Read Online The Rice Paper Diaries by Francesca Rhydderch - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Francesca Rhydderch
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me that’s staying at home.’
I should have been enjoying my ride in this grand car, but the seat was slippery and Ah Wang drove too fast. And I didn’t like Mrs Elsa’s sad expression. It made me feel as if I didn’t know what to do next.
We were just about to turn onto our cul - de - sac when I saw Lam, walking with a man. A white man, in a soldier’s uniform. The smile on her face made her seem like a young girl again. I glanced over at Mrs Elsa, but she was looking at Mari, stroking the single strands of hair on her forehead.
I could see Wang’s eyes in the mirror. He looked angry. He banged the double doors to the garage as he put the car away.
‘She’s playing a dangerous game,’ he said to me, sitting over his tea in the kitchen. ‘If they see her with him that will be the end of things for all of us. They’ll think we’re not to be trusted.’
When we got back I had nothing to do. Mrs Elsa said she would look after Mari until bedtime. She went into the living room and closed the door, and I clacked my way up and down the passage like an abandoned mah - jong tile.
I went into the kitchen and stood next to Lam while she washed up. She told me the man’s name was Ryan. He drank Mexican beer and had deep pockets. He was a Canadian soldier. Mrs Elsa and the captain spent all their time chasing happiness, didn’t they, Lam said to me, so why not us? I didn’t have the heart to disagree with her.
She soaped and rinsed the plates with absent - minded strokes, staring out of the window, dreaming of a long voyage on a steam ship to Canada, a house to call her own, and a life far away from this one.
3
It was just a practice, the air - raid siren. A dummy run, the captain called it. I liked the way he said it, nice and gentle, reassuring. We were supposed to carry on as usual.
The papers hanging off newsstands ran big headlines alongside photographs of the new air - raid shelters they’ve put up downtown. It looked like a scene from a street opera: wardens in uniform stood in a line while a crowd of Wan Chai shoppers looked on open - mouthed. Above the low concrete blocks, which had 500 PERSONS daubed on them in oily paint, were hoardings pasted with man - sized advertisements for soft drinks and flower cakes. There must have been at least five hundred people right there on the street. A hawker had set up shop at the head of the crowd, facing away from the shelter, selling produce directly from her basket.
I wanted to buy the newspaper to show the letter - writer the next time I saw him, so he could read me the story that went with the picture, but I had just posted what was left of my month’s wages home, sending everything I had left because of Mother’s cough.
I walked around in a daze. Mari had just started teething and I was getting no sleep. She would be settled down as usual, but after an hour or so she would scream loudly out of the blue; the noise would slice into my dreams like the air - raid sirens, waking me instantly. At first I didn’t know what to do, what could be wrong, so I stood helplessly over her cot and watched her cry, as she wouldn’t let me touch her. When I realised what it might be, I rubbed poppy syrup into her gums to soothe them, feeling the enamel of her milk teeth about to push through the skin, hard against my fingers. I washed and changed her and gave her a fresh nappy. Then we would sit in the nursing chair by the window for a while watching gunboats passing up the channel under the low moon; I would put a few drops of gripe water on the tip of a teaspoon and get Mari to swallow them, and then, once she had calmed down, I’d put her back to sleep. She was over nine months old by this time though, with teeth coming through one after the other. When she had been through a bad week, I would sigh with relief to see the sharp tip of a tooth poking out of the bloody gum like a tiny white fin, only to be woken a few nights later by the next one. I got used to it. I got
I should have been enjoying my ride in this grand car, but the seat was slippery and Ah Wang drove too fast. And I didn’t like Mrs Elsa’s sad expression. It made me feel as if I didn’t know what to do next.
We were just about to turn onto our cul - de - sac when I saw Lam, walking with a man. A white man, in a soldier’s uniform. The smile on her face made her seem like a young girl again. I glanced over at Mrs Elsa, but she was looking at Mari, stroking the single strands of hair on her forehead.
I could see Wang’s eyes in the mirror. He looked angry. He banged the double doors to the garage as he put the car away.
‘She’s playing a dangerous game,’ he said to me, sitting over his tea in the kitchen. ‘If they see her with him that will be the end of things for all of us. They’ll think we’re not to be trusted.’
When we got back I had nothing to do. Mrs Elsa said she would look after Mari until bedtime. She went into the living room and closed the door, and I clacked my way up and down the passage like an abandoned mah - jong tile.
I went into the kitchen and stood next to Lam while she washed up. She told me the man’s name was Ryan. He drank Mexican beer and had deep pockets. He was a Canadian soldier. Mrs Elsa and the captain spent all their time chasing happiness, didn’t they, Lam said to me, so why not us? I didn’t have the heart to disagree with her.
She soaped and rinsed the plates with absent - minded strokes, staring out of the window, dreaming of a long voyage on a steam ship to Canada, a house to call her own, and a life far away from this one.
3
It was just a practice, the air - raid siren. A dummy run, the captain called it. I liked the way he said it, nice and gentle, reassuring. We were supposed to carry on as usual.
The papers hanging off newsstands ran big headlines alongside photographs of the new air - raid shelters they’ve put up downtown. It looked like a scene from a street opera: wardens in uniform stood in a line while a crowd of Wan Chai shoppers looked on open - mouthed. Above the low concrete blocks, which had 500 PERSONS daubed on them in oily paint, were hoardings pasted with man - sized advertisements for soft drinks and flower cakes. There must have been at least five hundred people right there on the street. A hawker had set up shop at the head of the crowd, facing away from the shelter, selling produce directly from her basket.
I wanted to buy the newspaper to show the letter - writer the next time I saw him, so he could read me the story that went with the picture, but I had just posted what was left of my month’s wages home, sending everything I had left because of Mother’s cough.
I walked around in a daze. Mari had just started teething and I was getting no sleep. She would be settled down as usual, but after an hour or so she would scream loudly out of the blue; the noise would slice into my dreams like the air - raid sirens, waking me instantly. At first I didn’t know what to do, what could be wrong, so I stood helplessly over her cot and watched her cry, as she wouldn’t let me touch her. When I realised what it might be, I rubbed poppy syrup into her gums to soothe them, feeling the enamel of her milk teeth about to push through the skin, hard against my fingers. I washed and changed her and gave her a fresh nappy. Then we would sit in the nursing chair by the window for a while watching gunboats passing up the channel under the low moon; I would put a few drops of gripe water on the tip of a teaspoon and get Mari to swallow them, and then, once she had calmed down, I’d put her back to sleep. She was over nine months old by this time though, with teeth coming through one after the other. When she had been through a bad week, I would sigh with relief to see the sharp tip of a tooth poking out of the bloody gum like a tiny white fin, only to be woken a few nights later by the next one. I got used to it. I got
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