Rules of the Game-1
百度搜索 The Joy Luck Club 天涯 或 The Joy Luck Club 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.
Waverly JongI was six when my mother taught me the art of invisible strength. It was a strategy for winning arguments, respect from others, aually, though her of us k at the time, chess games.
"Bite back your tongue," scolded my mother when I cried loudly, yanking her hand toward the store that sold bags of salted plums. At home, she said, "Wise guy, he not go against wind. In ese we say, e from South, blow with wind—poom!—North will follow. Stro wind ot be seen."
The week I bit back my tongue as we ehe store with the forbidden dies. When my mother finished her shopping, she quietly plucked a small bag of plums from the rad put it on the ter with the rest of the items.
My mother imparted her daily truths so she could help my older brothers and me rise above our circumstances. We lived in San Franciscos atown. Like most of the other ese children who played in the back alleys of restaurants and curio shops, I didnt think we were poor. My bowl was always full, three five-course meals every day, beginning with a soup full of mysterious things I didnt want to know the names of.
We lived on Waverly Place, in a warm, , two-bedroom flat that sat above a small ese bakery specializing in steamed pastries and dim sum. In the early m, when the alley was still quiet, I could smell fragrant red beans as they were cooked down to a pasty sweetness. By daybreak, our flat was heavy with the odor of fried sesame balls and sweet curried chi crests. From my bed, I would listen as my father got ready for work, then locked the door behind him, owo-three clicks.
At the end of our two-block alley was a small sandlot playground with swings and slides well-shined down the middle with use. The play area was bordered by wood-slat benches where old-try people sat crag roasted watermelon seeds with their goldeh and scattering the husks to an impatient gathering of gurgling pigeons. The best playground, however, was the dark alley itself. It was crammed with daily mysteries and adventures. My brothers and I would peer into the medial herb shop, watg old Li dole out onto a stiff sheet of white paper the right amount of i shells, saffron-colored seeds, and pu leaves for his ailing ers. It was said that he once cured a woman dying of an aral curse that had eluded the best of Ameri doctors. o the pharmacy rinter who specialized in gold-embossed wedding invitations aive red banners.
Farther dowreet ing Yuen Fish Market. The front window displayed a tank crowded with doomed fish and turtles struggling to gain footing on the slimy green-tiled sides. A hand-written sign informed tourists, "Within this store, is all for food, not for pet." Ihe butchers with their blood-stained white smocks deftly gutted the fish while ers cried out their orders and shouted, "Give me your freshest," On less crowded market days, we would ihe crates of live frogs and crabs which we were warned not to poke, boxes of dried cuttlefish, and row upon row of iced prawns, squid, and slippery fish. The sanddabs made me shiver each time; their eyes lay on one flattened side and reminded me of my mothers story of a careless girl who ran into a crowded street and was crushed by a cab. "Was smash flat," reported my mother.
At the er of the alley was Hong Sings, a four-table caf?with a recessed stairwell in front that led to a door marked "Tradesmen." My brothers and I believed the bad people emerged from this door at night. Tourists never went to Hong Sings, sihe menu rinted only in ese. A Caucasian man with a big camera once posed me and my playmates in front of the restaurant. He had us move to the side of the picture window so the photo would capture the roasted duck with its head dangling from a juice-covered rope. After he took the picture, I told him he should go into Hong Sings a dinner. When he smiled and asked me what they served, I shouted, "Guts and ducks feet and octopus gizzards!" Then I ran off with my friends, shrieking with laughter as we scampered across the alley and hid iryway grotto of the a Gem pany, my heart pounding with hope that he would chase us.
My mother named me after the street that we lived on: Waverly Place Jong, my official name for important Ameri dots. But my family called me Meimei, "Little Sister." I was the you, the only daughter. Each m before sy mother would twist and yank on my thick black hair until she had formed two tightly wound pigtails. One day, as she struggled to weave a hard-toothed b through my disobedient hair, I had a sly thought.
