The Joy Luck Club

"You must see your sisters and tell them about your mother's death, " says Auntie Ying. "But most important, you must tell them about her life. The mother they did not know, they must now know. "

"See my sisters, tell them http://www.kidle.ru about my mother, " I say, nodding. "What will I say? What can I tell them about my mother? I don't know anything. She was my mother. "

The aunties are looking at me as if I had become crazy right before their eyes.

"Not know your own mother? " cries Auntie An-mei with disbelief. "How can you say? Your mother is in your bones! "

"Tell them stories of your family here. How she became success, " offers Auntie Lin.

"Tell them stories she told you, lessons she taught, what you know about her mind that has become your mind, " says Auntie Ying. "You mother very smart lady. "

I hear more choruses of "Tell them, tell them" as each Auntie frantically tries to think what should be passed on.

"Her kindness. "

"Her smartness. "

"Her dutiful nature to family. "

"Her hopes, things that matter to her. "

"The excellent dishes she cooked. "

"Imagine, a daughter not knowing her own mother! "

And then it occurs to me. They are frightened. In me, they see their own daughters, just as ignorant, just as unmindful of all the truths and hopes they have brought to America. They see daughters who grow impatient when their mothers talk in Chinese, who think they are stupid when they explain things in fractured English. They see that joy and luck do not mean the same to their daughters, that to these closed American-born minds "joy luck" is not a word, it does not exist. They see daughters who will bear grandchildren born without any connecting hope passed from generation to generation.

"I will tell them everything, " I say simply, and the aunties look at me with doubtful faces.

"I will remember everything about her and tell them, " I say more firmly. And gradually, one by one, they smile and pat my hand. They still look troubled, as if something were out of balance. But they also look hopeful that what I say will become true. What more can they ask? What more can I promise?

They go back to eating their soft boiled peanuts, saying stories among themselves. They are young girls again, dreaming of good times in the past and good times yet to come. A brother from Ningbo who makes his sister cry with joy when he returns nine thousand dollars plus interest. A youngest son whose stereo and TV repair business is so good he sends leftovers to China. A daughter whose babies are able to swim like fish in a fancy pool in Woodside. Such good stories. The best. They are the lucky ones.

And I am sitting at my mother's place at the mah jong table, on the East, where things begin.