My father has asked me to be the fourth er at the Joy Luck Club. I am to replace my mother, whose seat at the mah jong table has beey since she died two months ago. My father thinks she was killed by her own thoughts.
"She had a new idea inside her head," said my father. "But before it could e out of her mouth, the thought grew too big and burst. It must have been a very bad idea."
The doctor said she died of a cerebral aneurysm. And her friends at the Joy Luck Club said she died just like a rabbit: quickly and with unfinished business left behind. My mother was supposed to host the meeting of the Joy Luck Club.
The week before she died, she called me, full of pride, full of life: "Auntie Lin cooked red bean soup for Joy Luck. Im going to cook black sesame-seed soup."
"Dont show off," I said.
"Its not showoff." She said the two soups were almost the same, chabudwo. Or maybe she said butong, not the same thing at all. It was one of those ese expressions……（内容加载失败！）
(ò﹏ò)
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