I asked her, "Ma, what is ese torture?" My mother shook her head. A bobby pin was wedged between her lips. She wetted her palm and smoothed the hair above my ear, then pushed the pin in so that it nicked sharply against my scalp.
"Who say this word?" she asked without a trace of knowing how wicked I was being. I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Some boy in my class said ese people do ese torture."
"ese people do many things," she said simply. "ese people do business, do medie, do painting. Not lazy like Ameri people. We do torture. Best torture."
My older brother Vi was the one who actually got the chess set. We had goo the annual Christmas party held at the First ese Baptist Church at the end of the alley. The missionary ladies had put together a Santa bag of gifts donated by members of another churone of the gifts had names ohere were separate sacks for boys and girls of different ages.
One of the ese parishioners had donned a Santa Claus e and a stiff paper beard with cotton balls glued to it. I think the only children who thought he was the real thioo young to know that Santa Claus was not ese. When my turn came up, the Santa man asked me how old I was. I thought it was a trick question; I was seven acc to the Ameri formula a by the ese dar. I said I was born on March 17, 1951. That seemed to satisfy him. He then solemnly asked if I had been a very, very good girl this year and did I believe in Jesus Christ and obey my parents. I khe only ao that. I nodded back with equal solemnity.
Having watched the other children opening their gifts, I already khat the big gifts were not necessarily the ones. One girl my age got a large c book of biblical characters, while a less greedy girl who selected a smaller box received a glass vial of laveoilet water. The sound of the box was also important. A ten-year-old boy had chosen a box that jangled when he shook it. It was a tin <var></var>globe of the world with a slit for iing money. He must have thought it was full of dimes and nickels, because when he saw that it had just ten pennies, his face fell with sudisguised disappoihat his mother slapped the side of his head and led him out of the church hall, apologizing to the crowd for her son who had such bad manners he couldnt appreciate such a fine gift.
As I peered into the sack, I quickly fihe remaining presents, testing their weight, imagining what they tained. I chose a heavy, pae that was ed in shiny silver foil and a red satin ribbon. It was a twelve-pack of Life Savers and I spent the rest of the party arranging and rearranging the dy tubes in the order of my favorites. My brother Winston chose wisely as well. His present turned out to be a box of intricate plastic parts; the instrus on the box proclaimed that when they were properly assembled he would have an authentiiature replica of a World War II submarine.
Vi got the chess set, which would have been a very det present to get at a church Christmas party, except it was obviously used and, as we discovered later, it was missing a black pawn and a white knight. My mraciously thahe unknown beor, saying, "Too good. Cost too much." At which point, an old lady with fine white, wispy hair oward our family and said with a whistling whisper, "Merry, merry Christmas."
Whe home, my mother told Vio throw the chess set away. "She not want it. We not want it," she said, tossing her head stiffly to the side with a tight, proud smile. My brothers had deaf ears. They were already lining up the chess pieces and reading from the dog-eared instru book.
I watched Vi and Winston play during Christmas week. The chess board seemed to hold elaborate secrets waiting to be untahe chessmen were more powerful than Old Lis magic herbs that cured aral curses. And my brothers wore such serious faces that I was sure something was at stake that was greater than avoiding the tradesmens door to Hong Sings.
"Let me! Let me!" I begged between games when one brother or the other would sit back with a deep sigh of relief and victory, the other annoyed, uo let go of the oute. Vi at first refused to let me play, but when I offered my Life Savers as replats for the buttons that filled in for the missing pieces, he relented. He chose the flavors: wild cherry for the black paeppermint for the white knight. Winner could eat both.
As our mother sprinkled flour and rolled out small doughy circles for the steamed dumplings that would be our dihat night, Vi explaihe rules, pointing to each piece. "You have sixteen pieces and so do I. One king and queen, two bishops, two knights, two castles, a pawns. The pawns only move forward oep, except on the first move. Then they move two. But they only take men by moving crossways like this, except in the beginning, when you move ahead and take another pawn."
"Why?" I asked as I moved my pawn. "Why t they move more steps?"
"Because theyre pawns," he said.
"But why do they go crossways to take other men. Why arent there any women and children?"
