"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.
"Who do you think will be the winner?" I broke the silence.
"It ought to be Wild Ginger," said Evergreen. "But I have a feeling the district party secretary is having his doubts."
"It was my fear," Wild Ginger sighed. "How naive I was to believe—"
"You must trust the Communist party," Evergreen interrupted. "You must trust Chairman Mao. Very few people are crooks."
We were at the crossing next to a bicycle parking lot. Evergreen went to pick up his bicycle.
"How do you solve the problem, Evergreen?" I grew impatient.
Without taking his eyes off Wild Ginger, Evergreen said, "You have to learn to endure the test of time. You have to be the winner of hearts and not just the contest. The truth is"—he hesitated for a second and then pressed on—"you've already taken the championship in my heart."
Wild Ginger's cheeks flushed.
As if embarrassed by his own frankness, Evergreen backed off and got on the bicycle. He nodded a goodbye and disappeared into the traffic.
It surprised everyone wh
en the winner was announced the next day. Evergreen won first place, with Hot Pepper second. Wild Ginger got an honorable mention. Mrs. Cheng received an explanation from the authorities, which she read to the class. Wild Ginger lost her place because of her poor background. She was given the school's and the district authorities' regrets. It seemed that everyone understood and accepted the treatment given to Wild Ginger. Since she was a second-class citizen, Wild Ginger's suffering became insignificant. If she were recognized as a dog, it was only natural for her to drink water from a puddle instead of a cup.
Before I had a chance, Evergreen went to comfort Wild Ginger. He went to visit her every couple of days and later on went to help her in the fish market in the mornings. When I asked him about his feelings toward the outcome he spoke almost angrily. Besides his complaint on the unfairness of the contest, he felt betrayed by the district party secretary. As he tried to comfort Wild Ginger, convincing her to rely on the party's judgment, he himself was not convinced. He became disillusioned, even disgusted.
"I feel devastated that Wild Ginger not only accepted the treatment, but also embraced it," Evergreen said to me. "She believes that she just has to try harder to prove herself ... I somehow see it as being more destructive than constructive. I demanded a conversation with the district party secretary."
"And?" I asked eagerly.
"He said taking risks or being experimental was never his style."
"What does that mean?"
"He couldn't promote a spy's daughter as a revolutionary model."
"Why didn't he make that clear before the contest?"
"He wanted to use Wild Ginger, to earn his own political credit in the party. You see, he took the chance to show how far he could push a young mind to memorize Mao."
"So Wild Ginger was made a fool."
"Yes, shamefully." He paused. After a while he added, "So was I."
"Mao's representatives." I couldn't help being sarcastic.
"My disappointment was so great that I no longer see things the same way, Maple. Inside I feel sick, depressed. It was not just remorse for Wild Ginger's loss. It was something deeper, more dangerous, and I am frightened of its result."
11
In 1971 we turned fifteen. Wild Ginger and I graduated from July First Elementary School and entered the Red Flag Middle School. The curriculum was the same, with Mao study still the priority. Wild Ginger had learned the whole business of the seafood market. She knew the names of every wholesaler, fisherman, retailer, market employee, and employer in the market. She knew their habits, families, and relations. She even got to know her mother's ex-admirer, accountant Mr. Choo. After Mrs. Pei died, Mr. Choo appeared to feel guilty. He brought Wild Ginger food and presents, trying to reconcile. Wild Ginger was unmoved. The man explained that he had to betray his own conscience in order to survive. Wild Ginger spat in his face and walked away.
Wild Ginger took me to hang out at the fish market afternoons and evenings. We helped the employees stocking up the supplies. When asked why we were there, Wild Ginger quoted Mao's teaching, '"The youth should get themselves out of the classrooms and learn directly from the working class.'" She made friends with many of the fishwomen, who transported loads of seafood from the ports to the city on their tricycles. They were simple and delightful although poorly educated. They had large muscles and big feet.
Wild Ginger admired the fishwomen's spirit. She became very friendly with a young one named Jung, who was sixteen. She had a round face and heavyset body. She always brought Wild Ginger pieces of dried fish to chew.
Although I didn't particularly like the fish market—its smell bothered me and made me nauseous—I went for Wild Ginger's sake. After a while I found myself interested in the conversations between Jung and Wild Ginger. I learned a lot by listening to their discussions on the nature of the sea, seaweed, fish, squid, snails, and the techniques to catch them.
The year went by quickly. It didn't occur to me until summer that Jung looked worn down. She'd lost her cheerfulness, was nervous, and didn't seem to trust herself. Wild Ginger didn't tell me anything until I remarked on Jung's appearance.
"She hasn't been careful keeping track of her shipments," Wild Ginger said. "Accountant Choo found out that she often brought in less than she had loaded. It's the fifth time that she was missing two baskets of beltfish."
"Is it possible to lose them on her way?"
"It is. But since she's been paying attention she is sure there must be some mistake. But still, she was short of baskets when she passed Mr. Choo's scale."
"That's odd."
