Read Online The Rice Paper Diaries by Francesca Rhydderch - Free Book Online
Authors: Francesca Rhydderch
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the promise of a day off. She would begin her fortnight with her head down and her eyes bleary. She would find it difficult to smile, even at Mrs Elsa, and she didn’t exchange two words with me. She never told me what she did or where she went; she just left her things at the kongsi fong and abandoned me there in the dingy half - light, and I didn’t see her until she woke me the next morning for us to start our journey up to work for five. Sleepy myself, I would always forget to ask Lam about her day’s holiday until we were at the apartment, standing straight in our clean white tunics and black lawn trousers, waiting for Mrs Elsa to come and inspect us and give us our instructions for the day. By then it would be too late, and the day’s work would press in on us without restraint.
In the afternoons, though, everything would open up around me again as I made my way down the hill with the pram. The botanical gardens were filled with the sound of laughter. The spaces on the grass under the biggest trees were always taken by other girls dressed in black and white uniforms like me, and rows of perambulators parked in the shade to keep them cool. Crawling around on the grass with the water lilies spread out lazily in the shallow pond behind them were small white buds of babies – grouped together in some places, and spread out singly in others.
‘Hello Lin,’ said the girl next to me. She wore her plait rolled into a chignon on the back of her head and when she smiled she showed her full cheekbones.
We took our babies out of their prams and passed them round, each admiring the other’s, as that was the polite thing to do.
‘Celia has another tooth!’ said one, holding up a stocky baby with blonde hair.
‘My daughter has three – look!’ said another. She is from Sam Sui. That is why she is always determined to better everyone else, Mother would say . ‘My daughter’ is what we all call our babies. Even though they’re not our babies. We understand what is meant by it.
‘My daughter is still too little for teeth,’ I said, holding up Mari for inspection. I knew it didn’t matter that Mari had nothing to show yet – no teeth, no funny crawl on her bottom, no first words, in Cantonese or English. My daughter has the prettiest eyes and the sweetest disposition. She never cries.
We put our babies back in their prams and started to leave the park in twos and threes. When I looked back there was no one left apart from a tired coolie who had taken our place on the bench in the shade. He had a shaved head and wore nothing but a pair of shorts; across his back you could see where sweat mixed with fish salt had dried on his skin. He was eating rice from a bowl, holding it up with one hand to catch every grain, his head tilted right back.
I waited at the gates for Wang. I hoped that I wasn’t late. I had forgotten to ask one of the others if it was four o’clock yet, and I knew Mrs Elsa would need help to get ready to go out for dinner. I had kept Mari out of the pram and strapped her to my back to carry her the length of the park. I sang to her as we waited. She chuckled in my ear, then fell asleep, her breathing slowing and deepening, resting her head against the back of my neck.
I was about to take her out of the straps and put her in the pram when Wang pulled up in the car. He parked up close to the kerb, ready to lift the pram straight into the boot without trouble. Mrs Elsa was sitting in the back. She moved over towards me as I loosened the ties, her hands held out ready to take Mari. I sat back against the leather seat.
‘I hope I’m not late, Mrs Jones,’ I said.
‘No, not at all, Ah Lin.’ She held Mari close to her in her lap. She wasn’t smiling the way she usually did. ‘I’m not going out now, in any case.’
‘Poor you. Poor Mr Tommy.’ I wished I had more English. I didn’t like having to search for the right words.
‘Oh, Mr Tommy’s still going out,’ she said. ‘It’s just
In the afternoons, though, everything would open up around me again as I made my way down the hill with the pram. The botanical gardens were filled with the sound of laughter. The spaces on the grass under the biggest trees were always taken by other girls dressed in black and white uniforms like me, and rows of perambulators parked in the shade to keep them cool. Crawling around on the grass with the water lilies spread out lazily in the shallow pond behind them were small white buds of babies – grouped together in some places, and spread out singly in others.
‘Hello Lin,’ said the girl next to me. She wore her plait rolled into a chignon on the back of her head and when she smiled she showed her full cheekbones.
We took our babies out of their prams and passed them round, each admiring the other’s, as that was the polite thing to do.
‘Celia has another tooth!’ said one, holding up a stocky baby with blonde hair.
‘My daughter has three – look!’ said another. She is from Sam Sui. That is why she is always determined to better everyone else, Mother would say . ‘My daughter’ is what we all call our babies. Even though they’re not our babies. We understand what is meant by it.
‘My daughter is still too little for teeth,’ I said, holding up Mari for inspection. I knew it didn’t matter that Mari had nothing to show yet – no teeth, no funny crawl on her bottom, no first words, in Cantonese or English. My daughter has the prettiest eyes and the sweetest disposition. She never cries.
We put our babies back in their prams and started to leave the park in twos and threes. When I looked back there was no one left apart from a tired coolie who had taken our place on the bench in the shade. He had a shaved head and wore nothing but a pair of shorts; across his back you could see where sweat mixed with fish salt had dried on his skin. He was eating rice from a bowl, holding it up with one hand to catch every grain, his head tilted right back.
I waited at the gates for Wang. I hoped that I wasn’t late. I had forgotten to ask one of the others if it was four o’clock yet, and I knew Mrs Elsa would need help to get ready to go out for dinner. I had kept Mari out of the pram and strapped her to my back to carry her the length of the park. I sang to her as we waited. She chuckled in my ear, then fell asleep, her breathing slowing and deepening, resting her head against the back of my neck.
I was about to take her out of the straps and put her in the pram when Wang pulled up in the car. He parked up close to the kerb, ready to lift the pram straight into the boot without trouble. Mrs Elsa was sitting in the back. She moved over towards me as I loosened the ties, her hands held out ready to take Mari. I sat back against the leather seat.
‘I hope I’m not late, Mrs Jones,’ I said.
‘No, not at all, Ah Lin.’ She held Mari close to her in her lap. She wasn’t smiling the way she usually did. ‘I’m not going out now, in any case.’
‘Poor you. Poor Mr Tommy.’ I wished I had more English. I didn’t like having to search for the right words.
‘Oh, Mr Tommy’s still going out,’ she said. ‘It’s just
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