"Why is the sky blue? Why must you always ask stupid questions?" asked Vi. "This is a game. These are the rules. I didnt make them up. See. Here. In the book." He jabbed a page with a pawn in his hand. "Pawn. P-A-W-N. Pawn. Read it yourself."
My mother patted the flour off her hands. "Let me see book," she said quietly. She sed the pages quickly, not reading the fn English symbols, seeming to search deliberately for nothing in particular.
"This Ameri rules," she cluded at last. "Every time people e out from fn try, must know rules. You not know, judge say, Too bad, go back. They not telling you why so you use their way go forward. They say, Dont know why, you find out yourself. But they knowing all the time. Better you take it, find out why yourself." She tossed her head back with a satisfied smile.
I found out about all the whys later. I read the rules and looked up all the big words in a diary. I borrowed books from the atown library. I studied each chess piece, trying to absorb the power each tained.
I learned about opening moves and why its important to trol the ter early on; the shortest distaween two points is straight down the middle. I learned about the middle game and why tactics between two adversaries are like clashing ideas; the one who plays better has the clearest plans for both attack<var>?9９lｉｂ?</var>ing aing out of traps. I learned why it is essential in the endgame to have fht, a mathematical uanding of all possible moves, and patience; all weaknesses and advantages bee evident to a strong adversary and are obscured to a tiring oppo. I discovered that for the whole game one must gather invisible strengths ahe endgame before the game begins.
I also found out why I should never reveal "why" to others. A little knowledge withheld is a great advantage one should store for future use. That is the power of chess. It is a game of secrets in whiust show and ell.
I loved the secrets I found within the sixty-four blad white squares. I carefully drew a handmade chessboard and pi to the wall o my bed, where at night I would stare for hours at imaginary battles. Soon I no longer lost any games or Life Savers, but I lost my adversaries. Winston and Vi decided they were more ied in roaming the streets after school in their Hopalong Cassidy cowboy hats.
On a cold spring afternoon, while walking home from school, I detoured through the playground at the end of our alley. I saw a group of old men, two seated across a folding table playing a game of chess, others smoking pipes, eatis, and watg. I ran home and grabbed Vis chess set, which was bound in a cardboard box with rubber bands. I also carefully selected two prized rolls of Life Savers. I came back to the park and appr<mark></mark>oached a man who was the game.
"Want to play?" I asked him. His face widened with surprise and he grinned as he looked at the box under my arm.
"Little sister, been a long time since I play with dolls," he said, smiling benevolently. I quickly put the box dowo him on the bend displayed my retort.
Lau Po, as he allowed me to call him, turned out to be a much better player than my brothers. I lost many games and many Life Savers. But over the weeks, with each diminishing roll of dies, I added new secrets. Lau Po gave me the he Double Attack from the East a Shores. Throwing Stones on the Drowning Man. The Suddeing of the . The Surprise from the Sleeping Guard. The Humble Servant Who Kills the King. Sand in the Eyes of Advang Forces. A Double Killing Without Blood.
There were also the fine points of chess etiquette. Keep captured men i rows, as well-tended prisoners. Never announce "Check" with vanity, lest someoh an unseen sword slit your throat. Never hurl pieces into the sandbox after you have lost a game, because then you must find them again, by yourself, after apologizing to all around you. By the end of the summer, Lau Po had taught me all he knew, and I had bee a better chess player.
A small weekend crowd of ese people and tourists would gather as I played aed my oppos one by one. My mother would join the crowds during these outdoor exhibition games. She sat proudly on the bench, telling my admirers with proper ese humility, "Is luck."
A man who watched me play in the park suggested that my mother allow me to play in local chess tours. My mother smiled graciously, an ahat meant nothing. I desperately wao go, but I bit back my tongue. I knew she would not let me play among strangers. So as we walked home I said in a small voice that I didnt want to play in the local tour. They would have Ameri rules. If I lost, I would bring shame on my family.
"Is shame you fall down nobody push you," said my mother.
