Excerpt from The Frangipani Hotel by Violet Kupersmith, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Naughty child," said Xuan, as if she could perceive her stepdaughter's violent thoughts. "Stop that. It's time to eat." She picked up the loaded plate and two sets of chopsticks; then she finally turned around.

Nhi noticed at once that something was wrong with Xuan's eye. The left one. When she sat down across from her at the table, Nhi could see that it was bloodshot and watery, the veins visible, the pupil strangely dilated. The right one, however, appeared normal. Nhi didn't want to look at her anymore. She turned her attention instead to the plate that Xuan had set down between them, piled with hot egg rolls. They were perfect cylinders, each the same size and hue. A golden pool of oil was collecting beneath them.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" said Xuan. "My mother taught me the recipe when I was a girl. I learned how to shape them with her hands around mine." She lifted her scarf up to her eye and began scrubbing at it roughly. Nhi watched the red silk move and her fingers tightened into a fist. Xuan continued speaking while she rubbed, the fabric concealing most of her face. "But I haven't made them in years; I thought I was better than this." She gestured toward the rolls with her free hand. The hand that still held the cloth to her eye was moving in quick little circles, like she was trying to wash a stubborn spot clean. "Better than cooking and kitchens. Better than husbands. Better than my own mother. I used to believe that I was too clever for that world." Her hand stopped moving. "But now I have a daughter of my own, and she will not make my mistakes."

With this, she allowed the red silk to fall away from her face. There was now a droplet of blood in the outer corner of the eye. Nhi watched with fascination as it quivered but did not fall.

"Don't you see? This is our place. We are the children of tradition. We must learn what we are taught, and then repeat it. Let me teach you, Nhi." Xuan placed one of the pairs of chopsticks on the table before the girl.

Nhi unclenched her fist to take them, and saw the crimson edges of Xuan's eye twitch. The droplet in the corner jiggled. Nhi imagined leaping out of her seat and sinking the chopsticks deep into the socket. In the distance, the leaves of the bamboo began to rustle again. She thought of her sister waiting alone in the tree, and raised her hand slowly.

"Yes. Yes, that's it," said Xuan, pushing the plate toward her. "This is our inheritance; take a bite." She smiled, and the motion finally squeezed out the tear of blood. It left a thin red trail on her cheek.

Nhi hesitated for only a moment, then brought the chopsticks plunging down.


Sister Emmanuel was silent. Our own egg rolls rested, complete, on the table; our mixing bowls were empty. I had been hiding my hands in my lap so she wouldn't see the way they were still moving. "You can't stop there!" I cried out. "What did she do?"

Sister Emmanuel gathered up the dirty dishes and brought them over to the sink, refusing to look at me. But I would not give up. "It can't end like that! Tell me how it really ends!" I yelled, forgetting the convent walls that surrounded us, the peace I was disturbing. "Tell me! I must know!" Sister Emmanuel still said nothing. She simply turned to face me and then lowered her sunglasses.

By morning Sister Emmanuel had disappeared from the convent, without—as investigation later proved—taking anything with her. There was some initial disquiet when word got out, but the affair was mostly hushed up. After a few months she was never even spoken of, as if the very memory of her had vanished from this place. But how could I forget? I, who had lost both my faith and the only person on earth who knew my apostasy.

Some of the other sisters did worry when my shaking began occurring too regularly to hide, and voiced their concerns to Mother Superior. Eventually the abbess called me into her office and advised me to go see a doctor about the "trouble with my hands." She was terribly confused when I tried to explain to her that the real problem was not with my hands but my vision.

Excerpted from The Frangipani Hotel by Violet Kupersmith. Copyright © 2014 by Violet Kupersmith. Excerpted by permission of Spiegel & Grau. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.