Petals from the Sky by Mingmei Yip Page B

is the Teacher Du you used to talk about all the time,” said her mother. “Now congratulate Teacher Du, for he’s getting married in three weeks. He’s here to buy gold for his bride.”
    Instead of congratulating Teacher Du, Mother burst into tears and ran out of the store.
    “Mei Lin, let me explain!” Father chased after her out into the street where they fell into each other’s arms.
    At first they had no idea what to do. Finally, a week later, they thought of an easy way out of Father’s engagement to the other girl—they just gathered a few belongings, some cash, and boarded a ship to Hong Kong. A year later, at nineteen, Mother gave birth to me. After that, Father and Mother continued to live together without ever getting married. I’d always thought this was because my parents felt guilty about the jilted girl, for her humiliation, her broken heart. Yet I’d never learned the truth, for whenever I asked what happened to the girl, they’d always avoided my question by talking about something else.
    Mother never quite got over the fact that she hadn’t had a fancy wedding nor gold-framed wedding pictures. Father, on the other hand, seemed quite proud of the situation. Once, when I was small, he told me, “Ning Ning, since your mother and I were never really married, you’re an illegitimate child. But you know what? That’s also the reason you’re exceptionally handsome and intelligent.”
    “Baba, I don’t understand.” I meant my being illegitimate and intelligent and handsome at the same time.
    Father smiled mischievously. “Of course you don’t. You’re still a child. Go ask your mother. I’ve already explained it to her a hundred times.”
    Mother’s deft hands stopped in the midst of her knitting. She measured the small red sweater against my back, lowering her voice. “Ahhh…it’s because—because when a couple makes a child in a secret way, so to speak, they’re, well…ahh, more intense. They give more energy to the child when they do, well… that thing, you understand? They throw out more qi, more everything. That’s why you’re so beautiful and smart. Lucky child, because you got double what other people have. Double, you understand?”
    I didn’t.
    “Well,” Mother snapped, “then go back to your father and ask him!” She resumed her knitting in allegro tempo, lowering her head.
    Sometimes I felt glad that the other girl hadn’t married Father. Because not only would she have lost face when Father cheated on her after they were married, she’d probably have also lost all the gold that he would have bought her for the wedding. Could she, like Mother, have survived merely on the memory of a song sung one wonderful morning in May? I knew Father had taught “One Day When We Were Young” to his students in his English class, but Mother said, “Actually, your father wanted to teach it only to me, but he didn’t want the others to know of his feelings, so he taught it to the whole class.”

    Breakfast was finally ready. I sat down to eat and Mother sat opposite me to read her newspaper. On the table, I found three boiled eggs, two thick pieces of ham, and coffee with milk.
    “Ma, you seldom cook Western dishes. Why an American breakfast today?”
    “Because America is rich, just like its breakfast. You need more energy,” she answered without looking up from her paper, then, “ Ai-ya! Yesterday a monastery was on fire!”
    I stopped chewing; she went on reading. “Hmm…lucky nobody’s hurt…because an American and a Chinese doctor helped people leave through windows.”
    My heart raced. Mother continued, “This gweilo doctor graduated from Zhong Hok Kin Si…and a Dr. Du…”
    I snatched the paper from Mother despite her protest. The headline of the article read: “Seven-Day Buddhist Retreat in Fragrant Spirit Temple Canceled Because of Fire. People Saved by an American Buddha, Nobody Killed, Only Slight Injuries.”
    The article went on to describe the fire,