I parted my lips, singing “Mut Lei Fa,” a classic song about the jasmine flower. The vibrations from the song stung my left ear while at the same time loosening some of the emotion from my throat. I sang it twice, and by the end, Mama was leaning against Peony’s shoulder, her eyelids closing.
An hour ago I was cursing these roads, shaking my fists at the narrow lanes rife with traffic. Now this country had never looked more beautiful. The meandering green hills, the steel bridges with their spread-out wings, the crooked lampposts and the cerulean bay. Even the highway was my friend now, a loom of black threads weaving in and out, taking every passenger where they were destined to go.
At the stop light, Philip reached over to squeeze my hand. “Happy?” he asked.
Yes, I was happy.
Welcome to America, Mama,I thought.It’s my turn to take care of you now.
Berkeley
1977
Chapter Forty-Five
Marigold
Five months later, Marigold’s grandmother told her about the curse.
It was a Sunday, and Yuk Fong was getting ready to attend church on Sacramento Street. Usually Peony or Rosie drove her, but today, she specifically requested Marigold.
“Marigold doesn’t have a license yet,” Helen said. “She can’t drive.”
“We’ll walk, then,” replied Yuk Fong.
“Walk! But—”
“I’m sixty-seven. Let me walk while I still can.”
Helen’s lips thinned with displeasure.
“Don’t look at me like that. I have more energy than any of you.”
Which was true. On most days, Yuk Fong went to bed after midnight and rose before dawn. By five-thirty, when Helen and Philip woke to begin baking, she had already finished the ironing, and congee was bubbling on the stove.
Only on Sundays did she rest. This morning, she descended the stairs wearing her best: a blue paisley shirt with a mandarincollar, a burgundy vest, and black pants. Her hair was combed into a low bun, and a single jade bangle ringed her wrist.
She selected a cabbage bun for breakfast, eating along the way. It was a chilly April morning, the sidewalks still damp from last night’s rain.
“You’re much quieter than your sisters,” Yuk Fong remarked as they paused at a street corner. “How come they have a driving license and you don’t?”
“I never took drivers’ ed,” replied Marigold. “Too busy studying.”
“Does that explain why you don’t have a young man, like Peony?”
Marigold tried not to wince. One thing her mother and grandmother had in common—no question was too personal.
“I’ll be getting a license soon,” she replied noncommittally.
“Maybe Rosie can introduce you to a nice boy. I’ve lost count of how many she’s brought over for free bread.”
Marigold merely smiled. “Shall we cross?”
She offered her arm in support; she’d noticed that whenever they came to a curb, Yuk Fong slowed down, favoring her right leg.
“Is the pain what keeps you from sleeping?” Marigold asked once Yuk Fong was walking steadily again.
“No, no. When you’re old, you need to sleep less.”