During my first tour, my mother sat with me in the front row as I waited for my turn. I frequently bounced my legs to unstick them from the etal seat of the folding chair. When my name was called, I leapt up. My mother uned something in her lap. It was her g, a small tablet of red jade which held the suns fire. "Is luck," she whispered, and tucked it into my dress pocket. I turo my oppo, a fifteen-year-old boy from Oakland. He looked at me, wrinkling his nose.
As I began to play, the boy disappeared, the color ran out of the room, and I saw only my white pieces and his blaes waiting oher side. A light wind began blowing past my ears. It whispered secrets only I could hear.
"Blow from the South," it murmured. "The wind leaves no trail." I saw a clear path, the traps to avoid. The crowd rustled. "Shhh! Shhh!" said the ers of the room. The wind blew stronger. "Throw sand from the East to distract him." The knight came forward ready for the sacrifice. The wind hissed, louder and louder. "Blow, blow, blow. He ot see. He is blind now. Make him lean away from the wind so he is easier to knock down."
"Check," I said, as the wind roared with laughter. The wind died down to little puffs, my owh.
My mother placed my first trophy o a new plastic chess set that the neighborhood Tao society had given to me. As she wiped each piece with a soft cloth, she said, "ime win more, lose less."
"Ma, its not hoieces you lose," I said. "Sometimes you o lose pieces to get ahead."
"Better to lose less, see if you really need."
At the our, I won again, but it was my mother who wore the triumphant grin.
"Lost eight piece this time. Last time was eleven. What I tell you? Better off lose less!" I was annoyed, but I couldnt say anything.
I attended more tours, eae farther away from home. I won all games, in all divisions. The ese bakery downstairs from our flat displayed my growing colle of trophies in its window, amidst the dust-covered cakes that were never picked up. The day after I won an important regional tour, the window encased a fresh sheet cake with whipped-cream frosting and red script saying, "gratulations, Waverly Jong, atown Chess Champion." Soon after that, a flower shop, headstone engraver, and funeral parlor offered to sponsor me in national tours. Thats when my mother decided I no longer had to do the dishes. Winston and Vi had to do my chores.
"Why does she get to play and we do all the work," plained Vi.
"Is new Ameri rules," said my mother. "Meimei play, squeeze all her brains out for win chess. You play, worth squeeze towel."
By my ninth birthday, I was a national chess champion. I was still some 429 points away from grand-master status, but I was touted as the Great Ameri Hope, a child prodigy and a girl to boot. They ran a photo of me in Life magazio a quote in which Bobby Fischer said, "There will never be a woman grand master." "Your move, Bobby," said the caption.
The day they took the magazine picture I wore ly plaited braids clipped with plastic barrettes trimmed with rhiones. I laying in a large high school auditorium that echoed with phlegmy coughs and the squeaky rubber knobs of chair legs sliding across freshly waxed wooden floors. Seated across from me was an Ameri man, about the same age as Lau Po, maybe fifty. I remember that his sweaty brow seemed to weep at my every move. He wore a dark, malodorous suit. One of his pockets was stuffed with a great white kerchief on which he wiped his palm before sweeping his hand over the chosen chess piece with great flourish.
In my crisp pink-and-white dress with scratchy lace at the neck, one of two my mother had sewn for these special occasions, I would clasp my hands under my , the delicate points of my elbows poised lightly oable in the manner my mother had shown me for posing for the press. I would swing my pateher shoes bad forth like an impatient child riding on a school bus. Then I would pause, su my lips, twirl my chosen pie midair as if undecided, and then firmly plant it in its hreatening place, with a triumphant smile thrown back at my oppo food measure.
I no longer played in the alley of Waverly Place. I never visited the playground where the pigeons and old men gathered. I went to school, then directly home to learn new chess secrets, cleverly cealed advantages, more escape routes.
But I found it difficult to trate at home. My mother had a habit of standing over me while I plotted out my games. I think she thought of herself as my protective ally. Her lips would be sealed tight, and after each move I made, a soft "Hmmmmph" would escape from her nose.
