The Joy Luck Club

For all these years I kept my mouth closed so selfish desires would not fall out. And because I remained quiet for so long now my daughter does not hear me. She sits by her fancy swimming pool and hears only her Sony Walkman, her cordless phone, her big, important husband asking her why they have charcoal and no lighter fluid.

All these years I kept my true nature hidden, running along like a small shadow so nobody could catch me. And because I moved so secretly now my daughter does not see me. She sees a list of things to buy, her checkbook out of balance, her ashtray sitting crooked on a straight table.

And I want to tell her this: We are lost, she and I, unseen and not seeing, unheard and not hearing, unknown by others.

I did not lose myself all at once. I rubbed out my face over the years washing away my pain, the same way carvings on stone are worn down by water.

Yet today I can remember a time when I ran and shouted, when I could not stand still. It is my earliest recollection: telling the Moon Lady my secret wish. And because I forgot what I wished for, that memory remained hidden from me all these many years.

But now I remember the wish, and I can recall the details of that entire day, as clearly as I see my daughter and the foolishness of her life.

In 1918, the year that I was four, the Moon Festival arrived during an autumn in Wushi that was unusually hot, terribly hot. When I awoke that morning, the fifteenth day of the eighth moon, the straw mat covering my bed was already sticky. Everything in the room smelled of wet grass simmering in the heat.

Earlier in the summer, the servants had covered all the windows with bamboo curtains to drive out the sun. Every bed was covered with a woven mat, our only bedding during the months of constant wet heat. And the hot bricks of the courtyard were crisscrossed with bamboo paths. Autumn had come, but without its cool mornings and evenings. And so the stale heat still remained in the shadows behind the curtains, heating up the acrid smells of my chamber pot, seeping into my pillow, chafing the back of my neck and puffing up my cheeks, so that I awoke that morning with a restless complaint.

There was another smell, outside, something burning, a pungent fragrance that was half sweet and half bitter. "What's that stinky smell? " I asked my amah, who always managed to appear next to my bed the instant I was awake. She slept on a cot in a little room next to mine.

"It is the same as I explained yesterday, " she said, lifting me out of my bed and setting me on her knee. And my sleepy mind tried to remember what she had told me upon waking the morning before.

"We are burning the Five Evils, " I said drowsily, then squirmed out of her warm lap. I climbed on top of a little stool and looked out the window into the courtyard below. I saw a green coil curled in the shape of a snake, with a tail that billowed yellow smoke. The other day, Amah had shown me that the snake had come out of a colorful box decorated with five evil creatures: a swimming snake, a jumping scorpion, a flying centipede, a dropping-down spider, and a springing lizard. The bite of any one of these creatures could kill a child, explained Amah. So I was relieved to think we had caught the Five Evils and were burning their corpses. I didn't know the green coil was merely incense used to chase away mosquitoes and small flies.

That day, instead of dressing me in a light cotton jacket and loose trousers, Amah brought out a heavy yellow silk jacket and skirt outlined with black bands.

"No time to play today, " said Amah, opening the lined jacket. "Your mother has made you new tiger clothes for the Moon Festival…" She lifted me into the pants. "Very important day, and now you are a big girl, so you can go to the ceremony. "

"What is a ceremony? " I asked as Amah slipped the jacket over my cotton undergarments.

"It is a proper way to behave. You do this and that, so the gods do not punish you, " said Amah as she fastened my frog clasps.

"What kind of punishment? " I asked boldly.

"Too many questions! " cried Amah. "You do not need to understand. Just behave, follow your mother's example. Light the incense, make an offering to the moon, bow your head. Do not shame me, Ying-ying. "

I bowed my head with a pout. I noticed the black bands on my sleeves, the tiny embroidered peonies growing from curlicues of gold thread. I remembered watching my mother pushing a silver needle in and out, gently nudging flowers and leaves and vines to bloom on the cloth.

And then I heard voices in the courtyard. Standing on my stool, I strained to find them. Somebody was complaining about the heat: "…feel my arm, steamed soft clear to the bone. " Many relatives from the north had arrived for the Moon Festival and were staying for the week.

Amah tried to pull a wide comb through my hair and I pretended to tumble off the stool as soon as she reached a knot.

"Stand still, Ying-ying! " she cried, her usual lament, while I giggled and wobbled on the stool. And then she yanked the full length of my hair like the reins of a horse and before I could fall off the stool again, she quickly twisted my hair into a single braid off to the side, weaving into it five strands of colorful silk. She wound my braid into a tight ball, then arranged and snipped the loose silk strands until they fell into a neat tassel.