Outrun the Moon Read Online Free PDF

connections are like roots that help a tree—”
    â€œMrs. Low-ree.” Ba says her name in English. “This does not sound Chinese.”
    â€œShe’s not Chinese.”
    â€œExactly.” Ba plucks up one of Ma’s red beans and spins it on the table. “You go to that school, you will start wanting what you cannot have. One day, you will marry the herbalist’s son. It is not prudent for wives to be better than their husbands. People will believe you are trying to outshine him, or worse, that he is not a good provider. Wives should be meek.”
    My argument dies on my tongue. Was it possible Tom grew strange on me because he, in fact,
does
want a meek wife? Someone with tiny “lotus blossom” feet who will confine herself to the home, fold dumplings, and chop the knots out of his back?
    Ma’s face has become as expressionless as cardboard.
    â€œYou don’t think she should go there, do you?” Ba asks.Chinese men don’t usually solicit the opinion of their wives, but Ba respects Ma’s wisdom, even if he doesn’t respect her fortune-telling.
    She glances at my burning face. “I think jade needs polishing before it can become useful.”
    His eyes flit around while he thinks, and then he shakes his head. “Too much polishing risks cracking, and then it becomes useless.”
    I sit very still in my chair, though anger seeps through my every pore. “This is important. Jack deserves to be more than a launderer.” I know my words will wound, but it is the only way I can make him hear me.
    Ba winces. The few remaining hairs on his head quiver, and his face starts to match his hands. “This is not the way to do it!” He pounds his fist down, and his cup of broth falls to the floor with a sickening crack. He pushes away from the table and strides out the door.
    â€œAy, his hat!” Ma grabs his wool knit cap from the table and rushes out after him.
    A bitter taste spreads over my mouth, and my own warm broth does little to soothe my irritation. With a sigh, I grab a rag and clean up the broken glass.
    It can’t be easy for Ba to have a headstrong daughter like me. And in some ways, I am lucky. Of the five girls who stayed in school until the eighth grade, three already have auspicious dates chosen for their weddings. But Ba never pushes me to settle down, perhaps because he’s happy to have my help, or because Ma has convinced him there will be time for marriagelater. Wives are highly sought after in Chinatown, even one with cheeks like mine. But though he might be unconventional, that does not mean Ba wants me associating with whites. After all,
they
are the reason we are packed tight as cigars in Chinatown. They are the reason Jack’s lungs didn’t develop.
    Ma returns, the cap still in her hands. She hangs it on a hook, then pulls another rag from a drawer to give the floor a second wiping.
    â€œI’m sorry, Ma. I will cancel the meeting.”
    She sits heavily on her chair,
tsk
ing her tongue. With the blunt end of a chopstick, she pushes at trigger points in her palm. “Your father wants you to go to school. He is just afraid for you.”
    â€œHe doesn’t have to be. I can handle myself.” Just this morning, I dangled a hundred feet up in the air and somehow landed on my feet.
    I think she’s about to chastise me, but to my surprise, her gaze turns thoughtful. “Yes, I believe you can. I have foreseen that something propitious will happen for you this year. Maybe you will accomplish something great and bring prestige to your ancestors.” Chinese believe that our actions in this life affect the quality of our ancestors’ afterlives. “Maybe it is the school. I will speak to your father.”
    â€œThank you, Ma,” I murmur gratefully, even though neither Ba nor I take Ma’s fortunes seriously. When I was seven, I dropped my chopsticks on the floor, and Ma told me that