Fox Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

anybody—even a fox in disguise—could get bitten.
    I gathered Sookie closer and let words tumble out of my mouth. “Your mother is a fox, she can take care of herself. She’s smart and she’s beautiful. She’ll be home soon.”
    I sang on and on until Sookie lay quiet across my lap. “Your omoni knows you’re waiting for her, Sookie, and she’s looking for a jewel to bring home to you.”

3
    When I was about six or so, I found a basket of grapes my mother had bought to make candies. I knew they weren’t for me; treats were for paying customers. I eyed the nestling grapes, bunched into tight family clusters. They were perfect in their roundness, the dusky purple ready to burst their waxy skins. I rubbed their small bodies between my fingers, enjoying the firmness of their flesh.
    I knew my mother would beat me if I ate them, but I couldn’t resist a taste. Looking for a small baby grape, one that wouldn’t be missed, I plucked it from its family and into my mouth. I loved the sudden pop of sweet juice, but it seemed to me I had swallowed faster than I could taste. The next grape I decided to roll around my tongue, savoring the anticipation.
    Before I knew it I had devoured not only all the baby grapes, but the mother-father and ancestor grapes as well. In fact the entire village of grapes that existed in that basket had been wiped out. Shocked, I stared at the skeletons of stems and withered rejects, then rushed to bury the evidence.
    My mother found me outside the house, patting the earth. I don’t know how long she had been watching me, but when she spoke—making me jump out of my skin—I realized that I had been sitting in her shadow.
    â€œHyun Jin, have you seen the basket of grapes I bought at the market?” she asked, staring at my mouth.
    â€œGrapes?” I gulped, rubbing a hand across my lips. I tasted dirt.
    My mother sneered, not bothering to hide her contempt. “You know, the little round fruits that grow in bunches on the vine?”
    I ducked my head, thinking I was going to get slapped. I closed my eyes and waited. But instead of hitting me, she asked if I would like to walk with her to Grape Auntie’s farm, which was far, far outside of the village.
    â€œWhy?” I croaked, blinking up at her.
    â€œBecause I seem to have lost the grapes I bought and the next farmers’ market is five days away.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “And I need to start the new batch of candies today.”
    I should have said no. Or at least been suspicious. My mother never wanted me to accompany her anywhere. But I thought that her asking meant that she didn’t know I ate her grapes, and also, maybe, that she loved me. I wanted her to love me, so I nodded. My stomach gurgled a sudden warning. I felt a little sick, my belly as full and taut as the grapes I had eaten.
    My mother walked quickly, her back straight and mean. I tried to match my legs with hers, leaping to meet her strides. She sped up and I fell behind. When I began to jog, I felt like throwing up. “Omoni,” I panted. “I don’t feel so good.”
    â€œStop whining,” my mother scolded without looking down. “You sound like the squealing pig you are.”
    The grapes burned my throat, threatening to come up. I swallowed, then gagged. “I’m sick. My stomach.” Knives stabbed me from the inside and I had to stop running. I rubbed my stomach, pressing under the ribs and—in a sudden rush—I vomited. I didn’t even have time to bend over. Chunks of purple flesh and a watery stench gushed down the front of my clothes, tinging my hanbok lavender.
    â€œOhma!” I screamed at her retreating back. “Mama!” I tried to run after her, but my dress stuck uncomfortably to my chest and I stank. I gave up, sat in the middle of the road and cried.
    I wasn’t sure she would, but my mother stopped walking. She stood