Free (2001) The Bonesetter's Daughter by Amy Tan Page B

thinking of Dory,” Ruth answered. Dory had been held back a year because of attention deficit disorder. She now received special tutoring.
    “How can be Dory?”
    “Fia’s the older one, she’s going into tenth. Dory’s thirteen. She’ll be in seventh.”
    “I know who who!” LuLing grumbled. She counted, flipping her fingers down as she listed: “Dory, Fia, oldest one Fu-Fu, seventeen.” Ruth used to joke that Fu-Fu, her feral cat, born with a nasty disposition, was the grandchild LuLing never had. “How Fu-Fu do?” LuLing asked.
    Hadn’t she told her mother Fu-Fu had died? She must have. Or Art had. Everyone knew that Ruth had been depressed for weeks after it happened.
    “Fu-Fu’s dead,” she reminded her mother.
    “Ai-ya!” LuLing’s face twisted with agony. “How this can be! What happen?”
    “I told you—”
    “No, you never!”
    “Oh… Well, a few months ago, she went over the fence. A dog chased her. She couldn’t climb back up fast enough.”
    “Why you have dog?”
    “It was a neighbor’s dog.”
    “Then why you let neighbor’s dog come your backyard? Now see what happen! Ai-ya, die no reason!”
    Her mother was speaking far too loudly. People were looking up from their knitting and reading, even the balding man. Ruth was pained. That cat had been her baby. She had held her the day she was born, a tiny wild ball of fur, found in Wendy’s garage on a rainy day. Ruth had also held her as the vet gave the lethal shot to end her misery. Thinking about this nearly put Ruth over the edge, and she did not want to burst into tears in a waiting room full of strangers.
    At that moment, luckily, the receptionist called out, “LuLing Young!” As Ruth helped her mother gather her purse and coat, she saw the balding man leap up and walk quickly toward an elderly Chinese woman. “Hey, Mom,” Ruth heard him say. “How’d everything check out? Ready to go home?” The woman gruffly handed him a prescription note. He must be her son-in-law, Ruth surmised. Would Art ever take her mother to the doctor’s? She doubted it. How about in the case of an emergency, a heart attack, a stroke?
    The nurse spoke to LuLing in Cantonese and she answered in Mandarin. They settled on accented English as their common ground. LuLing quietly submitted to the preliminaries. Step on the scale. Eighty-five pounds. Blood pressure. One hundred over seventy. Roll up your sleeve and make a fist. LuLing did not flinch. She had taught Ruth to do the same, to look straight at the needle and not cry out. In the examination room, Ruth turned away as her mother slipped out of her cotton camisole and stood in her waist-high flowered panties.
    LuLing put on a paper gown, climbed onto the examining table, and dangled her feet. She looked childlike and breakable. Ruth sank into a nearby chair. When the doctor arrived, they both sat up straight. LuLing had always had great respect for doctors.
    “Mrs. Young!” the doctor greeted her jovially. “I’m Dr. Huey.” He glanced at Ruth.
    “I’m her daughter. I called your office earlier.”
    He nodded knowingly. Dr. Huey was a pleasant-looking man, younger than Ruth. He started asking LuLing questions in Cantonese, and her mother pretended to understand, until Ruth explained, “She speaks Mandarin, not Cantonese.”
    The doctor looked at her mother. “Guoyu?”
    LuLing nodded, and Dr. Huey shrugged apologetically. “My Mandarin is pretty terrible. How’s your English?”
    “Good. No problem.”
    At the end of the examination, Dr. Huey smiled and announced, “Well, you are one very strong lady. Heart and lungs are great. Blood pressure excellent. Especially for someone your age. Let’s see, what year were you born?” He scanned the chart, then looked up at LuLing. “Can you tell me?”
    “Year?” LuLing’s eyes darted upward as if the answer were on the ceiling. “This not so easy say.”
    “I want the truth, now,” the doctor joked. “Not what you tell your