Mambo in Chinatown by Jean Kwok Page A

me tight. “Charlie, I wish I could always be with you.”
    Startled, I was silent a moment, then I hugged her back. “I’m here. Are you feeling all right? Is there something wrong at school?”
    Lisa just held me. Then she said, “No.”
    I pulled away to stare at her slender face in the dim light, so much like Ma’s with its widow’s peak and pointy chin. “Really? You know you can tell me.”
    Her eyes began to redden but she didn’t speak.
    “There is something. What is it?”
    She sniffed and looked away. “Nothing you can help me with.”
    “It’s the stress of the Hunter test, isn’t it? You don’t need to take it.”
    “No, I’m fine about that.”
    “You don’t have to go to that stupid school. Or is it because you don’t feel prepared?” I’d meant to get some books to help her study but didn’t really know where to start. Every time I saw a textbook, I felt a cold lump in the pit of my stomach, remembering all of the times I’d struggled myself. I had to pull myself together for Lisa. I was a bad sister.
    “Really.” Lisa laid a hand against my cheek. “I’m okay and the test’s not the problem. I promise.”
    I placed my hand over hers. “Good. Then we’d better get you back to bed.”
    “How often is this happening?” Pa stood in the doorway of the living room. He looked older than usual, his disheveled hair stood on end.
    I looked at Lisa. Her eyes begged me not to tell him. “First time,” I said.
    —
    The next morning, Pa brewed the caterpillar soup for us. He had kept the caterpillars in an airtight box loaned from Uncle Henry allthis time because Lisa and I had refused to eat them, but now he was adamant. We all sat around the small table with bowls of the viscous liquid in front of us. It was gray mixed with brown and smelled like dank earth. Thank goodness Pa had strained the caterpillars and herbs out of the soup. He must have known that if we’d been confronted with the bodies, we would have refused no matter what he said. But I had seen the little worms as he’d dropped them into the ceramic pot.
    I stared at my bowl. “Are you really sure this works?”
    “It’s unscientific and unhygienic,” said Lisa.
    “Lisa.” I didn’t want to drink it either, but I didn’t want her to be disrespectful to Pa. It was too late to avoid the soup now.
    She continued as if I hadn’t said anything. “This could result in our getting parasites. In the best-case scenario, we’d throw up from disgustingness.”
    I breathed in. “Come on, Uncle Henry just cured that new delivery boy from the noodle shop of asthma, remember? He knows what he’s doing.”
    “He used acupuncture. That guy didn’t have to drink worm soup.”
    Pa’s angular face was firm. “This worm soup cost us almost a hundred and fifty dollars.”
    Lisa swallowed and glanced at our Broadway show jar. A hundred and fifty dollars was a huge part of our household budget. I knew what she was thinking. We could almost have saved for another ticket with this amount. But I thought of Lisa and her nightmares. Maybe it would work. I’d drink the soup because that meant she would too.
    “Drink up,” Pa said. “This is good for all of us. I will too. It is only because of Uncle Henry’s kindness that we have access to such powerful medicine.”
    Lisa and I had years of experience drinking this sort of thing. We waited for the soup to cool, then held our breaths and gulped it down as quickly as possible. It tasted vile: bitter and slimy, with an undertone of mud. Then we ran to the sink and washed our mouths out with water.
    “That is a waste,” Pa said.
    “I want a glass of soda,” Lisa panted.
    “Not allowed,” said Pa. “The bubbles will counter the power of the soup.”
    I was heaving like I was going to vomit. I wanted to, only Pa would be so disappointed.
    “Here.” Pa gave us each a piece of dried salted plum. It was a relief to have another taste in my mouth.
    “They were boiled so long, all