Peach Blossom Pavilion by Mingmei Yip

English words that I tried but failed to read. I turned to Spring Moon. "Can you read those chicken's intestines?"
    She smiled proudly. "Of course." Then, her lips pouted like a chicken's ass, she began to read. "Poor Little Rich Girl."
    "Wah! Where did you learn English?"
    "My father used to hire a private tutor to teach us." A pause, then she asked regally, "Xiang Xiang, have you ever seen a movie?"
    Pathetically I shook my head.
    A smile bloomed on her face. "My father used to take me to all the movie theaters: the Peking, the Embassy, and the Lyceum. If you have a chance to go inside these places, I bet you'll be impressed. They're like palaces! "
    Spring Moon's eyes turned red. I looked away into the distance across the harbor behind the hazy skyline. A ship was blowing its whistle as it passed another. Like a pair of scissors, a third ship slid soundlessly through the sapphire waves, its American flag fluttering in the breeze like a brightly colored dress.
    America! I muttered to myself. I hoped someday I'd be able to leave Shanghai to see the world, places such as America where I could meet this famous, strange woman called Mali Pig For.
    Two rickshaws sped past ours; the coolies' bare feet kicked up clouds of dust.

    Everything outside Peach Blossom was so real, so lively ... and yet illusory. Life seemed a deep, confused dream.
    When I was about to turn back to talk to Spring Moon, the rickshaw suddenly pulled to a stop, jolting us forward. Fang Rong paid the two heavily sweating coolies, then, with an imperious air, led us into the hairstyling establishment.
    The walls of the shop were covered with mirrors, giving it a spacious, mysterious look. Pasted on the mirrors were pictures of Chinese movie stars; all had shiny, styled hair like black waves gleaming under the moon.
    Upon seeing us, several men, white towels draped over their arms, hurried to greet Fang Rong. They smiled obsequiously at her but scrutinized us like wolves. After we sat down, Mama told them to fix each of us a different hairdo.
    She thrust a pudgy finger at jade Vase. "She has an ugly mole on her forehead, so give her the weeping willow bang to hide it." Then she motioned to Spring Moon. "Her face's too round and her forehead too low, so give her the one-line bang to cover everything." Finally she turned to me, smiling generously. "This one's lucky; she'll get the glamorous star-studded sky."
    Wah! I almost burst into happy laughter. Star-studded sky! But I had no time to relish this honor, for the three hairstylists, smiling knowingly, had already begun to muss our hair with expertly moving fingers.
    It took more than an hour for the three men to cut, wash, and style our hair. We looked at each other in the mirror and discovered that Jade Vase's forehead was covered by a narrow patch of soft hair hung low like weeping willow branches. Spring Moon's face was framed with thick bangs and straight hair down the sides, which magically made her round face look slender. For myself, I was pleased to see my hair pulled backward to reveal my much-envied high forehead and melon-seed face. Moreover, my threethousand-threads-of-trouble were decorated with a gold clasp blossoming with pearls! My face seemed to have changed. Suddenly it looked glamorous . . . as if I were a real movie star who'd dance with swirling dress to dreamy music in a grand ballroom hung with glittering chandeliers!

    A sob woke me from my intoxication; I turned and caught Spring Moon's gaze. Her teary eyes lingered on my face like a cat pathetically pawing a fish bone.
    "Spring Moon," I took a deep breath, "why-"
    Mama's coarse voice roared in the air. "Spring Moon, stop that! Don't envy the others. You should be grateful not only that you're still alive, but that you're alive with styled hair and a slender face, instead of one that looks like a puffed bun!"
    Spring Moon shut up at once. After that, Mama quickly paid and led us out of the shop. This time she didn't had rickshaws. To my