Free The Price of Silence by Camilla Trinchieri

be one of them. At the end, when everyone left, I could see in your eyes that you liked me, that you wanted to teach me. I could tell that. I was afraid you would be too angry if I told you the truth.That’s why I didn’t come back.”
    The mower was gone, replaced by the trill of a mockingbird and the swish of leaves caught in a breeze.“An-ling, dear, never worry about what I think. Relax, be young, carefree. Be happy.”
    Her head stayed down. “My lies make me ashamed.
    Please forgive me.”
    “I understand how difficult it’s been for you. Now it’s over; you’re in the United States. I’ll help you. I promise.
    You’ll never have to lie to me again.”
    “Thank you, Lady Teacher—Emma.” She looked up at me. The sadness flooding her face was so deep it made me feel powerless.
    “Tell me what happened to the sisters on the moon,” I said.
    “The sisters and brother exchanged places and now we cannot look at the sun because the sisters will prick our eyes with their seventy-two embroidery needles.” Her eyes scoured the clear sky. “We should stay and wait until the night to watch brother moon, but they won’t let us.”
    I followed her to the walkway above the pond. She leaned over the railing and pointed to the koi, mere light streaks in the murky water.“In the old days, the ladies always sat by the water to mirror themselves.”
    I looked down.“What do you see?”
    “A long line of women. My great-great-great-grandmother, great-great-grandmother, great-grandmother, grandmother, my mother, my aunts. The line grows, becomes thick. It rises and falls like the back of a dragon and like the dragon is too big for me to see all of him, the same with the women. I have to guess who they are from the parts I can see. I see knee bones worn down to wafers from washing the floors, backs bowed like the branches of the willow tree from planting rice, stumps of flesh that were feet, crushed to be beautiful in the eyes of their husbands. I see my mother being dragged across the floor of her factory like a mop because she has dared to say that Mao does not love his people.
    “What do you see, Lady Teacher?”
    “A beautiful young girl in America with a good life in front of her.” Our faces reflected in the water were like two moons resting side by side at the bottom of the pond. Our features blurred in the dirty water, and for a sweet moment I pretended that we shared the same features, that we could recognize ourselves in each other’s faces, that I had given birth to her.

SIX
    Emma
    THE FIRST SATURDAY of the trial, the windows of the apartment were open to the sunny day and a breeze climbed up from the river.Tom was making pancakes. I squeezed orange juice and ground the coffee while Josh set the kitchen table. If we had been caught on camera, we would have come across as an average family getting on with our safe, boring lives. The racing beat of fear doesn’t show up on film.
    “Yummy pancakes.” I dug in to please Tom, to stay in the scene.
    Josh stared at his fork, the pancakes on the plate in front of him untouched.
    “I love you, Josh,” I said.Tom lowered The Economist to smile his approval. Since I had come back from living with An-ling I kept breaking new ground with my effusiveness.
    “I love you very much. Both of you.”
    “How about eggs?” I added, to break the embarrassment we were all feeling.“French toast?”
    “Naw, this is good.” Josh stooped over his plate, tried two forkfuls, stopped, looked to see how much his father and I had eaten, how much longer he had to sit with us.
    I waved my hand toward the door. “Go if you want to.” Josh hesitated, waiting for his father’s reaction.
    Tom stood up, his food also unfinished. “I’ve got work to do. It’s about time I reorganized the library.” He ruffled my hair as he went by, patted Josh’s shoulder, leaving his mark. Josh waited for Tom’s footsteps to recede before getting up. He had grown taller in the past few