Poh-Poh chimed in. “People would say, ‘Has this greedy grandson of yours
mo li
—no manners?’ ”
The world, I discovered, was filled with such refinements, and to have
mo li
meant not only to lack manners but to have little sense of social ritual, thus bringing a bad reputation to one’s family. Poh-Poh’s brows furrowed at the tragic thought that her grandson might have been born an idiot with
mo li
. She quotedsomething from Confucius, “Follow the Right Way.” This was the highest authority, to warn me to be on my best behaviour. The classic four-word proverb meant nothing to me, but the Old One’s warning tones as she pronounced each word so precisely spoke volumes: Confucius was High Authority.
Lucky money was a social ritual I liked. Whenever my longings began to run away from Old China ways, lucky money brought them back.
“What’re those red things?” Little Jack asked me once, when I was showing off how many lucky packages I had collected from a dinner party at the Pekin celebrating Poh-Poh’s and my birthday. It hadn’t mattered that our birthdates were days and months apart; Father felt it was time to honour the Old One, and Poh-Poh said I should have my share of joy, too. Everyone gave me a toy or lucky money. Afterwards, the lady guests came to our house to play mahjong, and the men went someplace to gamble and drink. My pockets were bulging with
lei-see
. I got tired of playing with the other children and looked out the front window, and I saw Jack staring at me from his porch.
“Look what I got,” I said, showing a fistful of red
lei-see
packages. “Bet you don’t have any.”
Jack came closer to see. I held my fist out and offered him one. I checked with my fingers that only coins were inside. Otherwise, Father or Poh-Poh would be mad at me. All at once, Jack laughed and tore open the envelope.
“Hey, it’s money!”
“No,” I said, “it’s lucky money.”
“You bet it is,” he said, holding up two fifty-cent pieces.
Then he ran into his house. There was nothing to do but go back into my own house. A few minutes later, there was a loud knock on our door, and Stepmother saw Mr. O’Connor’s tall, lanky figure shadowing our parlour window. Everyone stopped playing mahjong and stared quietly at the front door. Stepmother hesitated to open it. In the dining room, Poh-Poh glanced at Jenny Chong’s mother, who spoke English. Mrs. Chong got up with a heavy sigh and went down the front hall. She was always interpreting for Chinatown residents.
“Yes?” Mrs. Chong used her customer-service voice with Mr. O’Connor. “May I please to help you?”
“Your boy gave my son this money,” Jack’s father said. “Should he have done that?”
Mrs. Chong could see the torn red envelope and the two coins peeking out.
Poh-Poh looked hard at me. Stepmother stood up from the parlour table and shook her head.
“You gave lucky money away?” Poh-Poh said, in Toishanese. I could see Jack’s father was wondering about the Old One’s serious tone. “Now you tell that foreigner what you mean by that.”
Poh-Poh got off her chair and pushed me forward down the front hall. Mrs. Chong stepped aside. Jenny Chong came running out from the back to see what was the matter. She was always a Nosy Parker.
“For Jack to keep,” I said to Mr. O’Connor.
The tall man looked past me to see how Stepmother or Poh-Poh would respond.
“Play cards,” Poh-Poh said in Toishanese, and the other ladies immediately began pushing the tablets noisily around the table, ignoring the situation at the door.
Stepmother watched me step back. Mrs. Chong shut the door.
Then the noise of the clicking game resumed in both rooms. No one said anything to me as Mr. O’Connor’s figure left our porch and descended down the steps.
Jenny Chong said, “Give me one, too.”
Mrs. Chong reached out and slapped her daughter’s head. None of the ladies in the room took notice.
When I was put to bed, Poh-Poh
mo li
—no manners?’ ”
The world, I discovered, was filled with such refinements, and to have
mo li
meant not only to lack manners but to have little sense of social ritual, thus bringing a bad reputation to one’s family. Poh-Poh’s brows furrowed at the tragic thought that her grandson might have been born an idiot with
mo li
. She quotedsomething from Confucius, “Follow the Right Way.” This was the highest authority, to warn me to be on my best behaviour. The classic four-word proverb meant nothing to me, but the Old One’s warning tones as she pronounced each word so precisely spoke volumes: Confucius was High Authority.
Lucky money was a social ritual I liked. Whenever my longings began to run away from Old China ways, lucky money brought them back.
“What’re those red things?” Little Jack asked me once, when I was showing off how many lucky packages I had collected from a dinner party at the Pekin celebrating Poh-Poh’s and my birthday. It hadn’t mattered that our birthdates were days and months apart; Father felt it was time to honour the Old One, and Poh-Poh said I should have my share of joy, too. Everyone gave me a toy or lucky money. Afterwards, the lady guests came to our house to play mahjong, and the men went someplace to gamble and drink. My pockets were bulging with
lei-see
. I got tired of playing with the other children and looked out the front window, and I saw Jack staring at me from his porch.
“Look what I got,” I said, showing a fistful of red
lei-see
packages. “Bet you don’t have any.”
Jack came closer to see. I held my fist out and offered him one. I checked with my fingers that only coins were inside. Otherwise, Father or Poh-Poh would be mad at me. All at once, Jack laughed and tore open the envelope.
“Hey, it’s money!”
“No,” I said, “it’s lucky money.”
“You bet it is,” he said, holding up two fifty-cent pieces.
Then he ran into his house. There was nothing to do but go back into my own house. A few minutes later, there was a loud knock on our door, and Stepmother saw Mr. O’Connor’s tall, lanky figure shadowing our parlour window. Everyone stopped playing mahjong and stared quietly at the front door. Stepmother hesitated to open it. In the dining room, Poh-Poh glanced at Jenny Chong’s mother, who spoke English. Mrs. Chong got up with a heavy sigh and went down the front hall. She was always interpreting for Chinatown residents.
“Yes?” Mrs. Chong used her customer-service voice with Mr. O’Connor. “May I please to help you?”
“Your boy gave my son this money,” Jack’s father said. “Should he have done that?”
Mrs. Chong could see the torn red envelope and the two coins peeking out.
Poh-Poh looked hard at me. Stepmother stood up from the parlour table and shook her head.
“You gave lucky money away?” Poh-Poh said, in Toishanese. I could see Jack’s father was wondering about the Old One’s serious tone. “Now you tell that foreigner what you mean by that.”
Poh-Poh got off her chair and pushed me forward down the front hall. Mrs. Chong stepped aside. Jenny Chong came running out from the back to see what was the matter. She was always a Nosy Parker.
“For Jack to keep,” I said to Mr. O’Connor.
The tall man looked past me to see how Stepmother or Poh-Poh would respond.
“Play cards,” Poh-Poh said in Toishanese, and the other ladies immediately began pushing the tablets noisily around the table, ignoring the situation at the door.
Stepmother watched me step back. Mrs. Chong shut the door.
Then the noise of the clicking game resumed in both rooms. No one said anything to me as Mr. O’Connor’s figure left our porch and descended down the steps.
Jenny Chong said, “Give me one, too.”
Mrs. Chong reached out and slapped her daughter’s head. None of the ladies in the room took notice.
When I was put to bed, Poh-Poh
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