"Ma, I t practice when you stand there like that," I said one day. She retreated to the kit and made loud noises with the pots and pans. When the crashing stopped, I could see out of the er of my eye that she was standing in the doorway. "Hmmmph!" Only this one came out of her tight throat.
My parents made many cessions to allow me to practice. Oime I plaihat the bedroom I shared was so noisy that I couldnt think. Thereafter, my brothers slept in a bed in the living room fag the street. I said I couldnt finish my rice; my head didnt wht when my stomach was too full. I left the table with half-finished bowls and nobody plained. But there was oy I couldnt avoid. I had to apany my mother on Saturday market days when I had no touro play. My mother would proudly walk with me, visiting many shops, buying very little. "This my daughter Wave-ly Jong," she said to whoever looked her way.
One day, after we left a shop I said under my breath, "I wish you wouldnt do that, telling everybody Im your daughter." My mother stopped walking. Crowds of people with heavy bags pushed past us on the sidewalk, bumping into first one shoulder, then another.
"Aiii-ya. So shame be with mother?" She grasped my hand even tighter as she glared at me.
I looked down. "Its not that, its just so obvious. Its just so embarrassing."
"Embarrass you be my daughter?" Her voice was crag with anger.
"Thats not what I meant. Thats not what I said."
"What you say?"
I k was a mistake to say anything more, but I heard my voice speaking. "Why do you have to use me to show off? If you want to show off, then why dont you learn to play chess."
My mothers eyes turned into dangerous black slits. She had no words for me, just sharp silence.
I felt the wind rushing around my hot ears. I jerked my hand out of my mothers tight grasp and spun around, knog into an old woman. Her bag of groceries spilled to the ground.
"Aii-ya! Stupid girl!" my mother and the woman cried. es and tin s careened down the sidewalk. As my mother stooped to help the old ick up the esg food, I took off.
I raced dowreet, dashiween people, not looking back as my mother screamed shrilly, "Meimei! Meimei!" I fled down an alley, past dark curtained shops and merts washing the grime off their windows. I sped into the sunlight, into a large street crowded with tourists examining tris and souvenirs. I ducked into another dark alley, down areet, up another alley. I ran until it hurt and I realized I had o go, that I was not running from anything. The alleys tained no escape routes.
My breath came out like angry smoke. It was cold. I sat down on an upturned plastic pail o a stapty boxes, cupping my with my hands, thinking hard. I imagined my mother, first walking briskly dowreet or another looking for me, then giving up aurning home to await my arrival. After two hours, I stood up on creaking legs and slowly walked home.
The alley was quiet and I could see the yellow lights shining from our flat like two tigers eyes in the night. I climbed the sixteeo the door, advang quietly up each so as not to make any warning sounds. I turhe knob; the door was locked. I heard a chair moving, quick steps, the locks turning—click! click! click!—and then the door opened.
"About time you got home," said Vi. "Boy, are you in trouble."
He slid back to the diable. On a platter were the remains of a large fish, its fleshy head still ected to bones swimming upstream in vain escape. Standing there waiting for my punishment, I heard my mother speak in a dry voice.
"We not ing this girl. This girl not have ing for us."
Nobody looked at me. Bone chopsticks ked against the insides of bowls beiied into hungry mouths.
I walked into my room, closed the door, and lay down on my bed. The room was dark, the ceiling filled with shadows from the diime lights of neighb flats.
In my head, I saw a chessboard with sixty-four blad white squares. Opposite me was my oppo, two angry black slits. She wore a triumphant smile. "Stro wind ot be seen," she said.
Her black men advanced across the plane, slowly marg to each successive level as a single unit. My white pieces screamed as they scurried and fell off the board one by one. As her men drew closer to my edge, I felt myself growing light. I rose up into the air and flew out the window. Higher and higher, above the alley, over the tops of tiled roofs, where I was gathered up by the wind and pushed up toward the night sky until everything below me disappeared and I was alone.
I closed my eyes and pondered my move.
百度搜索 The Joy Luck Club 天涯 或 The Joy Luck Club 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.