A Feast Like No Other
Ai Jiang
Ingredients
1 Watermelon
6 Baozi
6 Pears
12 Mandarins
A box of matches
A packet of incense sticks
A cutting board and two knives (fruit & vegetable)
Directions
At the local witch’s grocers, lower your ear near the peel and tap the watermelon like your grandmother and grandfather. Pick only the one with the clearest sound. Cut it into slices.
Double check the baozi you bought from the fire wielder’s bakery before reheating them in the steamer for 2 minutes—no more, no less. Your mother would sometimes press two fingers to check, as though the heat doesn’t burn the tips. Do the same and resist the urge to suck on cooked fingers.
Peel the pears, holding the blunt side of the knife against your thumb like your father. Remember to make that concentrated expression that resembles constipation—you don’t have a moustache, but wiggle your mouth as if you do.
Don’t wash the mandarins. Instead, blow on their surfaces and rub them against your cotton nightdress like your sister before shouting “Look how they glow!” to signal you’re finished.
Place everything in a basket with enough plates and bowls for the presentation upon arrival at the temple at dusk.
Go down the valley at sunrise and climb the hill before your family wakes. Place the feast on the altar, light the incense by each portrait, settle on your knees and bow—forehead to the ground—to each member, and wait. If you followed the steps correctly, the spirits will step from the frames one by one.
Don’t massage your legs or complain about your aching joints. Though you and the spirits of your family might all look of a similar age now, with you the oldest, closing in on a hundred, they don’t like to be reminded.
Eat with the spirits of your family—but not what you prepared for them.
When they are finished with their feast, wait for them to return to the spirit world before heading down the valley and trudging up the hill back to your home.
Maybe you might join them next year, maybe not. But until then, repeat the steps above when the occasion arises again.
*Note to self: Stop writing these by hand and losing them. Your writing is getting shakier each year.
About the author:
Ai Jiang is a Chinese-Canadian writer and an immigrant from Fujian. She is a member of HWA, SFWA, and Codex. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in F&SF, The Dark, Uncanny, The Puritan, Prairie Fire, The Masters Review, and her debut novella Linghun (April 2023) is forthcoming with Dark Matter INK. Find her on Twitter (@AiJiang_) and online (http://aijiang.ca).
