by Amy Tan
But then I listened again. And I knew: This was not Wen Fu’s ghost. This was like a bingo blackout. This was like a Reno jackpot. This was Kitchen God’s wife, shouting, Yes! Yes! Yes!
“What does your daughter do?” Mrs. Hong was now asking me.
“Oh, she has an important job, working in a school,” I said.
“A very high-level position,” adds Helen. “Very smart.”
“This one is good for her then, Wen Ch’ang, god of literature. Very popular with school.”
I shook my head. Why pick a name like Wen Fu’s? “I am thinking of something she can use for many reasons,” I explained.
“Goddess of Mercy, then.” Mrs. Hong was patting the heads of all her goddesses. “Good luck, good children, all kinds of things. We have many, all different sizes. This one is nice, this one is thirty dollars. This one is very nice, this one is two hundred sixty-five dollars. You decide.”
“I am not thinking of the Goddess of Mercy,” I said. “I am looking for something else.”
“Something to bring her money luck,” Mrs. Hong suggested.
“No, not just that, not just money, not just luck,” says Helen. We look at each other. But she cannot find the words. And I cannot say them.
“Perhaps one of the Eight Immortals,” said Mrs. Hong. “Maybe all eight, then she has everything.”
“No,” I said. “I am looking for a goddess that nobody knows. Maybe she does not yet exist.”
Mrs. Hong sighed. “I’m sorry, this we do not have.” She was disappointed. I was disappointed. Helen was disappointed.
Suddenly Mrs. Hong clapped her hands together. “Where is my head today?” She walked to the back of the store, calling to me. “It is back here. The factory made a mistake. Of course, it is a very nice statue, no chips, no cracks. But they forgot to write down her name on the bottom of her chair. My husband was so mad. He said, ‘What are we going to do with this? Who wants to buy a mistake?’ ”
So I bought that mistake. I fixed it. I used my gold paints and wrote her name on the bottom. And Helen bought good incense, not the cheap brand, but the best. I could see this lady statue in her new house, the red temple altar with two candlesticks lighting up her face from both sides. She would live there, but no one would call her Mrs. Kitchen God. Why would she want to be called that, now that she and her husband are divorced?
When Pearl came to drop off the children at my house this weekend, I said to her husband, “Go watch TV with the children. I have to give my daughter some medicine I found.”
I took her upstairs to my bedroom. Pearl-ah, I said. Here is some Chinese medicine. You put this pad on your arms and legs, the herbs sink into your skin. And every day you should drink hot water three or four times a day. Your energy is too cold. Just hot water, no tea or coffee inside. Are you listening?
What are you looking at? Oh, that statue. You never saw that before. Yes, that’s true, very fancy, fine porcelain. And the style is good too. See how nicely she sits in her chair, so comfortable-looking in her manner. Look at her hair, how black it is, no worries. Although maybe she used to worry. I heard she once had many hardships in her life. So maybe her hair is dyed.
But her smile is genuine, wise and innocent at the same time. And her hand, see how she just raised it? That means she is about to speak, or maybe she is telling you to speak. She is ready to listen. She understands English. You should tell her everything.
Yes, yes, of course this is for you! Why would I buy such a thing for myself? Don’t cry, don’t cry. I didn’t pay too much.
But sometimes, when you are afraid, you can talk to her. She will listen. She will wash away everything sad with her tears. She will use her stick to chase away everything bad. See her name: Lady Sorrowfree, happiness winning over bitterness, no regrets in this world.
Now help me light three sticks of incense. The smoke will take our wishes to heaven. Of course, it’s only superstition, just for fun. But see how fast the smoke rises—oh, even faster when we laugh, lifting our hopes, higher and higher.
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