Read Online The Colour of Tea by Hannah Tunnicliffe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hannah Tunnicliffe
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it goes on for a week. You can actually go and let them off yourself, by the water. They’re huge things, apparently. Even the little kids let off these enormous rockets …”
He comes back with a cold beer in his hand, a Tsingtao, the condensation sweating down the side of the bottle. He lifts it to his lips and sucks at the neck. I notice his unshaven chin, dark against the pale, hairless cleft in his throat. He looks back at me, his eyes green tonight, flinted with gold. I realize we haven’t had sex since that day Dr. Lee called.
“We should go down there, check it out—if you want to.” He shrugs.
I watch a red rocket explode into sparkling splinters. WhenI turn back to Pete, I can see the reflection of the rocket’s light splashed across his cheeks and forehead.
“Hello? Wanna go? Gracie?” He sounds exasperated. I hate it that he cannot wait for me to think for a minute and then reply. He’s impatient these days. When we first married, he would put his head to one side and watch me while I made a decision, his gaze roaming over my hair and eyes and lips. He never shook his keys or told me to hurry up. It was a gift, the patience he once had for me.
“Sure, let’s go then.”
* * *
The fireworks area is cordoned off from the street with tall tarpaulins, which block it from view. It is on the side of the road closest to the water, facing Macau peninsula. There must be a site on the other side too, as fireworks are erupting sporadically in front of the pointed needle that is the Macau Tower. On our way in, there is a warning notice that reads: PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHEN ENTERING THIS AREA. ALL CHILDREN MUST BE SUPERVISED. NO ANIMALS ALLOWED. PLEASE REFRAIN FROM SMOKING . Smoking would be unnecessary, as the air is thick with gunpowder and fumes. Pete rubs my back distractedly, staring at the mayhem. Adults and children have the same look on their faces—round eyes, mouths split wide open in laughter. The delight is almost palpable. A few Filipino maids and nannies sit off to the side jiggling babies and covering their small ears. They seem to be the only grim ones in sight. They look worn down, from the inside out. One of them catches my eye and attempts a polite smile. I nod back at her.
“Did you see that?” Pete cries.
Above us a huge shower of golden light crackles and slaps against the night sky. Pete whoops and cheers, and people nearby turn to give him the thumbs-up, laughing.
“This is awesome,” he sighs, suddenly sounding like an adolescent. “Wait here while I find out where to buy some rockets.”
Before I can reply, he has disappeared into the fog. I lean back against the metal scaffolding holding up the tarp and cross my arms over my chest. Kids scurry in front of me, reaching up to grasp their parents’ fingers or dragging them forcibly by the elbow. I spot a young woman standing off to the side, leaning as I am against a pole. Her face is set in the sulk of a teenager, but her makeup is thick and dark. She wears a deep purple sweatshirt with a high neck, studded all over with printed gold stars. She catches me staring and glares back, unnerving me. She looks a little familiar.
“There’s a bunch of work people here,” says Pete breathlessly on his return. “Paul and Linda are just over there.” He points and coughs.
“This smoke is pretty thick …”
“C’mon.” He slips his finger through the belt loop of my jeans, pulling my hip sideways. His voice croons, like when we were first dating, hair falling into his eyes.
The woman leaning against the pole looks away from us then, chin pointed into the sky. I see her hands move in the deep pockets of her sweatshirt. They crawl over her stomach.
“All right.”
Pete walks ahead, skipping through a few paces to get us there quickly. Linda and Paul must have been there awhile. Linda has a smearing of soot brushed across her blond hair and looks jazzed on whatever is in the expensive silver hip flask in her hand.
He comes back with a cold beer in his hand, a Tsingtao, the condensation sweating down the side of the bottle. He lifts it to his lips and sucks at the neck. I notice his unshaven chin, dark against the pale, hairless cleft in his throat. He looks back at me, his eyes green tonight, flinted with gold. I realize we haven’t had sex since that day Dr. Lee called.
“We should go down there, check it out—if you want to.” He shrugs.
I watch a red rocket explode into sparkling splinters. WhenI turn back to Pete, I can see the reflection of the rocket’s light splashed across his cheeks and forehead.
“Hello? Wanna go? Gracie?” He sounds exasperated. I hate it that he cannot wait for me to think for a minute and then reply. He’s impatient these days. When we first married, he would put his head to one side and watch me while I made a decision, his gaze roaming over my hair and eyes and lips. He never shook his keys or told me to hurry up. It was a gift, the patience he once had for me.
“Sure, let’s go then.”
* * *
The fireworks area is cordoned off from the street with tall tarpaulins, which block it from view. It is on the side of the road closest to the water, facing Macau peninsula. There must be a site on the other side too, as fireworks are erupting sporadically in front of the pointed needle that is the Macau Tower. On our way in, there is a warning notice that reads: PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHEN ENTERING THIS AREA. ALL CHILDREN MUST BE SUPERVISED. NO ANIMALS ALLOWED. PLEASE REFRAIN FROM SMOKING . Smoking would be unnecessary, as the air is thick with gunpowder and fumes. Pete rubs my back distractedly, staring at the mayhem. Adults and children have the same look on their faces—round eyes, mouths split wide open in laughter. The delight is almost palpable. A few Filipino maids and nannies sit off to the side jiggling babies and covering their small ears. They seem to be the only grim ones in sight. They look worn down, from the inside out. One of them catches my eye and attempts a polite smile. I nod back at her.
“Did you see that?” Pete cries.
Above us a huge shower of golden light crackles and slaps against the night sky. Pete whoops and cheers, and people nearby turn to give him the thumbs-up, laughing.
“This is awesome,” he sighs, suddenly sounding like an adolescent. “Wait here while I find out where to buy some rockets.”
Before I can reply, he has disappeared into the fog. I lean back against the metal scaffolding holding up the tarp and cross my arms over my chest. Kids scurry in front of me, reaching up to grasp their parents’ fingers or dragging them forcibly by the elbow. I spot a young woman standing off to the side, leaning as I am against a pole. Her face is set in the sulk of a teenager, but her makeup is thick and dark. She wears a deep purple sweatshirt with a high neck, studded all over with printed gold stars. She catches me staring and glares back, unnerving me. She looks a little familiar.
“There’s a bunch of work people here,” says Pete breathlessly on his return. “Paul and Linda are just over there.” He points and coughs.
“This smoke is pretty thick …”
“C’mon.” He slips his finger through the belt loop of my jeans, pulling my hip sideways. His voice croons, like when we were first dating, hair falling into his eyes.
The woman leaning against the pole looks away from us then, chin pointed into the sky. I see her hands move in the deep pockets of her sweatshirt. They crawl over her stomach.
“All right.”
Pete walks ahead, skipping through a few paces to get us there quickly. Linda and Paul must have been there awhile. Linda has a smearing of soot brushed across her blond hair and looks jazzed on whatever is in the expensive silver hip flask in her hand.
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