It was a revolver, tucked away behind a pile of Cantonese operas. Plenty of people had hid weapons during the war; that my family owned a gun didn’t disturb me in the least. I didn’t even think twice that there were Japanese words engraved on the frame.
What startled me was how my hand had passed through the records as though I were made of air. As though I were a ghost. Shaken, I put the records back in front of the gun and clasped my hands to my body, breathing out and out until I was whole again. Even then I trembled. I’d gone too far.
The next morning, I took a loquat and a tangerine from the kitchen—lucky fruits—and scattered their seeds along my route to Chan Kiu Factory. I hoped that planting them might placate the little demon inside me. If not, at least when the plantssprouted, their roots knitting through the soil, they’d become extra anchors mooring me to this earth.
I’d wait until they bloomed before I went invisible again.
“Yut Ying!” my stepmother cried one evening. As the weeks passed, her belly had swelled to the point where she looked like she’d swallowed a car tire, and Gu Ma confined her to a rattan daybed in the parlor lest she knock down anything expensive. “Yut Ying! I called three times.”
I hurried into the parlor. “I’m sorry.”
As ever, she was in a cranky mood. “Did Tingting lock the herbs drawer? My parents brought some premium astragalus root and pangolin scales, very expensive. Go check, and don’t touch anything.”
“Yes, Sai Ma.” I hurried to look. “It’s locked.”
“That’s a good girl.” She reached for her fan, batting at her face before collapsing onto the daybed. “Yut Ying, you must forgive me for sounding cross, I’ve simply been tired to death. You can’t imagine what it’s like carrying this baby inside. My feet ache so dreadfully. Can I trouble you to massage them?”
Massage her feet?I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly. “Doesn’t Tingting—”
“Tingting can’t do it for me right now.”
Her brow flickered, betraying her irritation. I took the stool beside the daybed.
Sai Ma stretched her legs long and kicked off her slippers. Her toenails were varnished red like hawthorn berries. “Your accent has gotten better,” she said, changing the topic. “You’ve been practicing diligently like I told you to. Sometimes I swear you sound like me.”
I perked up. “Thank you.”
“You do learn quickly.” Sai Ma gave me a faint smile. She leaned back against the daybed, folding her hands over her lap. “More pressure, darling.”
I kneaded her muscles with my knuckles, waiting until she let out a contented sigh. Sai Ma no longer seemed to be in a bad mood; her eyes were closed, her expression doll-like and serene. I gathered my courage.
“Sai Ma,” I broached warily, “when will you teach me music? When will you send me to school?”
I could feel her muscles stiffening, the map of lines across her body tensing to even the soles of her feet. “To tell you the truth, dear, I doubt you’ll have time for school, not with your work at the factory.”
“I’ll tell Gu Ma I don’t want to work in the factory anymore.”
Sai Ma swung her feet back to the ground. “I wouldn’t,” she said. “Having you in the factory makes your aunt happy. Don’t forget that this is her house.”
“But—”
“You don’t want to seem ungrateful, do you?” Sai Ma pressed. “There are thousands of Chinese coming into Hong Kong every day. You want to be living in the slums begging for scraps like them? A pretty girl like you is fit for only one line of work.” She made a deliberate pause. “You have family that cares enough to give you work and provide a roof over your head. Do you understand how lucky you are?”
Something in my stomach twisted.Be good,I reminded myself, thinking of that first time I’d gone invisible in the cupboard.You promised the gods—and Mama.
So I said, “Yes, Sai Ma.”
“Good.” My stepmother offered a piece of dried persimmon. “A word of advice, Yut Ying. Don’t ever bring this up again.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep. My stomach hurt on and off, as if I’d eaten some rotten rice, so I stayed up waiting for my brother.
Yi Gor still drove trucks for the factory. He worked late, occasionally returning as I was getting up to make breakfast. Sometime after midnight I heard his quiet steps.
I opened my door, and my breath caught in my throat. “What happened to your face?”
His lip was swollen, and a bruise was blooming just left of his eye.
“What are you doing up?” he growled. “Go sleep.”
