The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan

sailboats, and fishing boats like this one, with a long bow and small house in the middle. I looked hard, my heart beating fast.
    â€œThere!” I said, and pointed to a floating pavilion filled with laughing people and lanterns. “There! There!” And I began to cry, desperate to reach my family and be comforted. The fishing boat glided swiftly over, toward the good cooking smells.
    â€œ E!” called the woman up to the boat. “Have you lost a little girl, a girl who fell in the water?”
    There were some shouts from the floating pavilion, and I strained to see faces of Amah, Baba, Mama. People were crowded on one side of the pavilion, leaning over, pointing, looking into our boat. All strangers, laughing red faces, loud voices. Where was Amah? Why did my mother not come? A little girl pushed her way through some legs.
    â€œThat’s not me!” she cried. “I’m here. I didn’t fall in the water.” The people in the boat roared with laughter and turned away.
    â€œLittle sister, you were mistaken,” said the woman as the fishing boat glided away. I said nothing. I began to shiver again. I had seen nobody who cared that I was missing. I looked out over the water at the hundreds of dancing lanterns. Firecrackers were exploding and I could hear more people laughing. The farther we glided, the bigger the world became. And I now felt I was lost forever.
    The woman continued to stare at me. My braid was unfurled. My undergarments were wet and gray. I had lost my slippers and was barefoot.
    â€œWhat shall we do?” said one of the men quietly. “Nobody to claim her.”
    â€œMaybe she is a beggar girl,” said one of the men. “Look at her clothes. She is one of those children who ride the flimsy rafts to beg for money.”
    I was filled with terror. Maybe this was true. I had turned into a beggar girl, lost without my family.
    â€œAnh! Don’t you have eyes?” said the woman crossly. “Look at her skin, too pale. And her feet, the bottoms are soft.”
    â€œPut her on the shore, then,” said the man. “If she truly has a family, they will look for her there.”
    â€œSuch a night!” sighed another man. “Always someone falling in on holiday nights. Drunken poets and little children. Lucky she didn’t drown.” They chatted like this, back and forth, moving slowly toward shore. One man pushed the boat with a long bamboo pole and we glided between other boats. When we reached the dock, the man who had fished me out of the water lifted me out of the boat with his fishy-smelling hands.
    â€œBe careful next time, little sister,” called the woman as their boat glided away.
    On the dock, with the bright moon behind me, I once again saw my shadow. It was shorter this time, shrunken and wildlooking. We ran together over to some bushes along a walkway and hid. In this hiding place I could hear people talking as they walked by. I could hear frogs and crickets. And then—flutes and tinkling cymbals, a sounding gong and drums!
    I looked through the branches of the bushes and in front I could see a crowd of people and, above them, a stage holding up the moon. A young man burst out from the side of a stage and told the crowd, “And now the Moon Lady will come and tell her sad tale to you, in a shadow play, classically sung.”
    The Moon Lady! I thought, and the very sound of those magic words made me forget my troubles. I heard more cymbals and gongs and then a shadow of a woman appeared against the moon. Her hair was undone and she was combing it. She began to speak. Such a sweet, wailing voice!
    â€œMy fate and my penance,” she began to lament, pulling her long fingers through her hair, “to live here on the moon, while my husband lives on the sun. So that each day and each night, we pass each other, never seeing one another, except this one evening, the night of the mid-autumn moon.”
    The crowd