"My snails were here before someone else's fish," the customer complained. "I thought you said first come first served. You are a liar and I won't come to you again."
"I'm terribly sorry, madam," Wild Ginger said as she put the fish in one basket and picked up the snails. She talked with her hands moving fast. The snails dropped into the basket as if from a machine.
I moved up. My basket was right by her head. "Service, madam?" She pulled over my basket. "I am good and quick. I charge a cent cheaper." She was talking to me.
"I'll never come to you again," the snail lady complained. "You haven't finished with one customer and you have started to grab another. How greedy!"
Wild Ginger tried to move her fingers faster. The blisters on her palm and around her fingers looked swollen. The blood from her cuts mixed with the eels'. Wild Ginger's scarf got blown off by the wind. She reached out her right leg to hold the scarf down while her fingers continued to work with the snails. "Madam, I'll give you one cent back for the delay."
"You ought to," the woman said.
"Wild Ginger," I called.
She raised her head. "Maple!" She turned to the lady. "She is no customer. She's my friend."
"Hurry up!" The woman was irritated.
"Thanks for the business. Thanks for waiting." Wild Ginger was talking to me.
"May I help?" I offered.
"I'm almost done. Don't dirty your hands. The stink will stick to you all day. Here you are, madam, done." She shoveled the finished snails into the customer's basket.
The woman gave Wild Ginger a dirty look. She threw three cents to her and walked away.
Wild Ginger began to work on my snails as I went to fetch vegetables. By now the day was bright. The market was much less crowded. Most of the booths were empty. The late customers looked miserable-there was nothing except frozen radishes to buy. People had been eating radishes for months.
By the time I came back, Wild Ginger was selling her cat food. She piled the fish heads, tails, and intestines neatly on the washed-clean board and waited for the customers. She sat on a piece of brick and saved her stool for me. A couple of old ladies came and bargained.
I sat down next to Wild Ginger. I was hungry and frozen. I'd love to have a bowl of hot tofu soup, I thought. But I dared not spend the money. I was sure Wild Ginger was hungrier. The smell of baked yams wafted over. Wild Ginger got up and yelled, "Cat food!" Her eyes sought eagerly. "Fresh intestines!" She rubbed her hands to warm them. Her nose was red. Her cheeks were splotched with black squid ink. Fish scales glinted in her hair. She yawned and stretched her arms and legs.
"The other day, Evergreen came to visit," Wild Ginger told me. "He helped me with the Mao reciting and dropped a lot of tips, even knowing that I was a rival."
"I told you he was a nice fellow."
"He said the purpose of the contest was not to win but to promote Mao study. He was impressed by my work. He thought that I had a good chance to win."
"I agree, Wild Ginger. You work so hard."
"There was something else Evergreen said that disturbed me."
"What is it?"
"It's Hot Pepper. Do you know Hot Pepper has registered for the contest too? She said that she was determined to beat me. But she's no match. So she uses political excuses to make sure I won't enter."
"The spy stuff again?"
"What else can she say?"
"This is going to be tricky."
"I know. Evergreen is fighting for me. He believes that the Communist party promotes justice and fairness. And I believe him."
The tinkling of bells reached our ears. Two bicycles with large containers hung on each side arrived. They were the refinery and herb shop workers. Wild Ginger went up to greet them.
"It's not fresh. I don't want it," the refinery man bargained.
"I haven't gone home yet, big uncle," Wild Ginger negotiated. "You won't get fresher stuff this morning."
"One cent a pound."
"Two cents, uncle. I have to eat too."
"One cent or I am leaving." The man rang his bell.
"Fine, one cent." Wild Ginger gave the man her buckets.
"The squid bone is too small, I don't want it," the herb man said, ringing his bell too, as if hurrying to move on.
"Half price. One cent a pound," Wild Ginger yielded.
The man took out his scale, weighed the bucket, then paid Wild Ginger. "You smart kid. You know I'm your last stop."
Wild Ginger counted the money and placed the pennies carefully inside her pocket. She looked satisfied and went to close her stall.
I said goodbye and walked toward home. I tried to fight against a welling sorrow. My mornings were never the same after that day. I thought of Wild Ginger while I indulged in warm blankets. I thought of her while drinking my mother's hot tofu soup. In learning to appreciate my family's luck I experienced a sense of guilt. I was in tears while my mother put a piece of beltfish in my bowl, and while my father awarded me with a story read from the book I got him from the recycling station. Bathing in my parents' attention, I understood the word "deprivation." I wished Wild Ginger well, I wished that she could continue to rise as the star of the Mao study, and I wished that her fish-smell hands would eventually bring her a good future. I felt that I owed her, that society owed her. She had to win. And I would do anything to help her win.
10
The Mao Quotation-Citing Contest was broadcast live throughout the district, with every classroom tuned in. It was a clear spring day. I sat at my desk and concentrated on listening to the loudspeaker. The scores of the final contestants were close. By the afternoon there were only three left-Hot Pepper, Evergreen, and Wild Ginger. The result wasn't hard to guess since Wild Ginger's lead was great. Suddenly the judge, the district party secretary, ordered a recess and said that the winner would be announced the next morning.
I was very excited for Wild Ginger. The winner of the contest was to go on to a national-level competition. If she won, she could be honored as a Maoist. She might even be brought to meet Chairman Mao himself.
I went to Wild Ginger's house and waited for her return from the People's Square, where the contest took place. It was dark already. I sat by her door. One hour passed. I saw no shadow of her. I paced back and forth along Chia Chia Lane and hoped to run into her. Finally it was not Wild Ginger but my oldest brother who came.
"Quick, sis, there has been a fight." My brother tried to catch his breath. "Hot Pepper and her brothers have gotten Wild Ginger. Fortunately she was with Evergreen."
My brother led me to the spot. I saw Wild Ginger chasing away Yaya to the end of the lane. Two of Hot Pepper's brothers were lying on the ground. Evergreen had Hot Pepper's oldest brother, Big Dragon, underneath him. Under the streetlight Evergreen's face was distorted. He had a swollen jaw. I assumed that the fighting had been fierce. Big Dragon begged for mercy. Hot Pepper was crying and throwing herself at Evergreen. Evergreen twisted Big Dragon's arms backward.
"You are breaking his arms," Hot Pepper screamed.
Evergreen clenched his teeth. "You've started the biting and now you'd better swallow the whole cake!"
"Wild Ginger had no right to compete in the first place," Hot Pepper yelled. "She is politically disqualified."
"The party gives equal rights to every comrade who devotes himself to Chairman Mao," Evergreen shot back.
"A spy is not a comrade-"
Unexpectedly Hot Pepper's mouth was slapped by her youngest brother, Little Dragon. "Go home, sis."
Evergreen let go of Big Dragon.
Middle Dragon and Little Dragon came to help their brother up, then took off.
"We'll be back!" Hot Pepper shouted.
"If your brothers dare to touch Wild Ginger again I'll pull off their squid heads!"
Wild Ginger looked like a blooming lotus. Evergreen took us to a tofu soup stand for a snack. We wolfed down steamed buns. I couldn't help staring at Wild Ginger. It was the first time I'd seen her happy. We finished the soup quickly and started walking. She took my hand and walked quietly on my right side while Evergreen was on my left. Wild Ginger didn't thank Evergreen. Didn't even look at him. We were silent.