Magic lent itself to temperament.
“Maybe not,” said Vivian.
When Vivian was angry she did it with the same single-minded energy she did everything else. This was why she decided to go wedding dress shopping in the week of her grandmother’s funeral.
There were numerous practical justifications, actually. She went through them in her head as she drove past bridal studios where faceless mannequins struck poses in clouds of tulle.
“Cheaper to get it here than overseas. Not like I’m helping much at home what. Not like I was so close to Nai Nai.”
She stared mournfully at herself in the mirror, weighted down by satin and rhinestones. Did she want a veil? Did she like lace? Ball gown or mermaid shape?
She’d imagined her wedding dress as being white and long. She hadn’t expected there to be so many permutations on a theme. She felt pinned in place by the choices available to her.
The shop assistant could tell her heart wasn’t in it.
“Some ladies like other colour better,” said the shop assistant. “You want to try? We have blue, pink, peach, yellow—very nice colour, very feminine.”
“I thought usually white?”
“Some ladies don’t like white because—you know—” the shop assistant lowered her voice, but she was too superstitious to say it outright. “It’s related to a not so nice subject.”
The words clanged in Vivian’s ears. Briefly light-headed, she clutched at the back of a chair for balance. Her hands were freezing. In the mirror the white dress looked like a shroud. Her face hovering above it was the face of a mourner, or a ghost.
“Now that I’ve tried it, I’m not sure I like Western gown so much,” said Vivian, speaking with difficulty.
“We have cheongsam or qun kua,” said the shop assistant. “Very nice, very traditional. Miss is so slim, will suit the cheongsam.”
The jolt of red brocade was a relief. Vivian took a dress with gold trimmings, the highest of high collars and an even higher slit along the sides. Dragons and phoenixes writhed along the fabric. It was as red as a blare of trumpets, as red as the pop of fireworks.
This fresh chilli red had never suited her. In it she looked paler than ever, washed out by the vibrant shade. But the colour was a protective charm. It laid monsters to rest. It shut out hungry ghosts. It frightened shadows back into the corners where they belonged.
Vivian crept home with her spoils. That night she slept and did not dream of anything.
The next morning she regretted the purchase. Her fiancé would think it was ridiculous. She couldn’t wear a cheongsam down the aisle of an Anglican church. She would take it back to the boutique and return it. After all the white satin mermaid dress had suited her. The sweetheart neckline was so much more flattering than a mandarin collar.
She shoved the cheongsam in a bag and tried to sneak out, but Wei Yi was sitting on the floor of the laundry room, in the way of her exit. She was surrounded by webs of filigreed red paper.
“What’s this?” said Vivian.
“It’s called paper cutting,” said Wei Yi, not looking up. “You never see before meh?”
On the floor the paper cuttings unfurled. Some were disasters: a mutilated fish floated past like tumbleweed; a pair of flirtatious girls had been torn apart by an overly enthusiastic slash. But some of the pieces were astounding.
“Kwan Yin,” said Vivian.
The folds in the goddess’s robes had been rendered with extraordinary delicacy. Her eyes were gentle, her face double-chinned. Her halo was a red moon circled by ornate clouds.
“It’s for Nai Nai,” said Wei Yi. “Maybe Kwan Yin will have mercy on her even though she’s so blasphemous.”
“Shouldn’t talk like that about the dead,” said Vivian.
Wei Yi rolled her eyes, but the effort of her craft seemed to absorbing all her evil energies. Her response was mild: “It’s not disrespectful if it’s true.”
Her devotion touched Vivian. Surely not many
“Maybe not,” said Vivian.
When Vivian was angry she did it with the same single-minded energy she did everything else. This was why she decided to go wedding dress shopping in the week of her grandmother’s funeral.
There were numerous practical justifications, actually. She went through them in her head as she drove past bridal studios where faceless mannequins struck poses in clouds of tulle.
“Cheaper to get it here than overseas. Not like I’m helping much at home what. Not like I was so close to Nai Nai.”
She stared mournfully at herself in the mirror, weighted down by satin and rhinestones. Did she want a veil? Did she like lace? Ball gown or mermaid shape?
She’d imagined her wedding dress as being white and long. She hadn’t expected there to be so many permutations on a theme. She felt pinned in place by the choices available to her.
The shop assistant could tell her heart wasn’t in it.
“Some ladies like other colour better,” said the shop assistant. “You want to try? We have blue, pink, peach, yellow—very nice colour, very feminine.”
“I thought usually white?”
“Some ladies don’t like white because—you know—” the shop assistant lowered her voice, but she was too superstitious to say it outright. “It’s related to a not so nice subject.”
The words clanged in Vivian’s ears. Briefly light-headed, she clutched at the back of a chair for balance. Her hands were freezing. In the mirror the white dress looked like a shroud. Her face hovering above it was the face of a mourner, or a ghost.
“Now that I’ve tried it, I’m not sure I like Western gown so much,” said Vivian, speaking with difficulty.
“We have cheongsam or qun kua,” said the shop assistant. “Very nice, very traditional. Miss is so slim, will suit the cheongsam.”
The jolt of red brocade was a relief. Vivian took a dress with gold trimmings, the highest of high collars and an even higher slit along the sides. Dragons and phoenixes writhed along the fabric. It was as red as a blare of trumpets, as red as the pop of fireworks.
This fresh chilli red had never suited her. In it she looked paler than ever, washed out by the vibrant shade. But the colour was a protective charm. It laid monsters to rest. It shut out hungry ghosts. It frightened shadows back into the corners where they belonged.
Vivian crept home with her spoils. That night she slept and did not dream of anything.
The next morning she regretted the purchase. Her fiancé would think it was ridiculous. She couldn’t wear a cheongsam down the aisle of an Anglican church. She would take it back to the boutique and return it. After all the white satin mermaid dress had suited her. The sweetheart neckline was so much more flattering than a mandarin collar.
She shoved the cheongsam in a bag and tried to sneak out, but Wei Yi was sitting on the floor of the laundry room, in the way of her exit. She was surrounded by webs of filigreed red paper.
“What’s this?” said Vivian.
“It’s called paper cutting,” said Wei Yi, not looking up. “You never see before meh?”
On the floor the paper cuttings unfurled. Some were disasters: a mutilated fish floated past like tumbleweed; a pair of flirtatious girls had been torn apart by an overly enthusiastic slash. But some of the pieces were astounding.
“Kwan Yin,” said Vivian.
The folds in the goddess’s robes had been rendered with extraordinary delicacy. Her eyes were gentle, her face double-chinned. Her halo was a red moon circled by ornate clouds.
“It’s for Nai Nai,” said Wei Yi. “Maybe Kwan Yin will have mercy on her even though she’s so blasphemous.”
“Shouldn’t talk like that about the dead,” said Vivian.
Wei Yi rolled her eyes, but the effort of her craft seemed to absorbing all her evil energies. Her response was mild: “It’s not disrespectful if it’s true.”
Her devotion touched Vivian. Surely not many
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