"Something is smelly about Accountant Choo," Wild Ginger said. "I have been watching him. I suspect that he is taking advantage of Jung. You know, Jung can't calculate. When Choo's butterfly fingers dance over the abacus in front of her and he tells her that two baskets are missing, she has to believe him. Jung is like a mute who has swallowed bitter grass but is unable to voice it. It's a setup. Before Jung can argue with Choo all the people around her—the squid seller, the cigarette seller, and the liquor seller—act as witnesses for Mr. Choo. In one voice, they say that Jung is wrong. It is ... as if they already knew the answer before Accountant Choo's fingers even touched the abacus ... I need your help, Maple. I must figure this out."
It was eight o'clock in the evening. We found Jung sitting on her tricycle sobbing. She had been accused again. She was afraid of losing her job if the mysterious mistake kept repeating itself. Accountant Choo was firm that there had been no fault on his part. Jung's fellow fishermen were upset, but they were unable to prove Jung's innocence.
The baskets filled with seafood were distributed to each booth. The market employees came and began to sort the fish. I was hungry and wanted to go home. But Wild Ginger insisted that I stay. She was spying on Mr. Choo. She moved her stall toward the east corner where she could keep Choo in sight. She pretended that she was sharpening her scissors.
"It looks like he is getting ready to take off." Wild Ginger quickly pulled me to her side. "I want you to follow me, Maple. Keep at a distance but keep me in your sight."
"You're not going to do something dangerous, are you?"
"Of course not," Wild Ginger replied without looking at me. She quickly put down her scissors and closed her stall.
I watched Accountant Choo. He locked his abacus away in a cart and pushed the cart into a storage space next to a booth. Out he came carrying a black plastic bag. He crossed the street and entered a public restroom. After a short while he came out, followed by men with familiar faces. They were the discount seafood seller, the cigarette seller, and the liquor seller. They were pulling up their zippers and looking around at the same time. They walked separately but toward the same direction heading north. I backed a few yards from Wild Ginger and pretended that I was passing by.
The group of men formed a triangle with Accountant Choo at its head. After they passed the neighborhood they began to walk faster. We followed them across a construction site, a waste site, an abandoned plastic-tube factory, and onto the grounds of the cigarette factory, which seemed to be closed for the day. The doorman let the group in after he was thrown a pack of cigarettes.
"They are hitting the factory's storage area." Wild Ginger waved at me. Together we began circling the building. Finally we arrived at the back of the factory where tobacco was heaped high.
"How do you know?" I was watching Accountant Choo and his group disappear behind a wall.
"I have been following them but I have never gotten inside the storage area. I want to see what they are doing. Would you wait here?"
Before I could say anything Wild Ginger was gone. She had climbed the fence and leapt to the other side.
I was nervous. My stomach gnawed at me with fear. The sky was now very dark and Wild Ginger was nowhere to be seen. There was no light. The area looked so desolate that it seemed the perfect place for a crime. Suddenly Wild Ginger reappeared. She ran toward me but didn't cross the fence.
"Let's
go," I urged.
"Maple, I want you to notify the police immediately."
"What?"
"They are distributing the money that they have stolen!"
"Are you sure, Wild Ginger?"
"Sure! Go now!"
"What about you?"
"I need to keep an eye on them."
"But—"
"Hurry!" She turned and ran back into the darkness.
I tried to envision what she would do. If they caught her they could murder her right here, easy, I thought.
I left quickly. For a moment I was disoriented, too nervous to recognize directions. Finally I managed to get back to my own neighborhood. I zipped through lanes and passed my own door. The light in my house was already off. My mother always shut the light off early in order to save electricity. I told myself to keep going until I arrived at the door of the neighborhood police guard. I knocked.
The guard opened the door. He was eating his dinner. His motorcycle was parked in the center of the room. Hearing my report he immediately phoned his headquarters. "The patrol is on the way." He wiped his oily mouth and put on his jacket. Starting his motorcycle he said, "Get on the back with me, kid."
By the time the police and the patrol arrived Wild Ginger's face was scratched and her right arm hung loose in front of her chest. Trying to stop Choo and his group from escaping she was almost strangled to death. The police chief arrested Choo and his group on the spot.
Wild Ginger was sent to the local hospital. Evergreen and I followed her into the large building. In an operating room, we sat by her side while doctors tended to her. They set her arm and wrapped it in a cast. They gave her blood transfusions and stitched up her cuts. I dampened her lips with a wet towel. She was in enormous pain. Evergreen offered his hand. She grabbed it and breathed deeply. I watched the sweat on her forehead turn into crystal beads. Evergreen kept talking to her, trying to distract her from the pain. It surprised me to see the usually quiet Evergreen chatting away like a young wide-eyed boy. He told Wild Ginger stories of his childhood, of his fathers adventures as a sailor, his achievements and accidents, and later his strokes and nerve disorders. He told her how he and his late mother helped the old man when he was paralyzed. And finally about his own early dream of becoming a captain. He got excited when mentioning a toy ship he made when he was ten.