And when my brother shouted that Auntie was a talking chicken without a head, she pushed my brother against the gate and spat on his face. “You throw strong words at me, but you are nothing,” Auntie said. “You are the son of a mother who has so little respect she has become ni, a traitor to our ancestors. She is so beneath others that even the devil must look down to see her.” That is when I began to understand the stories Popo taught me, the lessons I had to learn for my mother. “When you lose your face, An-mei,” Popo often said, “it is like dropping your necklace down a well. The only way
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