(2001) The Bonesetter's Daughter by Amy Tan Read Free Book Online Page B

She was always busy, unlike some freelance writers who fretted over the trickle of jobs in the pipeline.
    “So busy, so success,” her mother had said recently when Ruth told her she didn’t have any free time to see her. “Not free,” LuLing added, “because every minute must charge money. What I should pay you, five dollar, ten dollar, then you come see me?” The truth was, Ruth did not have much free time, not in her opinion. Free time was the most precious time, when you should be doing what you loved, or at least slowing down enough to remember what made your life worthwhile and happy. Her free time was usually usurped by what seemed at the time urgent and later unnecessary. Wendy said the same thing: “Free time doesn’t exist anymore. It has to be scheduled with a dollar amount attached to it. You’re under this constant pressure to get your money’s worth out of rest, relaxation, and restaurants that are hard to get into.” After hearing that, Ruth didn’t agonize as much over time constraints. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t have enough time to do what was necessary. The problem was universal. But try explaining that to her mother.
    She pulled out her notes for chapter seven of Agapi Agnos’s latest book, Righting the Wronged Child, and punched Agapi’s number. Ruth was one of the few people who knew that Agapi’s real name was Doris DeMatteo, that she had chosen her pseudonym because agapi meant “love” and agnos referred to ignorance, which she redefined as a form of innocence. That was how she signed her books, “Love Innocence, Agapi Agnos.” Ruth enjoyed working with her. Though Agapi was a psychiatrist, she didn’t come across as intimidating. She knew that much of her appeal was her Zsa Zsa Gabor shtick, her accent, the flirtatious yet intelligent personality she exuded when she answered questions in TV and radio interviews.
    During their phone meeting, Ruth reviewed the chapter that presented the Five Don’ts and Ten Do’s of becoming a more engaged parent.
    “Darling,” Agapi said, “why does it always have to be a list of five and ten? I can’t always limit myself to such regular numbers.”
    “It’s just easier for people to remember in series of fives and tens,” Ruth answered. “I read a study somewhere about that.” Hadn’t she? “It probably has to do with counting on our fingers.”
    “That makes perfect sense, my dear! I knew there was a reason.”
    After they hung up, Ruth began work on a chapter titled “No Child Is an Island.” She replayed a tape of Agapi and herself talking:
    “. . . .A parent, intentionally or not, imposes a cosmology on the little child—” Agapi paused. “You want to say something?” What cue had she given that let Agapi know she wanted to add a thought? Ruth seldom interrupted people.
    “We should define ‘cosmology’ here,” she heard herself say, “perhaps in a sidebar. We don’t want people to think we ‘re talking about cosmetics or astrology.”
    “Yes, yes, excellent point, my dear. Cosmology, let’s see… what we believe, subconsciously, implicitly, or both, how the universe works—you want to add something?”
    “Readers will think we mean planets or the Big Bang theory.”
    “You are such a cynic! All right, you write the definition, but just include something about how each of us fits into our families, society, the communities we come into contact with. Talk about those various roles, as well as how we believe we got them—whether it’s destiny, fate, luck, chance, self-determination, et cetera, et cetera. Oh, and Ruth, darling, make it sound sexy and easy to grasp.”
    “No problem.”
    “All right, so we assume everyone understands cosmology. We go on to say that parents pass along this cosmology to children through their behaviors, their reactions to daily events, often mundane— You look puzzled.”
    “Examples of mundane.”
    “Mealtime, for instance. Perhaps dinner always happens at six and