were babies, our thers pared the creases in our belly buttons, hoely our earlobes were, how fast we healed when we scraped our knees, how thid dark our hair, how ny shoes we wore out in one year, and ter, how srt Waerly ying chess, how ny trophies she had won st nth, how ny neers had printed her na, how ny cities she had isited.
I know ther resented listening to Auntie Lin talk about Waerly when she had nothing to e back with. At first ther tried to cuiate so hidden genius in . She did housework for an old retired piano teacher down the hall who gae lessons and free use of a piano to practi in ege. When I failed to bee a cert pianist, or een an apanist for the church youth choir, she finally epihat I was te-bloong, like Einstein, who eeryohought was retarded until he dered a bo.
Now it is Auntie Ying who wins this hand of h jong, so we t points and begin again.
quot;Did you know Leo Woodside?quot; asks Auntie Ying with obious pride, looking down at the tiles, talking to no one in particur. She quickly erases her sle and tries for so desty. quot;Ourse, its not best house in neighborhood, not llion-dolr house, not yet. But its good int. Better than payi. Better than sobody putting you uheir thu to rub you out.quot;
So now I know Auntie Yings daughter, Lena, told her about beied fro apartnt on lower Russian Hill. Een though Lena and I are still friends, we hae grown naturally cautious about telling each other too ch. Still, what little we say to one another often es ba as the sa old ga, eerybody talking in circles.
quot;Its getting te,quot; I say after we finish the round. I start to stand up, but Auntie Lin pushes back down into the chair.
quot;Stay, stay. We talk awhile, get to know you again,quot; she says. quot;Been a long ti.quot;
I know this is a polite gesture on the Joy Luck aunties part—a protest when actually they are just as eager to see go as I ato leae. quot;No, I really st go now, thank you, thank you,quot; I say, gd I reered how the pretense goes.
quot;But you st stay! We hae sothing iortant to tell you, froyour ther,quot; Auntie Ying blurts out ioo-loud oice. The others look unfortable, as if this were not how they inteo break so sort of bad o .
I sit down. Auntie An-i leaes the rooquickly aurns with a bowl of peanuts, then quietly shuts the door. Eerybody is quiet, as if nobody knew where to begin.
It is Auntie Ying who finally speaks. quot;I think your ther die with an iortant thought on her nd,quot; she says in haing English. And then she begins to speak in ese, caly, softly.
quot;Your ther was a ery strong won, a good ther. She loed you ery ch, re than her own life. And thats why you uand why a ther like thiuld neer fet her other daughters. She khey were alie, and before she died she wao find her daughters in a.quot;
The babies in Klin, I think. I was not those babies. The babies in a sling on her shoulder. Her other daughters. And now I feel as if I were in Klin adst the boing and I see these babies lying on the side of the road, their red thus popped out of their uths, sg to be recid. Sobody took theaway. Theyre safe. And now thers left fone back to a to get these babies. I barely hear Auntie Yings oice.
quot;She had searched for years, writteers bad forth,quot; says Auntie Ying. quot;And st year she got an address. She was going to tell your father soon. Aii-ya, what a sha. A lifeti of waiting.quot;
Auntie An-i interrupts with aed oice: quot;So your aunties and I, we wrote to this address,quot; she says. quot;We say that a certain party, your ther, want to et another certain party. And this party write back to us. They are your sisters, Jing-i.quot;
My sisters, I repeat to self, saying these two words together for the first ti.
Auntie An-i is holding a sheet of paper as thin as ing tissue. In perfectly straight ertical rows I see ese characters written in blue fountain-pen ink. A word is sdged. A tear? I take the letter with shaking hands, reling at how srt sisters st be to be able to read and write ese.
The aunties are all sling at , as though I had been a dying person who has now raculously ered. Auntie Ying is handing another enelope. Inside is a check de out to June Woo for 1,200. I t beliee it.
quot;My sisters are sending ney?quot; I ask.
quot;No, no,quot; says Auntie Lin with her ck easperated oice. quot;Eery year we sae our h jong winnings f ba fancy restaurant. Most tis your ther win, so st is her ney. We add just a little, so you go Hong Kong, take a train to Shanghai, see your sisters. Besides, we all getting too rich, too fat.quot; she pats her stoch for proof.
quot;See sisters,quot; I say nuly. I aawed by this prospect, trying to igine what I would see. And I aearrassed by the end-of-the-year-ba lie aunties hae told to sk their generosity. I ag now, sobbing and ughing at the sa ti, seeing but not uanding this loyay to ther.
quot;You st see your sisters aheabout your thers death,quot; says Auntie Ying. quot;But st iortant, you st tell theabout her life. The ther they did not know, they st now kno;quot;
quot;See sisters, tell theabout ther,quot; I say, nodding. quot;What will I say? What I tell theabout ther? I dont know anything. She was ther.quot;
The aunties are looking at as if I had bee crazy right before their eyes.
quot;Not know your own ther?quot; cries Auntie An-i with disbelief. quot;How you say? Your ther is in your bones!quot;
quot;Tell thestories of your faly here. How she beca suess,quot; offers Auntie Lin.
quot;Tell thestories she told you, lessons she taught, what you know about her nd that has bee your nd,quot; says Auntie Ying. quot;You ther ery srt dy.quot;
I hear re choruses of quot;Tell the tell thequot; as each Auntie frantically tries to think what should be passed on.
quot;Her kindness.quot;
quot;Her srtness.quot;
quot;Her dutiful nature to faly.quot;
quot;Her hopes, things that tter to her.quot;
quot;The ecellent dishes shoked.quot;
quot;Igine, a daughter not knowing her own ther!quot;
And then it ours to . They are frightened. Ihey see their own daughters, just as ignorant, just as unndful of all the truths and hopes they hae brought to Arica. They see daughters who grow iatient whehers talk in ese, who think they are stupid when they epin things in fractured English. They see that joy and luck do not an the sa to their daughters, that to these closed Ari-born nds quot;joy luckquot; is not a word, it does . They see daughters who will bear grandchildren born without any eg hope passed frogeion to geion.
quot;I will tell theeerything,quot; I say sily, and the aunties look at with doubtful faces.
quot;I will reer eerything about her ahequot; I say re firy. And gradually, one by ohey sle and pat hand. They still look troubled, as if sothing were out of bance. But they also look hopeful that what I say will bee true. What re they ask? What re I prose?
They go back to eating their soft boiled peanuts, saying stories ang theeles. They are young girls again, dreang of good tis in the past and good tis yet to e. A brother froNingbo who kes his sister cry with joy wheurns housand dolrs plus i. A you son whose stereo and TV repair business is so good he sends leftoers to a. A daughter whose babies are able to swilike fish in a fancy pool in Woodside. Such good stories. The best. They are the lucky ones.
And I asitting at thers pce at the h jong table, on the East, where things begin.
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