Read Red Skies (The Tales of the Scavenger's Daughters) for Free Online

citizen, I won’t want a bunch of people on my back either,” Max said and winked at her.
    “He is old. But he’s not that old. Anyway, he was being obstinate one day about going to his shelter, and Bolin—my husband—got angry and leapt on his back, then kicked at him as though he was riding a bull. Chu Chu started charging, then stopped dead in his tracks and threw Bolin over his head. Since then, my husband’s been in agony because his back really hasn’t healed.”
    That made her think of Bolin’s medication, and she felt a flush of guilt that he was waiting for her.
    “Man, that sounds awful. Can’t the doctors do anything for him?” Max asked.
    Mari reached in her bag, rummaging for the pills. “They say his back is not broken—it was just strained. They gave him these pills—hold on, I can’t remember the name.”
    She pulled the bag closer to the window for more light and opened it wide. The pills were not there. “Oh no. I hope I didn’t drop his medicine. It was in my bag last night—I’m sure of it.”
    “Look again,” Max urged her. “We can go back if we need to look at the wall.”
    She rummaged some more. She vividly remembered putting the bottle back in her bag the night before. She was always careful. The pills were strong, and she didn’t want Bolin getting them and taking more than he should.
    “They aren’t here. I hope they fell out last night and are at my house.” She knew Bolin would have no reason to think she’d left them behind, so he wouldn’t look for them. She just hoped she got to them before he stumbled over the bottle.
    The driver pulled to the curb, and they got out of the car. Instead of heading to her regular bus stop, she followed Max to the noodle shop.
    Inside they sat at a corner table, and Mari tried to hide her smile at Max’s somewhat intelligible attempt at ordering cha and the special of the day, Běijīng ji a oz i . The server—a small-framed and shy girl—watched him talk then turned to Mari for translation. She complied and reiterated that they wanted green tea and dumplings. Max threw his hands in the air as the waitress walked away, scribbling their order on her pad.
    “What? Isn’t that what I just said?”
    He looked so incredulous that Mari let out a laugh, then covered her mouth. She nodded. “It’s your face. You are too white. She doesn’t expect Chinese to come from you, so her ears aren’t attuned to it. But yes, you said it correctly.”
    He rolled his eyes. “I was in here yesterday, and they understood me just fine.”
    But then he smiled, and Mari knew he wasn’t really upset. She liked that in him. Most of the foreigners she dealt with got frustrated and short tempered when they couldn’t be understood or things didn’t go their way. She’d seen more than one stomp away, cursing to themselves that they’d ever come to China, reactions usually brought about after they’d become winded while walking along the wall, or when too many souvenir hawkers had pushed them past their limits. What some didn’t understand was the difference between selling five postcard packets or none might mean the difference between feeding their family that night or going hungry. Jobs weren’t easy to come by in China, and tapping into the foreign tourist market was usually one of the last resorts for those who couldn’t find other, less frustrating work.
    “Where did you learn to speak Chinese?” Mari asked.
    Max dropped his eyes to the plastic menu on the table and played with the curled-up corner. “My daughter.”
    “Oh, is she a teacher?”
    He looked up at her, and Mari thought she saw a flash of pain before he camouflaged it with a smile. “No, not officially. But since she became old enough to speak, she’s been infatuated with China. We—well, really she —decided we’d try to learn to speak the language, and eventually, we’d come here.”
    “Did you also have a formal teacher?”
    Max let out a small chuckle. “No, but