My Aunt

I was roused by the cold. The cold wind seeping through the window cracks bit into my face like tiny knives. I wrapped myself tightly in the tattered cotton-padded jacket Father wore last year; the sleeves were too long and had to be rolled up three times to reveal my hands. The bed was cold; Mother accused me of "wasting the heat" for only half an hour of burning was allowed last night. Laughter drifted from the next room; it was my sister Jenny Carter coaxing Mother for a new toy. "Mom! I want a singing doll! Mary has one!" Jenny's voice was thick with sweetness. "Sure! Whatever you want,I will give!" Mother's tone was soft as cotton batting—words I had never heard spoken to me. I rose; the tiles beneath my feet were so cold they numbed my soles. Hastily, I slipped on my worn, open-toed cotton shoes. Today I had to cook steamed egg custard for Jenny Carter. Yesterday she had said, "If there are no eggs, I won't go to school." Mother threatened that if I failed, I would go the entire day without food. I entered the kitchen; the stove was cold. On the cutting board lay a half bowl of braised pork Jenny had left uneaten. Mother covered it with cling film, saying, "Save this for Jenny's lunch." I swallowed hard; my stomach growled—I had not eaten a proper meal all day, and yesterday I had only drunk two bowls of thin porridge. I scooped two ladles of flour, intending to make some flour paste, but just as I lifted the water ladle, Mother rushed in. "Mike Carter! What are you stealing?" She struck the water ladle away with a swipe, splashing water onto my trousers, cold and biting. "I wanted to have some flour paste." I lowered my head even further. "What?" Mother twisted my arm, her nails digging into my flesh. "Jenny's steamed egg custard isn't even cooked yet, and you're already thinking of yourself! Ungrateful wretch!" The pain made me grit my teeth, too afraid to dodge; last time I tried to evade, she struck my back over a dozen times with a feather duster, leaving bruises that lingered for days. Mother threw me two eggs: "Hurry up and cook! If you oversteamed them, see how I'll punish you!" When I cracked the eggs, tiny fragments of shell fell into the bowl; I carefully picked them out, fearing she would accuse me of being "careless" again. Jenny Carter entered wearing a new pink down jacket, holding the strawberry cake Father had bought yesterday. "Brother, smell the cake." She deliberately raised it high, the sweet fragrance piercing my nose. "You won’t have a bite!" she made a mocking face. "Mother says your eating this is a waste of money!" Mother sat holding Jenny Carter at the dining table, breaking the cake into small pieces to feed her, then glared at me, "Is the Steamed Egg Custard ready yet? Jenny is already hungry!" "Almost done." I turned off the stove and brought out the Steamed Egg Custard, as tender as tofu, with the sesame oil that Mother kept locked in the cabinet added. Jenny Carter dug in, frowning: "It's too bland! It tastes awful!" "I put salt in it," I whispered. I spoke softly. "How dare you talk back?" Mother struck my face with a sharp slap; my ears rang. She picked up the Steamed Egg Custard and spilled it onto the floor: "Clean this up! Then pack Jenny's schoolbag and sweep the courtyard! No lunch until it's all done!" I crouched down to gather the custard; shards of broken porcelain cut my fingers, beads of blood mingling with the egg on the floor. Jenny Carter clapped her hands and laughed, "Serves you right!" The cold wind blew through the window; my face was raw from the cold and pain, tears welling in my eyes—Mother said, "Boys who cry are useless. Cry again and I'll throw you out."