In the Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson: October–December

Brooklyn went berserk. The Dodgers were the champs of the National League.

When the Yankees won the first two games easily, Tommy made the mistake of saying, “De Bums played like amateurs.”

He had already smacked a home run earlier and could get lucky again.
DiMaggio connected, walloping one 415 feet to left center.

Americans did not commemorate the fullest moon of the year, but the Wongs had done so for centuries.

Now the moon itself disappeared, swallowed by a fitful cloud.

This bowl, not empty, but one of five filled with grapes, apples, peaches, melons and pomegranates, offerings to the gods for the longevity of our clan. The salt, incense.

This bowl, not empty, but one of five filled with grapes, apples, peaches, melons and pomegranates, offerings to the gods for the longevity of our clan. The salt, incense.

“And all around,” Shirley said, transported by the dream, “flowers. In the air, the smell of jasmine. Overhead, the biggest and the brightest of moons. So near that we can see the Hare that stands under the cassia tree pounding the elixir of life in a jade mortar. The paper lanterns are dancing in the willows while a musician plays on the lute....”

“And all around,” Shirley said, transported by the dream, “flowers. In the air, the smell of jasmine. Overhead, the biggest and the brightest of moons. So near that we can see the Hare that stands under the cassia tree pounding the elixir of life in a jade mortar. The paper lanterns are dancing in the willows while a musician plays on the lute....”

“Which one?”
“The one about the filial daughter and the loving bride.”

And so when their wives were both with expectant happiness, they vowed, even before the babies left the womb, that should one be a girl and the other a boy, they would be married.

After they had been away ten years, the daughter implored her husband to return to her hometown.

The couple looked mystified. “How can this be? How can this be? Our daughter has never left home. She has always been at our side. She has never married, for her betrothed died in battle.”

Shirley spent the weekend after Thanksgiving writing a ten-page letter to her cousins in Chinese describing her debut onstage as a turkey.

Mr. Habib donated the leather headgear and goggles he had worn as a pilot in the war, to which was attached a red tie belonging to Mr. Lee to simulate the bird’s fleshy nose.

At lunch that day, Shirley watched Tommy show off even more than usual, swaggering from table to table, getting laughs.

Tommy refused to be snubbed and, cupping his ear to the carton, shouted, “What’s that? No kidding! You’re crazy about me. Inside that answer machine all those brainy cells are rooting for me to win.”

With hands clasped over his heart, Tommy feigned a swoon; then, leaping like the Frog Prince, he went off to entertain his older fans behind the lunch counter.

With hands clasped over his heart, Tommy feigned a swoon; then, leaping like the Frog Prince, he went off to entertain his older fans behind the lunch counter.

“How juvenile!” Emily muttered, studiously wiping her glasses with a napkin.

“How juvenile!” Emily muttered, studiously wiping her glasses with a napkin.

That afternoon Shirley embarked on a campaign among the girls to elect Emily.

When the shouting had ended and the lesson resumed, Shirley found herself thinking how silly Emily looked in curls, rather like that batch of old springs Father kept in the basement. And each time her friend tried to get her attention, Shirley pretended to be solving the denominator.

Everyone clapped, but Shirley had never felt so ashamed. She was unworthy of Emily’s friendship. She did not deserve the goodwill of her class.

Now, two weeks of delicious anticipation later, Shirley sat between the principal and the guest of honor onstage before an assembly filled to overflowing.

The sunlight filtering through them dappled the hall with shimmering lace.

Overhead, paper garlands dipped from the chandelier, forming a canopy of red and green.

Overhead, paper garlands dipped from the chandelier, forming a canopy of red and green.

Twinkling with colored lights, shiny balls, white doves, jeweled icicles, and miles of silver tinsel, it was topped by a brilliant star and skirted with gifts wrapped in finery.

Compared to this, the one at home was positively scrawny, but to Shirley, it was special just the same.

Then the lilting strains of “Silent Night” brought Shirley back to Brooklyn, and she searched the audience for her parents.

Her classmates found this most amusing, for they whispered among themselves, then orchestrated a frenzy of waves for all to see.

Poised between laughter and tears, Shirley took a deep breath to catch the high note in the last refrain.
“...peace.
Sleep in heavenly peace.”

“Do not be so pessimistic. Someday, Americans will elect a woman President.”

What a star-spangled Christmas this is! she thought.