Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party Read Online Free Page B

wasting her years of schooling to be just a housewife.
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Wong,” said Mother. “On such a hot day, we don’t want to trouble you.”
    â€œNo trouble! Why don’t you all come up and have ice cream? I made some yesterday after the electricity came back on.” She picked up the big shopping bag. Niu snapped shut Father’s music book, Romantic Songs from Russia, and slipped it back onto the shelf. He could sing half the songs in that book.
    My eyes begged Mother.
    â€œAll right, Ling. You can go for a while. I’m afraid I have to stay here and write up reports for new
patients.” Mother straightened my collar. The rash around my neck itched and burned again. “You behave!”
    Whenever Mother and Mrs. Wong were together they reminded me of flowers in our courtyard garden. Mother was like a proud white rose, which stood alone. I was afraid to touch her because of her thorns. Mrs. Wong was fragrant and warm like a red peony, which always welcomed visitors. I wanted to be close to her.
    I glanced at Father, hoping he would go. He loved ice cream almost as much as I did. Father looked up. “No, thank you. I have to go to the hospital soon.”
    Dr. Wong didn’t even look up from the magazine. “You know I don’t care for sweets,” he said as he continued reading. “And I have to go to the hospital, too.”
    I was afraid of Dr. Wong. His eyes never smiled from behind his gold-framed glasses. Unlike Father, he made no jokes. His smell reminded me of small plum flowers with pink petals, the only flower that blossomed in our courtyard on cold snowy days. Behind their backs, I had heard the nurses call Father and Dr. Wong “the two handsome surgeons, Dr. Warm and Dr. Cold.” Though they were very different,
Father and Dr. Wong were good friends. Both of them had been Dr. Smith’s favorite students. They would chat in English over tea for hours. Patients came from all over the country seeking their help. One from northern China had traveled two days to see them.
    â€œWell, let’s go have ice cream, then. Who is coming?” Mrs. Wong looked at me and smiled.
    My eyes followed Niu as he edged toward the door. I moved in front of him and yelled, “You can only beat me in your dreams!” I jabbed him with an elbow as we crowded through the doorway.
    â€œLing!” Mother’s scolding chased me up the stairs, along with Niu. “Be a lady!”
    â€œNiu, you’re losing again!” Mrs. Wong’s tinkling laugh echoed along the staircase.
    Barely beating Niu, I slapped the gold lion knocker on the heavy red door. “Touched base!” Turning back, I smiled proudly at him.
    Niu’s pale face had turned red. His glasses had slipped down on his nose. “Oh, I let you win. You know I am a nice brother.” He pushed back his glasses.
    Niu was four years older than I was. I barely reached his shoulder. All the kids living around the
courtyard knew I had a “big brother,” even though he didn’t live with us. Whenever I played with him in the courtyard, I felt safe and protected. Father always said when I was born he was happy to have a daughter, because he already had a son—Niu.
    I thought Niu was the luckiest boy in China. Along with having a real bathtub, a heater, and a refrigerator, his family was the only one I knew who owned a sewing machine.
    â€œNiu, get the bowls ready. I’ll get the ice cream out in a minute.” Mrs. Wong set the shopping bag on the redwood table in the middle of their living room. “Come here, Ling. Let me show you some fabric.” She led me to the sandalwood dresser beside the bathroom. It was decorated with carvings of a phoenix. The top shelf held layers of blankets. The middle shelf was full of colorful sweaters. She kept all her sewing fabric on the bottom shelf.
    â€œWhich would you like for your new blouse?” She dabbed her