Nana ordered Chinese food for dinner. It was what Jasmine’s dad always liked to have when he came home from one of his trips.
“You just can’t get good Chinese food where I was,” he would always say. (Except, of course, after he came back from China. He’d raved about the food there and said it was pretty different from the American version of Chinese food.)
Jasmine was an expert at using chopsticks. Her dad had taught her how long ago. He’d said it was “an important life skill to have.” The three of them sat at the dining room table, which was located in such a place that you could see the top of the stairs when you were sitting. Which meant, of course, that you could see that awful mask looking down upon you.
“The mask looks great there, Mom,” Jasmine’s dad said to Nana. “Thanks for hanging it up.”
Yeah, thanks, Jasmine thought sarcastically.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you two,” Jasmine’s dad said. “All members of the tribe have a mask like this in their homes. They believe that if danger is knocking at your door, you can put the mask on and ward off the evil spirits.”
You actually did tell us that already, Jasmine thought, but she did not say it out loud.
Jasmine’s dad looked over at her. “It’s just a legend, Jazz,” he added. “I got a kick out of the idea that you two would be protected by the mask when I’m away on assignment. Not that you need protecting,” he said quickly. “You’re two very strong, smart, sensible, and independent people.”
Jasmine could tell her dad added that last part because his suggestion that she and Jasmine needed protecting was quickly offending Nana. Nana took great pride in taking care of Jasmine and keeping the house safe. She had raised six kids by herself without a lot of money after her husband had died when the kids were little. She would remind Jasmine and her dad periodically that she didn’t need anyone to protect her. She could take perfectly good care of herself and her family.
Jasmine thought this would probably be a great time to change the subject. “So how long are you home for?” she asked her dad. She knew to ask this close to when he got home, because chances were he’d be off again soon. He loved his work and hardly ever turned down an assignment. He didn’t seem to mind the long plane trips, and often traveled with his photographer friend, Buddy. A lot of Buddy’s photos were displayed in their home, actually. Jasmine wished one of the photos were at the top of the stairs in place of the mask.
Whenever Jasmine’s dad got home from a trip, he’d spend day and night at his computer, typing on the keyboard loudly, as if getting his notes into the computer was very urgent. And maybe it was. He had important, interesting things to write about each place he’d visited, and obviously his readers agreed with him, because his office walls were covered in travel writing awards and honors.
He used his chopsticks to reach for some more moo shu. “A few days, actually, honey,” he said. He looked carefully at her face for signs of disappointment. Jasmine didn’t show any, of course. She was good at wearing her own mask.
“This is a big one,” her dad added. “I’ll be going north of the Arctic Circle for the very first time. It will be supercold. I’ll be in a remote part of Russia called Siberia.”
“What will you be doing there?” Jasmine asked politely.
“I’ll be living with native hunters for a few weeks,” he answered. “I’m going to observe how they trap animals for food and fur, and how they build their boats from trees, and how they make their own skis to travel around in all the snow. They’re expert craftsmen, and the world doesn’t really know about their work. It’s very hard to get there. The only way is by boat, helicopter, or dogsled. I’m very lucky they agreed to host me.”
“Wow,” Jasmine said, trying to keep her true feelings out of her voice. She knew her father’s work was interesting and fascinating and all that, but the only thing she could think was Gee, could Siberia be any farther away from home?
As if reading her mind, Jasmine’s dad pulled out his phone and tapped the map app. “I’ll show you exactly where it is,” he said. He showed her a world map and pointed at a line that sort of went across the top. “That’s the Arctic Circle,” he said. “It’s actually an imaginary line. You learned about longitude and latitude in school, right? See, the Arctic Circle covers Russia, Canada, Alaska, Greenland, and parts of Scandinavia. So now let’s zoom in on Siberia, which is part of Russia, and here’s the little village I’ll be visiting.” Jasmine took the phone and looked carefully. She loved that map app, the way it was like you were an astronaut way out in space and then you were slowly landing on Earth.
“What about you two?” her dad asked. “What do you have planned? Mardi Gras is just around the corner, isn’t it?”
“The days just fly by,” Nana said. “Well, Jasmine and I will make our special king cake, as always.”
Jasmine thought her grandmother’s king cake was pretty cool. It was like a giant cinnamon roll with purple, gold, and green sugary icing. Those were the three colors of Mardi Gras. But here was the really cool thing: a tiny plastic baby doll was placed into the cake, and whoever got the piece with the baby was supposed to host the party the next year. Jasmine and Nana had changed this tradition into “whoever gets the plastic baby doll doesn’t have to clean up the mess we made while baking.”
“I’ll be sorry to miss that this year,” her dad said, smiling. “You guys should open your own bakery for Mardi Gras. Seriously. Your king cakes are that good.”
