Waxing Moon Read Online Free

probably fried scallion patties, as she neared the thatched-roof mud house.
    “Here I am,” Mrs. Wang thundered at the entrance.
    “Please come in, Mrs. Wang. Thank you for coming to our humble home,” said Dubak, a copper-faced farm worker with a simple smile as he bowed down.
    “Ah, Mrs. Wang. You are here already and I am not half done with cooking. Please have a seat.” Jaya came out into the yard from the kitchen with Mr. O’s baby in her right arm and a spatula in her left hand.
    “She is doing quite well, Mrs. Wang.” Jaya smiled broadly, showing the baby to her. “I really thought she wouldn’t make it. She was so small and weak in the beginning. But with my milk, look at her. She is thriving. Drinking more than my son. She sometimes leaves none for him. . . .” She went on and on.
    “How are you doing?” Mrs. Wang asked to divert her attention.
    “I am doing fine, Mrs. Wang.” Jaya smiled again.
    “Are you carrying another?” Mrs. Wang asked bluntly, looking at her midriff.
    “Yes, I am.” Jaya’s cabbage face turned purple. Naturally large, people often thought that she was pregnant when she was not.
    Mrs. Wang cleared her throat. No children, no trouble had been the motto of her life, but there were people with a different outlook on life. So that was that. But right now, hunger pinched her stomach.
    “Smells good here. I smelled fried scallion patties from the corn field,” Mrs. Wang said. She was sitting on the raised floor at the entrance to the hut. Flies were buzzing around the food, which was covered with a hemp cloth.
    “That’s why I married her. She makes the best scallion patties in the village,” Dubak said, dropping a bundle of potatoes in the middle of their yard. “Mrs. Wang, I would like you to take this. These potatoes taste like chestnuts. So flavorful they melt in your mouth,” he said proudly.
    “I appreciate your gift, but my aging legs are not as agile as they once were. I can’t carry that sack back home. I will take a few,” Mrs. Wang said, examining the cooked potatoes peeking out from under the hemp cloth on a low table.
    “I will carry it for you.”
    “What did I do to deserve that?”
    “You brought my son out to this world. He is such a good sleeper. He is sleeping right now by the way. But I must say, and forgive me for saying this, but Mr. O’s daughter keeps my wife awake all night. Every night, she cries several times. My son and I sleep through thunder. But the baby girl’s a very delicate sort,” Dubak said, scratching his head vigorously.
    Mrs. Wang quickly understood that the invitation to their son’s one-hundredth-day birthday had a flip side. They were also wondering when another money pouch might find its way to them from Mr. O.
    “Tomorrow is her hundredth day. We wonder if it will be all right to celebrate hers the way we do, or do they have something else in mind? Commoners like us don’t know how to imitate the nobleman’s way of life. Besides, we don’t have the means to do it anyway,” Dubak said, pulling his hair. “My wife says we should take her home for the occasion, so that they can see how well she has been fed and taken care of. But I say no, we can’t go uninvited, even though we care for their offspring.”
    “I get your meaning. But I thought you were paid. I mean, your wife was paid for the entire period of nursing the baby up front. Is that not true?” Mrs. Wang asked, raising her caterpillar eyebrows.
    “Yes, of course,” Dubak answered. “But that’s not—that’s not what I am wondering. It’s not the-the money,” he stuttered.
    “Of course it’s the money,” his wife interrupted. “Mrs. Wang, we are commoners. And I can only speak as a commoner. I was paid for nursing their baby. It’s true they paid enough money for that. But is milk all that a baby needs? She needs clothes, she needs . . .” She couldn’t think of what else a baby needed. “Personally, I am a little