The Scavenger's Daughters (Tales of the Scavenger's Daughters, Book One) (21 page)

She stood.

“You don’t have to answer, Ye Ye. I know what I have to do.”

With tears threatening to spill over, she quickly left the house and slammed the door. Her sisters looked up, startled at the noise. Ivy was sprawled on top of a blanket spread across the ground, writing as Lily sat next to her polishing her violin. Maggi was in her chair, knitting some colorful thing and Jasmine sat bouncing the ball of yarn in her hands.

“What’s wrong with
you
?” Ivy asked, her pencil poised in the air. “Are you mad at us?”

Silently, Linnea walked right on by them out the gate and to the lane. Her cheeks flamed with shame. She didn’t know how with only a look and without saying one word her Ye Ye had made her feel like she’d committed such a dreadful crime. And the bad part was that with all he’d been through in his life at the hands of officials, she didn’t like it but she could understand why he was upset with her choice of a boyfriend.

A half hour later Linnea came upon Jet standing at the corner next to their noodle shop, his hands thrust deep in his pockets as he paced. When she broke through the crowd of pedestrians, he waved and she saw the smile spread across his face. Even when she was late, he still always seemed so happy to see her, and that made what she had to do even harder.

“Linnea!
Ni hao!
” He held his arms out to her.

Though she didn’t think it was appropriate considering her intent, she gave him a quick hug, then stood back. She couldn’t hide the worry on her face.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

Linnea could feel her heart beating erratically. She still felt sick to her stomach.

“Can we go in and get some tea?” She was buying time.

Jet looked at his watch, then back up at her. “We can but we’re going to be late for the movie. Are you sick?”

Linnea led him through the door and to their table. Ever since that first day they’d come back to the shop frequently and if it was available, always sat in the same place. It was the beginning of
their story,
or that was what she had thought. But today would be the end.

She sat down and put her bag on the table. She took a deep breath. She would do this calmly and not act like an immature schoolgirl. He deserved that much. Quick and clean, that was the only way to go.

“Jet. I can’t see you anymore.”

There. She’d said it. But as she looked at the shadow cross his face she felt even worse. And he looked like she felt.

“But why? What did I do?” He held his hands out.

Linnea fought back the tears but she didn’t take his hands. Instead she stared at them, remembering how comforting they felt on her skin. How could caresses that felt so right be so wrong? She looked up to see the pain in his eyes. She couldn’t stand to hurt his feelings. It was killing her.

“You haven’t
done
anything, Jet. It’s just who we are.”

“What do you mean, who we are? We’re the same people we were when this all started. What’s changed?” His voice rose in his frustration and he dropped his hands onto the table.

Linnea reached across and grabbed his hand. She looked around to see if anyone was listening. A man beside them lowered his newspaper and gave her a look, then raised it again.

“Shh… Jet, you’re from a wealthy family with connections. Your parents have had your entire life planned out from the day you were conceived. I’m not a part of that plan and never will be. You know that. They’ll never allow you to be serious with a girl like me, it just wouldn’t be right. And my Ye Ye doesn’t approve, either. He’s a good man, Jet, but he still has an issue with anyone working in government positions.”

Jet stared at her, blinking furiously as she babbled on.

“And you don’t have to worry; I’ll still pay the money back I owe you.”

Jet pulled his hand away and shook his head.

“No way. You aren’t going to do this to us, Lin. I’m with you because I like who you are as a person—it’s not about how much money you have or what your bloodline is. This isn’t 1967. I don’t have to get permission for who I date. I don’t care what my parents think. They’ll come around one day. Or they won’t—it’s their choice. And I’ll talk to your Ye Ye. I’ll make him like me.”

“It’s not that simple, Jet.”

Linnea could see by the scarlet tips of his ears that he was really emotional. She felt so terrible for putting him through this. She should have ended it before it even began. Now she was having second thoughts. But for his sake, she had to follow through.

“Yes, it is that simple. You make the choice. Just you, Linnea, not your family and not my parents. Just you.”

He waited for her to speak again.

Linnea wanted to tell him she was sorry. She wanted to tell him to just ignore the whole thing and get up and go to the movie. She wanted to feel his
hand on hers and hear him laughing in her ear. But then she thought of the deep look of disappointment on her Ye Ye’s face. She’d never had that from him before. She never wanted to see it again.

She slid off the stool and picked up her bag. She pulled the strap over her shoulder. Jet silently watched her every move.

“Good-bye, Jet.” She turned and walked out of the shop. She started walking and felt like her heart would break when she looked through the window and saw him still sitting there, staring down at the empty table. She hoped he’d forgive her, eventually.