Jasmine smiled. “Yeah. Our bakery could be called Jazzy Nana.”
“Or Nanny Jazz,” Nana added with a chuckle.
“And what about parties or parade plans?” Jasmine’s dad asked. “Anything brewing yet?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll be making a mask in school on Mini-Course Day. And some kids from school will be having parties, I think.” Jasmine looked away from her dad and, unfortunately, the mask caught her eye again.
“What are you thinking?” her dad asked her.
Nana raised her eyebrows.
“You really want to know?” Jasmine asked her dad, a little edge to her voice. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she regretted them. Now she might have to actually tell him.
“Of course,” he answered. “You can always tell me what you’re thinking.”
“That mask totally creeps me out,” she admitted, pointing to the top of the stairs without looking up.
Her dad nodded, a sympathetic look on his face. “What about it creeps you out?” he asked.
“Um, I guess its expression,” Jasmine said, her voice getting softer. “That expression on its face. It just looks so freaky and so creepy. I don’t know. Never mind,” she said quickly.
“I hear you, Jazzy,” her dad said gently. “And I do agree its expression is kind of strange. I wish you could have met the people in this village, though. They were so generous, even though they had very little themselves. They were a very gentle, peaceful people. They shared everything with me and made me feel like such an honored guest. You know, Buddy wasn’t with me this time, so I was taking my own photos, and they were very gracious about it, letting me take pictures of the children and everything. And of the mask-maker himself. Well, except for in the very end, when he got mad at me for taking the pictures of the mask, he was such a kind and lovely man.”
“Why did he get so mad?” Jasmine asked.
“I’m not totally sure, actually,” her dad said. “I can only guess. Actually, there’s an anthropologist I can talk to about it. I have to call him about the article anyway. He’s an expert on that tribe, and he may be able to help explain what happened.”
“Oh,” Jasmine said. “What’s an anthropologist?”
“There are lots of different kinds of anthropologists, but the one I’m thinking of studies cultures and the people within them,” her dad said. “To learn about how they live. Some anthropologists specialize in certain cultures, like the guy I’m going to call. Anyway, the mask is in good company. It’s hanging with all our family pictures.”
Jasmine knew, of course, that practically every inch of the wall was covered in family photos both old and new. Her favorite one was of her and her dad when she was about one year old. They were at a pumpkin patch, and Jasmine’s dad was helping her sit on top of a pumpkin that was about the same size as she was.
Jasmine really wanted to change the subject again. “Oh, there’s another thing going on in the next few weeks besides Mardi Gras,” she said. “The animal shelter is having a fund-raiser and I’m making cat toys to sell.” Jasmine volunteered once a week at a shelter for cats and dogs, the one where they’d found Momo. She cleaned cages, brushed the cats and walked the dogs, and helped get them ready to be adopted. If a cat was shy, she’d spend extra time with it to get it more used to being around people.
“That’s great, honey,” Jasmine’s dad said. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yeah,” Jasmine said. “They’re giving me all the supplies. Including the catnip that’s going inside each toy!” She tried for a carefree laugh. “They’re going to sell them for five dollars each,” she added.
“Time for fortune cookies,” Nana said, handing one to both Jasmine and her dad. Jasmine had been so wrapped up in her conversation with her dad that she hadn’t even noticed that they had finished eating. She opened the plastic wrapper and cracked hers in half right away. She loved fortune cookies. She examined the little strip of white paper silently as she chewed the sweet, crunchy cookie. I can’t wait till Lisa gets here for our sleepover and I can forget about all this mask stuff, she thought. Lisa would be arriving just after dinner.
“Mine says, ‘All your hard work will pay off,’ ” Nana announced. “Now, I like that! But it already has,” she added, looking proudly at her son and granddaughter.
“That’s a good one,” Jasmine’s dad said. “Mine’s pretty great too. Listen to this. ‘You have a way with words.’ How do you like that! Well, I should hope so; otherwise I’m out of a job!”
Jasmine and Nana laughed. But then Jasmine frowned.
“Well?” her dad asked. “What’s your fortune, Jazzy?”
Jasmine kept staring at her slip of paper and didn’t respond.
“Are you okay, honey?” Nana asked.
“I’m fine,” Jasmine said, looking up.
“Well?” her dad asked again.
Jasmine looked back down and kept her eyes on her fortune. She didn’t look at her dad or grandmother. “It says, ‘The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Franklin Delano Roosevelt.’ ”
Jasmine was glad that this wasn’t one of Ms. Berger’s quotes that they would have to discuss the meaning of. She’d had enough of her own fears for one twenty-four-hour period—of feeling them, of thinking about them, and of talking about them.
Her dad leaned back in his chair and slowly clapped his hands a few times. “Well, there you go, Jazzy.”