“And they’re too little to be caught by the butterfly nets. We used to try,” Lisa said.

“At least it’s a soft death,” Pa said.

Zan said, “I don’t think it feels so great to the mosquito.”

“It’s a pillow,” Pa said. “I think it is not a bad way to go.”

I caught a glimpse of Pa’s face and quickly changed the subject before he started feeling so sorry for the mosquitos that he stopped allowing us to kill them. “Oh, there’s that fly.”

“Where?” Lisa zeroed in on her target again.

“It is not easy to be a Buddhist,” Pa said.

Zan wrinkled her brow. “But you guys eat meat. How does that fit in, Mr. Wong?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” He smiled and shrugged. “But my girls are growing and they need the nutrients. And because I am weak and like the taste. As I said, life is complicated for a Buddhist, especially when you are Chinese too.”

“You don’t need to eat meat for the nutrients,” Lisa said. Then she swung her net and called, “I caught mine!” She waved her butterfly net around in circles, so the fly couldn’t get out. Pa quickly pried one of the screens off a window, Lisa ran over and stuck her net out. We watched the fly zoom away.

Pa replaced the screen.

Zan looked at me. “How do they all get in here when you’ve got screens on the windows?”

“Some of the screens have rips in them,” I said.

“Remember last summer when the apartment got invaded by ants?” Lisa said.

“Ugh! Don’t remind me,” I said.

Lisa turned to Zan. “This colony of ants showed up in the kitchen but Pa didn’t want to kill them so we would just shoo them away. We could literally see them getting bigger and stronger by the day. We tried cinnamon, garlic, vinegar . . . Nothing helped.”

I interrupted. “Of course it did. The mint worked, and after that, they all left.” I gave Lisa a look to shut her up. She widened her eyes, remembering I’d secretly bought a bottle of insecticide and sprayed the entire apartment while Pa was at work.

I could tell Zan had figured it out by the mischievous look in her eyes. “How strange,” she said innocently, “I never knew mint repelled ants.”

I glared at her. “Lisa found it on the Internet.” In recent years, Lisa’s school had begun lending all of the kids laptops for use in their classes, something I’d never had, so Lisa was our technology expert.

Pa nodded. “Very wise, that Internet.” To Pa, the Internet was a sort of prophet.

“Why don’t you do something useful, like help us catch the last fly?” I said to Zan. She grinned and took my butterfly net. Within a few minutes, she’d caught the fly I’d been stalking.

As we watched it zip away, Zan said, “Have you ever thought that you’re just releasing flies into the world, where they can have babies and bother more people?”

Lisa giggled. “I hope they have fun.”

I grabbed Zan’s arm. “Come on, let’s get Godmother Yuan and go to tai chi class.”

—

Zan and I walked a few blocks over to Godmother Yuan’s building. We linked arms to fight our way through the crowds, squeezing past stands of live crabs and dismembered eels, the carp lying limp in the blazing sunlight. Especially during the weekends, there seemed to be almost as many tourists as Chinese in Chinatown. We dodged one white couple who were pointing at the roasted geese hanging in the window of a restaurant, then turned the corner onto the twisty little street where Godmother lived.

It was a bit quieter there and the sharp scent of incense filled the air. Godmother lived on the second floor, above a religious store that sold joss paper, urns and idols, where incense was always burning. Even though she wasn’t really my godmother, I called her that as a sign of affection and respect. Godmother Yuan was a tai chi master. She’d been our friend for as long as I could remember. When Ma died, Godmother, her face covered in tear tracks, held my hand at the funeral as she cradled Lisa on her lap.

Zan dabbed at her sweaty forehead with a tissue as we climbed the stairs. “Should I call her sifu?” Sifu meant “master” and it was what most of Godmother Yuan’s students called her.

I shook my head. “You’re not a regular member of the class. Just ‘Mrs. Yuan’ will be fine.”

Zan smiled. “Do I have to call you sifu?”

“Ha! I’m just the helper.”

I stopped in front of Godmother’s door and knocked.

Her voice came from within the apartment. “Charlie, you know my door’s unlocked.”

Zan’s eyebrows shot up. “Is she serious?”

I said softly, “Nothing anyone can say will convince her to do otherwise. She says her door’s always open to her students and friends. It’s never been locked, not even when her husband was alive.”

I turned the doorknob and the door swung wide. Out of politeness, we didn’t enter. Godmother was walking toward us with her bag over her arm. She was short and round, with a white permed head of curls, like a dandelion, but I knew how strong she was because I’d sparred with her in push-hands training. She wore simple, loose clothing that allowed freedom of movement. I’d never seen her in a dress. It was a well-known Chinatown rumor that a few gang members had tried to take her purse once and she’d sent them running with a few blows.

“Do you remember my friend Zan, Godmother?” I said. Godmother spoke Toisanese and I only spoke Mandarin, so we always communicated in English. Her family had been in the U.S. so long that her English was better than Pa’s.

Zan bowed her head and said, “Mrs. Yuan.”

Godmother said, “Of course I do. Are you joining us today?”

I said, “Would that be all right? It’s only this one time. Zan can’t make it to your other classes at the Tai Chi Association or Senior Citizens Center.”

“Any friend of yours is welcome. I wish you could help me with those other classes too, Charlie,” Godmother said as we headed down the stairs. She turned to Zan. “She is my best student.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” I said. “I’ve just been doing it for so long.”

“Are you coming to tai chi in the park this Sunday?” Godmother always asked me this.

“I would like to but it’s too early for me.”

“When are you going to stop that dishwasher job? It keeps you up until all hours. ‘If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.’”

“Is that from a Hallmark card?”

“Who? No, it’s Lao Tzu.”

I glanced at Zan, signaling her to be quiet. “Actually, I’m starting a new job on Monday. As a receptionist. In computers.” I couldn’t risk Godmother telling Pa the truth.

Godmother stopped walking so abruptly, I almost tripped. “Really.” She fumbled in her purse until she found a new red envelope. “I always keep a couple in here, in case I run into one of my grandchildren.” She took out two wrinkled five-dollar bills from her wallet, folded them carefully and put them in the envelope.

“Oh no, Godmother, it’s not necessary.” I knew how little she had. She was well respected but she taught most of her classes, including the one we were going to, for free. Most positions at the Yuan Benevolent Association were volunteer.

She pressed the red envelope in my hand. “For good fortune.”

“Are you sure?”

“You must take it or it will be bad luck.”

“Thank you.” I bent over and kissed her cheek. I thought about what the witch had said. “The Vision told me my new job will amount to nothing.”

“Hush! Don’t repeat the words of that old potato.”

Zan and I laughed. It was well known that Godmother and the Vision had an ongoing feud, due to some insult in their youth everyone else had forgotten.

“Another Lao Tzu quote for you: ‘When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.’”

“I hope you’re right.”

We climbed up the stairs to the Yuan Benevolent Association. The Benevolent Associations had been formed originally to help families abroad. This one occupied the third floor of a building, and was a place where all members with the Yuan surname could gather and gossip. There was often free tea and food, plus social events like mahjong evenings and these tai chi classes. I wasn’t allowed to be a full member but they tolerated me because my maternal grandmother had been a Yuan before her marriage. After they wed, girls were no longer considered an official part of the family.