Wild Ginger by Anchee Min Page A

seafood I will prepare it for them in exchange for unwanted fish skin, heads, tails, and intestines. I will sell the beltfish scales to the chemical refinery for two cents a pound; I will sell the fish heads, tails, and intestines to families with cats for one cent a pile, I will sell the squid spines to herb shops for two cents a pound. And I will cut the butts of snails for three cents a pound."
    Although her voice was filled with enthusiasm, my tears welled up. I knew exactly what kind of hardship she would have to endure to carry out her plans. Before everything else, she had to get up at two o'clock each morning to secure herself a working spot. She had to fight for her business among other seafood preparers. The winter had come. It had been fifteen below zero. When I got up to go to the market at five I got frostbite all over my hands and feet. I was outside for only a half-hour, and I was walking and moving. Imagine squatting on the icy ground for hours on
end, fingers in cold water and pulling frozen fish intestines. For all her struggle she would earn only a few cents a day.
    "I am glad that you have figured it all out," I murmured.
    "Don't worry," she said with appreciation.
    "The market won't officially open till five-thirty, which means that you'll have to wait in the cold to guard your spot for three and a half hours."
    "I'll make use of the time," she said. "I'll practice reciting Mao quotations."
    I was unable to hold in my sadness. I went to Evergreen to tell him about Wild Ginger. He was silent after I finished speaking. He said that our best help would be to check on her every now and then. "Tell her that if she needs me to help her in preparing for the Mao Quotation-Citing Contest I will feel privileged."

    The month of December went by quickly. My father was allowed to join the family for the New Year. Mother wanted us to spend as much time with him as possible. She took up all the housework, including going to the market. My father sent us children out to the recycling station to collect books on history. Most of those books were looted goods. The Red Guards had removed them from the shelves of houses and libraries. They burned most of the books and dumped the rest in the trash. The pickers fetched them from bins and sold them to the station by the pound. My father wanted to buy some of the books back. He thought that it was a good deal to buy books by the pound. At five cents
per pound, he could get an average of four books for under ten cents. "What do you say when the comrade in charge asks why you'd like to buy the books?" my father drilled us.
    "To use as toilet paper!" we answered in one voice.
    I was kept busy. Not a day passed that I didn't think about Wild Ginger. Especially during New Year's Eve dinner when all family members and relatives gathered at the table and the firecrackers started to brighten the sky. The school was closed for the holidays and I hadn't seen Wild Ginger for weeks. I wondered how she had been doing with her stall. The last time we parted at the school, I invited her to come over to celebrate New Year's Eve. She accepted, but her tone was reluctant. When I asked why, she confessed that she wouldn't want to be reminded that she was all alone. "Well, do what you feel like then," I responded. "My door will always be open to you."
    She didn't come for dinner. And I missed her. I asked mother if tomorrow I could go and buy father's favorite food—snails. "I'll have them prepared in the market."
    "It takes too long to have the snails' butts removed. One pound takes about one hour. Unless you don't mind waiting," Mother said.
    "I sure don't," I said happily and went to sleep early that night.

    It was three o'clock in the morning when I woke. The night was icy. The wind that came through the windowsills sounded like an old woman sobbing. I took my clothes and
got off the bed. My legs were trembling in the cold. I picked up my socks from the floor. They were like two frozen