Holidays are Hell

"I will do it," Six offered, and with some direction, found the leaves. A hot water dispenser leaned against the wall; she let the water flow into a little ceramic pot, and breathed in the steam. She let it steep for a moment, then poured Wenxia a cup. The old woman nodded her thanks.

Six sat opposite the old woman, and sipped her own cup of tea. It tasted good, and she felt herself relax as she watched Wenxia work. Her hands were gnarled and brown, but she made the dumplings efficiently, without sign of pain.

"Can I help?" Six asked.

"Oh, no," Wenxia replied, but she said it with a smile, and Six reached over for a dough skin. It had been a long time since she had tried her hand at making dumplings—there was an art to it—but she wanted to feel the sensation of cooking, of preparing, of putting herself into something other than fighting. She thought of Joseph, and smiled.

"Ah," murmured Wenxia. "You do care about him."

"Are you a mind reader?" she asked, startled.

"No need. I saw your smile. Only a man makes a woman smile like that. You care."

Six saw no use denying the truth. Still, she hesitated. "Yes, I do."

The old woman's mouth quirked. "You have to think about it?"

"No," Six replied. "But speaking of such things is… difficult for me."

"You are a product of the state," Wenxia said. "I can see it in your face."

"Does that bother you?"

"No." A dumpling thumped onto a plate. "But it makes you react differently to things some people take for granted. Like making dumplings, for example. You have never spent a holiday with family, have you?"

"No," Six said. "Never."

"Life is isolating enough, but when forced to live under the cold standard of a government machine…" Wenxia stopped. "Well, times are changing. One day, you and your kind will be as antiquated as my own generation. Relics. And no one will remember what was suffered."

"No one ever does," Six said, struggling to press the dough around the meat in the center. "And no one will ever care as much as you do about your own life."

Wenxia put down her spoon. "Joseph would care that much. About you. And if you had any heart in you, you would care that much about him."

Six set aside her dumpling. "He doesn't know me."

The old woman's eyes narrowed. "If anyone knows you, it's him. It's what he does. Something I think you're well aware of."

Six said nothing. Wenxia sighed. "Do you know what he does for work? Many things, you know. He makes big money being a therapist to rich men. Giving them advice. Guiding them in their lives. He does that several times a year. Makes enough, and then he leaves. Runs away to places where the people are hurting, dying. And there—there—he uses his real power. He makes people whole. He gives them hope. Helps them move on."

"Did he help you?" Six asked, and instantly regretted it.

Wenxia looked down, shoulders hunching. "His father did. He… dulled my pain. Made it bearable."

Six did not know how to answer. Wenxia saved her from trying. She leaned on the table, her bright eyes glittering.

"You know the story of the Spring Festival, yes? How a monster would descend from a mountain to terrorize a village year after year, eating people, stealing children. Until finally, someone said enough. And they attacked that monster with nothing but a firework. Boom! And the monster fled! Back to its mountain."

The old woman started making dumplings again. "The New Year holiday is a time of faith, child. Symbols, colors, flashes of light and sound—all of it, faith. Faith in a new beginning, in the power of hope. Faith in the ability of people to be more than what they dream. And it is a good dream, yes?"

"Yes," Six said softly. "Precious, even."

Wenxia smiled. "People become so discouraged. There are monsters everywhere, beating them down, stealing their dreams. Except the monsters are such cowards! A loud noise, a sharp light, that is all it takes to drive them away. Face them and be strong, and they will not be able to stand against you."

"And what if the people themselves become monsters? What if I am the monster?"

Wenxia gave her a knowing smile, and patted her hand. "Shine a light inside you, child. Make a loud noise."

Six, Joseph, and Wenxia shared a lovely dinner of dumplings, the finest Six had ever had—and the first that she remembered sitting down to, with people other than orphans or military. She asked Joseph if it would be possible for him to learn of her life before she had been taken in by the government, if those memories were still there, buried. He thought it likely. But Six did not ask him to try. Not then. She was not ready to remember.

She and Joseph did not stay long after the dinner. There was too much on the line, and the sense of urgency that pressed upon them was sharp enough to taste. A ruining effect, on an otherwise wonderful meal, though Six felt worse about leaving Wenxia.

They took a cab back to the Shanghai. It was difficult to find one, on New Year's day. They directed their driver to take them to the Bund.