with a cryptic message, urging his sister not to lose heart over his absence. It was painful to leave you , he writes. But after a moment’s hesitation, he promises they will meet again soon. In the absence of truth, he wishes to furnish her with a small degree of hope. For now, it is the most that he can do.
September 2004
Lili does not speak to Jin of the photos or the note. She hardly wants to disclose that she has been through Jin’s things. But the atmosphere between them the next morning is strained. Lili is due to start work at the language school, so she catches the No. 43 bus with Jin. On the way, Jin explains that the school’s owner, a Hong Kong Chinese woman called Fay, is keen to open branches in other parts of London. For now, the school is located in the lower ground floor of a terraced house ten minutes’ walk from Sheep Pen.
The house is owned by Fay and her English husband Robert, who live upstairs. Robert, says Jin, is a balding accountant who brays like a donkey when he laughs. Last year, he drank too much at the school’s Christmas party and made a pass at her in the hallway outside the bathroom. Jin shrugs when she relates this tale, as if such behaviour from middle-aged English men is to be expected. But Lili is secretly appalled.
Fay herself is a plump fifty-year-old who speaks Mandarin with a southern accent. She is short and wide and wears a tight-fitting charcoal mini-skirt with a black silk shirt. She takes Lili to her office, a tiny room on the first floor with a paper-strewn desk and one small window. She asks her to fill out some forms, then hands across a folder of class lists and lesson plans. While Lililooks over the latter, Fay lights a cigarette and sits back in her chair.
“Jin told me you were good with children,” she remarks.
Lili does not recall ever discussing children with Jin. What’s more, she knows little about them. Her only job since leaving university has been teaching adults.
“I like children,” she says tentatively.
“Do you have experience teaching younger ones?” Fay asks.
For an instant Lili considers lying. But that would be too much like Jin. “No,” she replies. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“It doesn’t matter,” says Fay, waving smoke away. “You’ll learn quickly. Don’t expect too much from them. The parents will be happy if they can say please and thank you by the end of term. It’s often just a form of babysitting.”
“Oh.” Lili frowns.
“The important thing is that the kids leave here with a smile. So their parents sign them up again.”
At this Fay throws back her head and laughs. Lili sees a dark pocket of silver fillings. Fay reaches down to the bottom of her desk and pulls out a jar of brightly coloured sweets.
“I always give them one of these at the end of class,” she says holding up the jar. “But you’ll find your own way. Just keep them happy.”
“I’ll try,” says Lili.
Fay eyes her for a moment. “Where did you say you were from?”
“Hebei. Near Tangshan.”
Fay narrows her eyes. “Tangshan,” she murmurs. “Why do I know it?”
“The earthquake,” says Lili. “Nineteen seventy-six.”
“Yes, of course. I’d forgotten. Before your time, I expect.”
Lili swallows. No , she thinks. We were there, Wen and I . But Tangshan and Sheep Pen seem a million miles apart.
“Yes,” she answers.
Fay takes one last puff, then stubs the cigarette out in a jade ashtray, before exhaling. “Jin said you’d be perfect for this job,” she says, standing up.
“Thank you,” Lili replies uncertainly. She realises that she no longer trusts Jin or her motives; she feels as if she has stepped from sunlight into darkness.
She will teach two afternoons a week at the school, as well as Saturday mornings. And on Thursdays she will teach at a private school in Notting Hill that has introduced an after-school Mandarin club. Fay gives her a map showing the school’s location. This will be her first class,
September 2004
Lili does not speak to Jin of the photos or the note. She hardly wants to disclose that she has been through Jin’s things. But the atmosphere between them the next morning is strained. Lili is due to start work at the language school, so she catches the No. 43 bus with Jin. On the way, Jin explains that the school’s owner, a Hong Kong Chinese woman called Fay, is keen to open branches in other parts of London. For now, the school is located in the lower ground floor of a terraced house ten minutes’ walk from Sheep Pen.
The house is owned by Fay and her English husband Robert, who live upstairs. Robert, says Jin, is a balding accountant who brays like a donkey when he laughs. Last year, he drank too much at the school’s Christmas party and made a pass at her in the hallway outside the bathroom. Jin shrugs when she relates this tale, as if such behaviour from middle-aged English men is to be expected. But Lili is secretly appalled.
Fay herself is a plump fifty-year-old who speaks Mandarin with a southern accent. She is short and wide and wears a tight-fitting charcoal mini-skirt with a black silk shirt. She takes Lili to her office, a tiny room on the first floor with a paper-strewn desk and one small window. She asks her to fill out some forms, then hands across a folder of class lists and lesson plans. While Lililooks over the latter, Fay lights a cigarette and sits back in her chair.
“Jin told me you were good with children,” she remarks.
Lili does not recall ever discussing children with Jin. What’s more, she knows little about them. Her only job since leaving university has been teaching adults.
“I like children,” she says tentatively.
“Do you have experience teaching younger ones?” Fay asks.
For an instant Lili considers lying. But that would be too much like Jin. “No,” she replies. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“It doesn’t matter,” says Fay, waving smoke away. “You’ll learn quickly. Don’t expect too much from them. The parents will be happy if they can say please and thank you by the end of term. It’s often just a form of babysitting.”
“Oh.” Lili frowns.
“The important thing is that the kids leave here with a smile. So their parents sign them up again.”
At this Fay throws back her head and laughs. Lili sees a dark pocket of silver fillings. Fay reaches down to the bottom of her desk and pulls out a jar of brightly coloured sweets.
“I always give them one of these at the end of class,” she says holding up the jar. “But you’ll find your own way. Just keep them happy.”
“I’ll try,” says Lili.
Fay eyes her for a moment. “Where did you say you were from?”
“Hebei. Near Tangshan.”
Fay narrows her eyes. “Tangshan,” she murmurs. “Why do I know it?”
“The earthquake,” says Lili. “Nineteen seventy-six.”
“Yes, of course. I’d forgotten. Before your time, I expect.”
Lili swallows. No , she thinks. We were there, Wen and I . But Tangshan and Sheep Pen seem a million miles apart.
“Yes,” she answers.
Fay takes one last puff, then stubs the cigarette out in a jade ashtray, before exhaling. “Jin said you’d be perfect for this job,” she says, standing up.
“Thank you,” Lili replies uncertainly. She realises that she no longer trusts Jin or her motives; she feels as if she has stepped from sunlight into darkness.
She will teach two afternoons a week at the school, as well as Saturday mornings. And on Thursdays she will teach at a private school in Notting Hill that has introduced an after-school Mandarin club. Fay gives her a map showing the school’s location. This will be her first class,
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