A
month later, Benfu leaned back against the cool, smooth bamboo of the chair as he sat across from Lao Gong. It had been a long time since he’d made time to just meet a friend for tea, but lately Linnea was acting so quiet that he had to admit he was worried. He knew she wasn’t seeing the boy anymore but Jet was obviously still on her mind. Benfu had never seen her act so depressed and she wasn’t snapping out of it, making him second-guess his inclination to rid the boy from her life. His goals were to make his daughters happy, not cause them misery, so he thought it was time he learn more about Jet. It was only natural to call Gong, as there was no one more knowledgeable about Wuxi families than the man who’d been his friend for decades.

He nodded as Lao Gong brought the kettle up to pour the first selection. He brought the cup to his lips and took three short sips of the
pu’er
tea. He grimaced. The first tastes would be bitter; then his tongue would numb and the fragrant drink would be at its best.

Benfu looked around him. The teahouse was one of the older ones and he appreciated the attention to detail in the workmanship.
Details miraculously left alone in the race to modernize everything and do away with the old traditional ways,
he thought with displeasure. He slipped his shoes off and ran his bare feet through the plush red carpeting beneath the low table. Around him he admired the dark paneling that used to be in every teahouse
but was now rare to find. He was pleased to see that even the window next to their alcove looked out over a beautiful rock garden and the gentle sound of water could be heard.
So this is how the real retired men of China live,
he thought, in awe at the lavishness.

Across from him Lao Gong ignored his tea while he pinched a piece of popcorn between his fingertips and slipped it through the bamboo bars of the birdcage. His bird, just a small yellow canary, eagerly accepted the gift, then disappeared into its tiny hut in the corner of the cage.

“Ungrateful flea-ridden varmint,” he affectionately muttered, then finally drank from his cup.

Benfu chuckled. “So when did you switch from crickets to birds?”

For years he had known his comrade to carry around a tiny bamboo castle-like cage with his latest cricket inside. Sometimes he took his current cricket to the park to fight and other times carried it with him to the teahouse. But this was the first time he’d seen him without one in longer than he could remember.

Lao Gong shook his head and snorted. “My last cricket fought to the death and couldn’t be replaced. You should have seen him, Benfu! Such a huge head and colorful legs—he was glorious and what a reputation. With his fierce snapping jaws, that one made me a lot of money.”

Benfu listened, intrigued. He himself had never had the time or money that cricket fighting demanded, and to see anything in such captivity always brought back bad memories for him. But he’d always loved to hear about Gong’s adventures. Benfu was starting to see a pattern, and that was that he always seemed to live vicariously through Gong’s fighting and his own daughters’ travels. He didn’t feel bad about it; living through others’ adventures was enough. It would have to be.

Lao Gong shook his head sadly. “I wouldn’t admit this to anyone but you, Benfu, but when he was killed, I was sad for a long time. When I talked about getting another one, the wife said she was sick and tired of my gambling and hearing my crickets chirp. So I got a bird. Boring, I know, but the little fellow makes me want to get up in the morning. I need that responsibility for
another life to keep me going, you know. It’s not like I have a house full of daughters to keep me young like you have, Benfu.”

Benfu shook his head.

“I don’t know about keeping me young anymore. I think I passed that description about a decade ago. Now I’m just trying to get the last ones raised and out on their own.”

Lao Gong tapped the top of the birdcage, trying to prompt his bird out for another bite of popcorn. As he bent his head, Benfu noticed the gray roots sprouting from his hairline. Gong had always been a proud man, keeping his hair dyed black and wearing those formal old-man sweater vests Benfu continually rejected. But it looked like age was finally catching up with Gong. He looked back up at Benfu, a pensive look on his face.

“Old Benfu. Who would’ve imagined that all these years later we’d still be friends? Two men from two different worlds—overcoming a clash of classes and years of hardship. I guess we showed everyone that two young fellows from different backgrounds could be lifelong friends.”

Benfu nodded in agreement. “Back when we first met, we weren’t even allowed to sit in a teahouse. Old Mao thought teahouses would spur conversations about politics, and the old fool was frightened of where those discussions would lead. He knew that soon enough people would catch on to the mess he was making of our country.”

Gong nodded. “Yes, he took away one of the people’s biggest joys when he shut down the teahouses. I can agree with you on that.”

Benfu looked up from his tea, surprised his old comrade would say something against Mao. The subject had always been one they couldn’t agree on. Benfu didn’t want to spar with him over politics and he looked for a way to bring the conversation back to the present day. “Now he can have his politics—I just want the tea and to be allowed to live in peace, away from the corruptness that still stands and calls itself our government.”

The old memories still stung. Benfu remembered hearing about his parents and their march to the square to stand in front of everyone, wearing dunce caps and forced to declare they were insufferable scholars. Their
positions as university teachers were taken from them and they had been forced to scrimp to survive. Benfu didn’t hold affection for his parents any longer but he couldn’t help but feel compassion for their plight so many years ago. Perhaps karma was the reason for their persecution, as later in life he felt they had much to be sorry for.