The Scavenger's Daughters (Tales of the Scavenger's Daughters, Book One) (6 page)

Calli picked up the pencil and waited with it poised in the air, ready to record the new name once decided, as well as the baby’s finding spot. Every small detail mattered; where they were found, what they wore, contents of any note left with them. Calli often stated that if any of her children wanted to find her birth family one day, they would have every clue she could give them to start their search. In addition, Calli recorded dates of the child’s milestones and for those who were grown, their most recent addresses. No one but Calli had ever looked in the book, but she made it clear that when they were grown, the daughters would be welcome to their pages. So far none of them had ever asked for the information.

The girls quieted when they saw Calli sit down with the book. Bringing it out always settled them down. They all knew the importance it held. As far as the girls were concerned, the book was the most sacred possession in the house, for it contained all of their histories.

“Other ideas?” Benfu asked. He had given all the girls his own surname, so Zheng was already decided. They only needed to find a fitting second character. Years ago and in still many households today, names were picked by the grandparents or given by the local fortune-teller. The choices were usually dictated by the day and time of their birth, their parents’ zodiac signs, and other factors. But Benfu was always one for breaking traditions and superstitions. “Lily, do you have a name you’d like to suggest?”

“What about Poppy? She was found on such a cloudy day and poppies are strong, even in storms.” Lily smiled serenely. Benfu knew that some would wonder how she knew it was cloudy, since she could not see, but the girl had an uncanny ability to know what the weather was at any time. She could feel changes in the atmosphere before anyone could see them. Most of the time she could even forecast the weather for the next day, and Benfu was very proud of her gift.

Around the room everyone nodded in agreement. Even Ivy looked satisfied at the alternate choice. Benfu met eyes with each daughter, as he wanted the choice to be unanimous.

“What do you think, Calla Lily?” Benfu asked after each girl gave her approval.

Calli nodded her agreement, a small smile twitching at her lips. She reached up and tucked a stray hair back into the loose bun on her head.

“That’s perfect, Lily. She is now officially our little Poppy.” Benfu didn’t mention that the older generations felt the poppy was a symbol of China’s humiliation at the hands of European powers. But he pushed the thought back, not wishing to educate his daughters on such rubbish. And anyway, any mention of the opium that had at one time brought his country to such a low level could make him instantly angry.

Behind them Calli bent over the notebook and scrawled the new name inside on a fresh page. She recorded the few other details her husband had shared, including the date printed on the crumpled newspaper that had been in the box with the child. The pages were part of a newspaper from a neighboring town and were dated only the week before. It was a small clue but a clue all the same. The paper and the shirt Poppy had been wearing would go in her own small box to be stacked under the high bed with the rest of them.

Calli closed the book and retied the rope, then put it back into the cupboard and turned the key. She turned around to her children and smiled, clasping her hands together in front of her.

“Another Zheng flower is suitably named,” she said, initiating a loud burst of applauding and giggling from the girls.

Linnea went to the baby girl, pulled her from the cradle, and held her high in the air. The layered split pants and jacket Calli had dressed her in after her quick sponge bath had swallowed her up, making her look even smaller than she was despite the thick layers.

They all laughed as their
jie jie
swung the infant around and sung her new name to her. “Zheng Poppy, you have come, Zheng Poppy, you are the one.…”

Benfu chuckled, then cleared his throat to get their attention. “Okay. Enough fun. Now we get to work.” Around him the girls obediently scattered to their tasks, some to clean the supper dishes and others to sort through the day’s collection.

L
innea rose earlier than usual in her attempt to be out the door before any of her sisters woke up. Walking softly around the room, she tried to be quiet as she dressed and then as she weaved her hair into a simple braid down her back, but Nai Nai heard her stirring and rose to make her a quick breakfast of congee. Linnea turned around and placed her hands on her hips, sighing her frustration.

“Nai Nai, please go back to bed for a while. I don’t need any breakfast,” Linnea whispered. She knew her Nai Nai had a long day ahead of her and she wished she would rest longer.

Nai Nai ignored her and bent to pull her pot from the cupboard. After filling it halfway with water, she set it on the burner and lit the flame. From the canister on the counter she dipped out a few cups of rice and added them to the pot.

Linnea shook her head and took a seat at the table. She looked down at her watch and gave another dramatic sigh that her Nai Nai ignored.

Within minutes Nai Nai had served up a steaming bowl of congee and set it in front of Linnea. She ate quickly, eager to get on her way. She took care not to tap her spoon against the porcelain bowl, but even though she made no noise, her sisters began to stir.

Now with the comfortable lump of hot rice in her stomach, she briskly walked the half mile or so to the corner where her
laoban
had chosen to set up that week.

