#mitakisu

Nainai’s grumblings so often go ignored — it takes a telephone chain, every time Yuzhu tracks mud down the corridor or lets crickets loose in the kitchen, to weasel out an apology from the troublesome second daughter, up the ladder from the cook to the maidservant to Nainai to Mama to Yuhua. Beloved Yuhua who can never muster up true anger at her antics, only a muted disappointment that melts into fondness once they’re alone. (Don’t do that again, Yuhua tells her, stroking her hair. Don’t make Nainai and Mama mad. And what she means is: You could never make me mad.) This time though, Yuzhu nearly trips over herself in her haste to obey, tumbling forward as Nainai releases her iron grip with one last heaving sigh. Yuzhu runs barefoot through the courtyard, kicking up dust, and into the secluded back building where she and Yuhua spend listless summer days in their joint bedroom. All the windows and doors are wide open, inviting in the infrequent breeze that offers temporary relief from the humid heat. Yuhua is sitting at the vanity, applying a rosy pink to her eyelids. She lines only the very edge of her upper lashline and the outside corners of her eyes. They crinkle up when Yuhua turns and smiles at her, beckoning her over. Yuhua is sixteen and growing more beautiful by the day. Her beauty is delicate and girlish, blossoming like the colorful florals stitched into the silk qipaos she’s taken to wearing. Her dress today is the color of cream and eggshell, demure, falling to her ankles. Yuzhu doesn’t want to tarnish it with her own dirt-streaked cheeks, so she goes to wash up. She eyes her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Bright-eyed and full-cheeked, hair unkempt and dark as ink. She’s scrubbed all the grime off her face, though some of it remains under her bare fingernails. Yuhua approaches from behind and helps her brush the tangles out of her hair. She picks out a leaf, lips mirthful. Yuzhu chatters while she works: “I think I’m getting really good at mahjong now. All the old men say so.” “Better than me, I’m certain.” “Do you think Gege brought back presents?” “Probably.” They don’t see Gege often. But Yuzhu always looks forward to his visits. He brings them small souvenirs from his travels overseas, knows Yuzhu’s preference for exotic sweets. Surely enough, there’s a box of Turkish delight placed next to the tea set when the two sisters join the family around the drawing room table. The braid Yuhua wove whips around Yuzhu’s shoulders as she greets Gege with an exuberant hug. Yuhua offers him a quiet smile, fingers curling around Yuzhu’s and gently tugging, guiding Yuzhu to sit next to her. Nainai pours the hot water over the dried chrysanthemum buds in the teapot. They begin to float and circle around, bobbing softly. This is Yuzhu’s favorite tea — not to drink, but to watch as it steeps. The way the petals unfurl, many-fingered and cheerful, waving like tiny sea anemones. It reminds her of the aquarium they visited on her tenth birthday. Yuhua was with her then. Yuhua has always been with her as far back as she can remember.