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

believe me, my girl is relentless when she sets her mind to something. She probably taught me more than any teacher could. She made up these crazy little flash cards and pasted them all over the house—labeling every item in sight with the Chinese word. At dinner several times a week we weren’t allowed to use English; we could only speak Chinese. She’s a tough little cookie, and I found out fast that if I wanted my dinner, I had to focus. There were nights I went hungry for hours until I learned the proper words for pass me the chicken .”
    Mari laughed at the story he painted, and Max stopped.
    “Your laugh. It’s so—how do I say this?—infectious. It sounds like music.”
    Mari felt her cheeks burning, and she realized that she hadn’t laughed in such a long time. “ Xie xie . That’s what my husband used to tell me.”
    Max was quiet for a minute, then started back in about his daughter. “Honestly, my daughter took to Chinese much better than me. But then, she was the most determined to learn. By six years old, she could say her colors, numbers, and even speak some simple sentences. By seven she could name every object in the house with its Chinese name. By eight, she’d stop Asian people at the store or wherever and ask them if they could speak Mandarin, then delight them with her own gift.”
    The waiter came and set two mugs and a steaming carafe of tea on the table. Mari picked it up and poured Max a cup. “I’m sure they were very intrigued. Were they American, like your daughter?”
    “Oh, they were intrigued, all right. I don’t know if they were American, but most of them were enchanted at the way she interacted with strangers. And it made me so proud, I felt like busting each time she did it. China was her thing—at nine, she’d recount hours of history and legends. Her mama used to tell her if she spent just half the time working on her math that she did reading about China, that’d she be a genius by high school. But she wasn’t interested in math—her mind was on seeing the Great Wall and visiting Xi’an and the soldiers.”
    Mari watched as he enamored her with stories of his daughter, then suddenly he stopped talking and brought his tea to his lips. For a moment he’d looked happy and excited, but now he shielded his eyes from her and was stone quiet.
    “Why didn’t you bring her here with you, if coming to China was her dream?” she asked.
    Max stared out the front windows a moment, then set his cup down and stood, looking from one corner of the shop to the other. “Is there a bathroom in here?”
    Mari pointed at the far wall. “Yes, just over there.”
    “I’ll be back,” Max said, his voice grave, as he walked away.
    Mari watched his suddenly stiff back and wondered what had changed his mood so abruptly.
    She stared out the window at the corner that the girl, An Ni, had stood at several nights ago. She hadn’t seen her since, but she had thought of her often and even dreamed of her the night before. In the dream, An Ni had beckoned her closer, pulling at her to get to her ear as if to tell her a secret.
    Mari was startled out of her thoughts by the clattering of dishes as the waitress returned and placed the two bowls of dumplings on the table. She left chopsticks, and Mari asked her to bring a few spoons just as Max returned.
    He sat down across from her and cleared his throat. “Are you available as a guide?”
    Mari picked up a dumpling with her chopsticks and sucked the juice from it, then swallowed it. “A guide?”
    “Yes, as you can see, my Chinese isn’t that great—even with the relentless lessons from my daughter—and I’m planning on visiting a few more sites and could use someone to translate the history there.” He lifted his bowl and slurped the broth, looking like a local to Mari as he waited for her answer.
    “But I have to work at the Wall,” she finally said, though to be honest, she dreaded each morning that she trekked to the shed,