The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan Page A

moved closer. The Moon Lady plucked her lute and began her singing tale.
    On the other side of the moon I saw the silhouette of a man appear. The Moon Lady held her arms out to embrace him—“O! Hou Yi, my husband, Master Archer of the Skies!” she sang. But her husband did not seem to notice her. He was gazing at the sky. And as the sky grew brighter, his mouth began to open wide—in horror or delight, I could not tell.
    The Moon Lady clutched her throat and fell into a heap, crying, “The drought of ten suns in the eastern sky!” And just as she sang this, the Master Archer pointed his magic arrows and shot down nine suns which burst open with blood. “Sinking into a simmering sea!” she sang happily, and I could hear these suns sizzling and crackling in death.
    And now a fairy—the Queen Mother of the Western Skies!—was flying toward the Master Archer. She opened a box and held up a glowing ball—no, not a baby sun but a magic peach, the peach of everlasting life! I could see the Moon Lady pretending to be busy with her embroidery, but she was watching her husband. She saw him hide the peach in a box. And then the Master Archer raised his bow and vowed to fast for one year to show he had the patience to live forever. And after he ran off, the Moon Lady wasted not one moment to find the peach and eat it!
    As soon as she tasted it, she began to rise, then fly—not like the Queen Mother—but like a dragonfly with broken wings. “Flung from this earth by my own wantonness!” she cried just as her husband dashed back home, shouting, “Thief! Lifestealing wife!” He picked up his bow, aimed an arrow at his wife and—with the rumblings of a gong, the sky went black.
    Wyah! Wyah! The sad lute music began again as the sky on the stage lightened. And there stood the poor lady against a moon as bright as the sun. Her hair was now so long it swept the floor, wiping up her tears. An eternity had passed since she last saw her husband, for this was her fate: to stay lost on the moon, forever seeking her own selfish wishes.
    â€œFor woman is yin,” she cried sadly, “the darkness within, where untempered passions lie. And man is yang, bright truth lighting our minds.”
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    At the end of her singing tale, I was crying, shaking with despair. Even though I did not understand her entire story, I understood her grief. In one small moment, we had both lost the world, and there was no way to get it back.
    A gong sounded, and the Moon Lady bowed her head and looked serenely to the side. The crowd clapped vigorously. And now the same young man as before came out on the stage and announced, “Wait, everybody! The Moon Lady has consented to grant one secret wish to each person here. . . . The crowd stirred with excitement, people murmuring in high voices. “For a small monetary donation . . . ”continued the young man. And the crowd laughed and groaned, then began to disperse. The young man shouted, “A once-a-year opportunity!” But nobody was listening to him, except my shadow and me in the bushes.
    â€œI have a wish! I have one!” I shouted as I ran forward in my bare feet. But the young man paid no attention to me and walked off the stage. I kept running toward the moon to tell the Moon Lady what I wanted, because now I knew what my wish was. I darted fast as a lizard behind the stage, to the other side of the moon.
    I saw her, standing still for just a moment. She was beautiful, ablaze with the light from a dozen kerosene lamps. And then she shook her long shadowy tresses and began to walk down the steps.
    â€œI have a wish,” I said in a whisper, and still she did not hear me. So I walked closer yet, until I could see the face of the Moon Lady: shrunken cheeks, a broad oily nose, large glaring teeth, and red-stained eyes. A face so tired that she wearily pulled off her hair, her long gown fell from her shoulders. And as the