grab her arms, and push her out of the door, and Nini's small body tensed up at the expectation. She wondered whether Mrs. Gu's hands would feel differently on her face than her own mother's slapping. “Nini,” Teacher Gu said, appearing behind Mrs. Gu, his voice gentler. He walked past Mrs. Gu and took the rope off Nini's shoulder. She let the basket go and followed him to an old desk that served as both the kitchen counter and a dinner table. There was no porridge and no pickled cabbage waiting. Teacher Gu looked around, and before he spoke, there came a muffled cry from Mrs. Gu in their bedroom. He rubbed his hands. “Mrs. Gu is not feeling well today,” he said. “I'll be back, and you wait here.”
Nini nodded. When Teacher Gu closed the bedroom door behind him, she tried the two drawers at the side of the desk. From the dim light coming through the newsprint that covered the window, Nini could see that the first drawer was filled with chopsticks, cutting knives, matchbooks, candles, used batteries, and other knickknacks. She shut it without making a sound and opened the other one: a few pencils, a black velvet box, some scratch paper, a thick notebook in which many receipts were pasted, a plastic barrette. Nini opened the box and found a fountain pen inside; she stroked the smooth and dark blue body before putting it back into the box. She then picked up the barrette and slipped it into her own pocket; Mrs. Gu deserved this. The two hens, quiet and forgotten by Nini, scratched and cooed; startled, she almost gave out a cry. When no one came, she paged through the notebook. There was a loose receipt, and she pocketed it too, just in time before Teacher Gu came out of the bedroom. He turned on the lamp and Nini blinked in the sudden harshness of the light. He walked to the cabinet and took out a tin of biscuits. “Nini, take the biscuits with you,” said Teacher Gu. “For you and your sisters.”
Nini looked up at Teacher Gu, and his eyes, tired and sad, seemed not to register her presence. She thought about the receipt in her pocket, something he would be looking for later; if he said a few kind words to apologize for Mrs. Gu, Nini thought, she would find a way to sneak the receipt back into the drawer, or just drop it by the door.
Teacher Gu did not notice her hesitation. He picked up her basket. “Mrs. Gu is not feeling well these days, and she does not wish to see you for some time,” Teacher Gu said, pushing Nini gently out of the door. “Don't come back to see us until Mrs. Gu feels better.”
In the street Nini opened the tin and put a biscuit in her mouth. The biscuit tasted sweet and stale. Teacher Gu had changed his mind too, dismissing her with a tin of biscuits that must have been sitting on the shelf for ages. Nini took the receipt out and looked at the red official stamp on it. She could not read, but a red stamp must mean something important, which made her happy. She squeezed the receipt into a small ball and threw it into a nearby dumpster. She took out another biscuit, nibbling and walking slowly home when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
Nini turned and saw a familiar face that belonged to a young man who spent most of his days wandering in and out of the marketplace. She stepped back and looked at him.
“Nini's your name, isn't it?” he said, baring his yellow and crooked teeth.
She nodded.
“You must be wondering how I know your name,” said the man. “Do you want to know how I know your name?”
Nini shook her head.
“And you have five sisters. Do you want to know what else I know about you?”
Nini stared at the young man without replying. On another day, in a different mood, she might ask the young man who he thought he was to bother with other people's business. She had heard grownups talk this way and she believed she had learned the right tone, impatient, and with authority. At least, when she talked to her sisters in that tone, they all seemed intimidated. She
Nini nodded. When Teacher Gu closed the bedroom door behind him, she tried the two drawers at the side of the desk. From the dim light coming through the newsprint that covered the window, Nini could see that the first drawer was filled with chopsticks, cutting knives, matchbooks, candles, used batteries, and other knickknacks. She shut it without making a sound and opened the other one: a few pencils, a black velvet box, some scratch paper, a thick notebook in which many receipts were pasted, a plastic barrette. Nini opened the box and found a fountain pen inside; she stroked the smooth and dark blue body before putting it back into the box. She then picked up the barrette and slipped it into her own pocket; Mrs. Gu deserved this. The two hens, quiet and forgotten by Nini, scratched and cooed; startled, she almost gave out a cry. When no one came, she paged through the notebook. There was a loose receipt, and she pocketed it too, just in time before Teacher Gu came out of the bedroom. He turned on the lamp and Nini blinked in the sudden harshness of the light. He walked to the cabinet and took out a tin of biscuits. “Nini, take the biscuits with you,” said Teacher Gu. “For you and your sisters.”
Nini looked up at Teacher Gu, and his eyes, tired and sad, seemed not to register her presence. She thought about the receipt in her pocket, something he would be looking for later; if he said a few kind words to apologize for Mrs. Gu, Nini thought, she would find a way to sneak the receipt back into the drawer, or just drop it by the door.
Teacher Gu did not notice her hesitation. He picked up her basket. “Mrs. Gu is not feeling well these days, and she does not wish to see you for some time,” Teacher Gu said, pushing Nini gently out of the door. “Don't come back to see us until Mrs. Gu feels better.”
In the street Nini opened the tin and put a biscuit in her mouth. The biscuit tasted sweet and stale. Teacher Gu had changed his mind too, dismissing her with a tin of biscuits that must have been sitting on the shelf for ages. Nini took the receipt out and looked at the red official stamp on it. She could not read, but a red stamp must mean something important, which made her happy. She squeezed the receipt into a small ball and threw it into a nearby dumpster. She took out another biscuit, nibbling and walking slowly home when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
Nini turned and saw a familiar face that belonged to a young man who spent most of his days wandering in and out of the marketplace. She stepped back and looked at him.
“Nini's your name, isn't it?” he said, baring his yellow and crooked teeth.
She nodded.
“You must be wondering how I know your name,” said the man. “Do you want to know how I know your name?”
Nini shook her head.
“And you have five sisters. Do you want to know what else I know about you?”
Nini stared at the young man without replying. On another day, in a different mood, she might ask the young man who he thought he was to bother with other people's business. She had heard grownups talk this way and she believed she had learned the right tone, impatient, and with authority. At least, when she talked to her sisters in that tone, they all seemed intimidated. She
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