Nebula Awards Showcase 2013 Read Online Free PDF Page A

mouth and blew into it, like a balloon.
    â€œ Kan ,” she said. “ Laohu. ” She put her hands down on the table and let go.
    A little paper tiger stood on the table, the size of two fists placed together. The skin of the tiger was the pattern on the wrapping paper, white background with red candy canes and green Christmas trees.
    I reached out to Mom’s creation. Its tail twitched, and it pounced playfully at my finger. “ Rawrr-sa ,” it growled, the sound somewhere between a cat and rustling newspapers.
    I laughed, startled, and stroked its back with an index finger. The paper tiger vibrated under my finger, purring.
    â€œ Zhe jiao zhezhi ,” Mom said. This is called origami .
    I didn’t know this at the time, but Mom’s kind was special. She breathed into them so that they shared her breath, and thus moved with her life. This was her magic.
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    Dad had picked Mom out of a catalog.
    One time, when I was in high school, I asked Dad about the details. He was trying to get me to speak to Mom again.
    He had signed up for the introduction service back in the spring of 1973. Flipping through the pages steadily, he had spent no more than a few seconds on each page until he saw the picture of Mom.
    I’ve never seen this picture. Dad described it: Mom was sitting in a chair, her side to the camera, wearing a tight green silk cheongsam. Her head was turned to the camera so that her long black hair was draped artfully over her chest and shoulder. She looked out at him with the eyes of a calm child.
    â€œThat was the last page of the catalog I saw,” he said.
    The catalog said she was eighteen, loved to dance, and spoke good English because she was from Hong Kong. None of these facts turned out to be true.
    He wrote to her, and the company passed their messages back and forth. Finally, he flew to Hong Kong to meet her.
    â€œThe people at the company had been writing her responses. She didn’t know any English other than 'hello’ and 'goodbye.’”
    What kind of woman puts herself into a catalog so that she can be bought? The high school me thought I knew so much about everything. Contempt felt good, like wine.
    Instead of storming into the office to demand his money back, he paid a waitress at the hotel restaurant to translate for them.
    â€œShe would look at me, her eyes halfway between scared and hopeful, while I spoke. And when the girl began translating what I said, she’d start to smile slowly.”
    He flew back to Connecticut and began to apply for the papers for her to come to him. I was born a year later, in the Year of the Tiger.
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    At my request, Mom also made a goat, a deer, and a water buffalo out of wrapping paper. They would run around the living room while Laohu chased after them, growling. When he caught them he would press down until the air went out of them and they became just flat, folded-up pieces of paper. I would then have to blow into them to re-inflate them so they could run around some more.
    Sometimes, the animals got into trouble. Once, the water buffalo jumped into a dish of soy sauce on the table at dinner. (He wanted to wallow, like a real water buffalo.) I picked him out quickly but the capillary action had already pulled the dark liquid high up into his legs. The sauce-softened legs would not hold him up, and he collapsed onto the table. I dried him out in the sun, but his legs became crooked after that, and he ran around with a limp. Mom eventually wrapped his legs in saran wrap so that he could wallow to his heart’s content (just not in soy sauce).
    Also, Laohu liked to pounce at sparrows when he and I played in the backyard. But one time, a cornered bird struck back in desperation and tore his ear. He whimpered and winced as I held him and Mom patched his ear together with tape. He avoided birds after that.
    And then one day, I saw a TV documentary about sharks and asked Mom for one of my