This morning her mind was on other matters—stuff that she didn’t want to discuss with anyone else. These days she was feeling more and more pressure to do something to change the fate of her family. She was tired of being poor but more than that, she wanted to do something that would give her Ye Ye and Nai Nai some peace for the short time they had left on earth. They were old. It was a hard truth to accept, but Linnea knew they wouldn’t be around too many more years. Already her precious Ye Ye coughed constantly, and Nai Nai got slower and stiffer every day because of her raging arthritis. Most days she didn’t even pick up her beloved knitting. Linnea had seen her eyeing it with longing when her hands hurt too badly to work the needles. It just wasn’t fair. They had given so much to give girls like her a chance at life, and despite their years of hard work, they still lived at almost the lowest level of poverty in town. Scavengers—Linnea hated the ugly label put on her and her family. Ye Ye had taught her to be satisfied with her station in life and as far as he knew, she was—but lately Linnea was fighting a discontent that refused to leave her. All around her, people were moving into the future with their fancy cars, computers, and other possessions they took for granted. Yet her family was lucky to be able to eat meat once a week and only had one bed in the house, not to mention the hand-me-down clothes that had made their way through dozens of girls. It was just unfair.

As she crossed the busy street, she passed a line of schoolgirls about her age coming from the other direction. Looking at their squeaky-clean white and blue uniforms and shiny running shoes, Linnea felt self-conscience and reached up to smooth the loose hairs around her face toward her braid. She looked down at her stained jeans and ragged shoes and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Her coat was also nothing to be proud of, as she had worn it since she was thirteen and the sleeves were at least an inch or so too short. She reached down to yank at one, trying to cover her pale wrist. She shouldn’t have worried; the girls didn’t even notice her. It was like she was
invisible as they continued to skip ahead, giggling and chatting to one another, oblivious to her discomfort.

Just an added bright spot in another monotonous day,
she thought sarcastically as she hurried down the street. She refused to allow herself to even think about the day ahead for the schoolgirls. The books, neat classrooms, and free time with friends—she remembered those days. Because she was considered a
child of the state
, she’d been allowed only eight years of schooling before they’d pushed her out.

She thought of her battered spiral notebook tucked deep into her backpack. She hoped to have time after work to go to the park and spend some time drawing. She knew she was good and wished she could attend art classes to show others that a poor girl from the old side of town could still have talent. And she’d put her reading and writing skills up against any of them. If only she were allowed to take them, she knew she could pass the historically ruthless university entrance exams. Her Ye Ye had taught all of them calligraphy and insisted they learn at least a hundred new characters a month, along with memorizing many famous lines of poetry. He was a fine teacher and Linnea felt a spark of guilt for wishing she were still in public school.

She strained her eyes and could see the bicycle repair stand a block ahead and already a few people waiting to have repairs done. She picked up the pace, hoping to get there in time to share in the profits of the early jobs.

“Zao.”
She called out a morning greeting to Lao Joh.

In reply he tossed a bicycle tube at her. “Find the hole and fix this.”

Despite the short warning, Linnea caught the tube in midair. The customers gave her a curious look and then went back to minding their own business. She was used to Lao Joh’s curt attitude and most of the time she just ignored it. She took the newly inflated tube and began rolling it through a bucket of water, looking for the air bubbles to form that would show her the hole.

Finding a gathering of small bubbles, she covered them with her finger and pulled a rag from the supply box. She dried the tube, then used a piece
of chalk to mark the hole. Using her hand tool, she scraped and brushed at the bad spot to prepare it for adhesive.

“See how slow this girl works beside the master,” Lao Joh stated to the crowd, breaking Linnea’s concentration. He was already working on another tube for another customer. Linnea quickened her pace until she heard a flurry of whispers.

She looked up to find everyone around them grinning at the silent competition. She considered slowing down as she knew her boss would lose face if he was beaten by a girl, but something in her refused to bow and she picked up her pace again.

She grabbed the tube of glue and very precisely squeezed out just enough to cover the hole. She didn’t want to get chastised for wasting too much, especially in front of the growing audience of gawkers around her. Beside her, Lao Joh picked up his glue and slopped a big patch of it on the tire tube he held.

Linnea glanced over at Lao Joh as they both waited the agonizingly long few seconds for the patching to dry. She saw him take his lighter from his pocket and light it next to the glue, cheating to dry it faster.

“Here.” A young guy watching them from the crowd caught her attention and threw her his lighter. She caught it with one hand and hesitated, looking over at Lao Joh. He could’ve saved his glaring look of warning; she knew how he felt about her ability to use a flame properly. She wasn’t allowed—short and simple. Using the flame could result in owing the customer a new tube, a mistake that would cost her
laoban
dearly. But if he was going to do it, she was, too. He shook his head at her but she ignored him and flicked the lighter, holding the flame to the glue just as he had, causing a murmur of amusement around her.

Instead of the short flick of flame that she expected, the flame jumped and ran the length of the tube. Linnea jumped up and using her hand, slapped out the fire. Ignoring the sting on her palm and the one to her pride, she tossed the lighter back to the stranger.

“I told you that you weren’t smart enough to use the old ways,” Lao Joh snorted.

Linnea didn’t reply. Anything she said would mean trouble for her. But she still wanted to beat him. She couldn’t help herself.

Simultaneously she and Lao Joh both turned to their customer’s bicycles. Linnea quickly made sure the glue was dry, then rolled the tube once more through her bucket of water, searching to make sure there weren’t any more holes. Then she pressed the almost-deflated tube into place inside the tire. Now biting down on her lip in concentration, she used her thumbs to push the tire into the frame, flinching when she pinched her skin next to the metal.