Girl in Translation (14 page)

As she spoke, I understood what must have happened. There must have been a letter informing me of the scholarship, but it would have gone to the fake address we always used, the one my school had on file. This meant it was likely that Aunt Paula would be the one to receive it, and bring it to us at the factory later. “I think letter will come. Thank you, Mrs. LaGuardia. You help me so much.”

She bent down and, as a cloud of perfume enveloped me, gave me a kiss on my cheek. “You’re very welcome.”

I saw Tyrone leaving arm in arm with the woman in the feathered hat, who must have been his mother. He waved to me as they went outside.

Annette hugged me from behind. “I can’t believe you’re going to Harrison too! We’ll have so much fun!”

As I disentangled myself, she cocked her head and asked, “How come you told me you didn’t pass the test?”

“I was not sure,” I said. Annette seemed satisfied and turned to her parents, who were standing behind us.

“Hi, Kimberly,” Mrs. Avery said. “A very big congratulations to you.” She extended her hand to Ma. “It’s so nice to meet you at last, Mrs. Chang.”

“Hello,” Ma said. Ma shook her hand and then Mr. Avery’s. He was quite a bit shorter than Mrs. Avery, and seemed to have to crane his neck to allow his head to emerge from the top of the tidy suit he was wearing.

“We’re all going out for a celebratory lunch,” Mr. Avery said. “Would you both care to join us?”

Ma looked at me in confusion. I translated for her, hoping that just this once, she would say yes.

“No, dank you,” Ma said. “We go…” Her voice trailed off as she couldn’t think of the words for a polite excuse in English.

“Home,” I said. “We must do something.”

“Oh,” Mr. Avery said, “that’s a pity. Maybe next time.”

“Dank you,” Ma said. “You very good.”

After the Averys left for their lunch, Ma and I also withdrew from the celebrating crowds at the school and went into the subway station to go to the factory. I was still basking in the excitement of the ceremony. Ma was so happy about Harrison Prep that she barely glanced at my report card on the train.

Once we were at the factory, Ma and I were working as fast as we could to catch up when I saw Aunt Paula standing in front of us. She didn’t usually come to our area unless it was time for her to check the pieces before a shipment went out.

“How was the graduation?” she asked.

“Very fine,” Ma said. “Thank you for letting me take the morning off.”

“Would the two of you come with me?” Her tone was polite but Ma and I exchanged a worried look. I wondered if something had gone wrong because Ma had been absent from the factory that morning.

We trailed behind Aunt Paula and went past Matt, who was just leaving the men’s room. Behind Aunt Paula’s back, he caught my eye and pretended to scratch himself, in an imitation of her. I stifled a laugh.

When we entered the office, Aunt Paula invited us to sit down. Uncle Bob must have been out.

“I have some mail for Kimberly.” She held out a thick manila envelope with the crest of Harrison Prep stamped on it.

I took it. Despite Aunt Paula’s casual manner, I felt nervous. Why hadn’t she just given it to us at our workstation? Bringing us here meant she wanted to talk or to find out something.

“Are you applying to that school?” she asked.

I nodded. Ma took a breath, probably to tell Aunt Paula the news but Aunt Paula spoke first. “Why didn’t you ask me for advice?”

Ma must have changed her mind about what she was going to say. “We meant no disrespect.”

“Of course not. It’s just that this is a very competitive school and I could have helped you choose a school possibly more suited to Kimberly.”

“Do you know Harrison Prep?” I asked.

“Of course. I had to do a lot of research before figuring out where Nelson should go. Harrison Prep is a famous, beautiful school. But it is also very difficult to gain admission, and it is extremely expensive.”

“Yes,” Ma said. Like me, she didn’t say more. I think we were both waiting to see Aunt Paula’s true face. We wanted to know what she would say to help or discourage us, before she knew the truth.

Aunt Paula laughed. “Little sister, I am surprised you let Kimberly hold on to her hope when you must suspect how much this school costs! You should throw that application form away! Even Nelson couldn’t get accepted there. And it is much too late anyway.”

I finally spoke. “It’s not an application form. It’s a letter of acceptance with a full scholarship. My principal told us today.”

Aunt Paula stared. A flush crept up her neck and the dark mole on her lip trembled. “You’re going to Harrison Prep? The two of you did this behind my back?” Her voice was furious.

I heard Ma gasp as I clutched the envelope to my chest. Aunt Paula’s sudden open anger caught both of us by surprise.

“Older sister,” Ma said quietly, “what strangeness are you speaking?”

Aunt Paula put her hand to her hair to calm herself. Her fingers were shaking with emotion. “I am just surprised that something so important was done without asking me.”

“It happened quickly and we didn’t think it would be successful.” Ma tried to placate her. “We are grateful to you, for everything you’ve done.”

Aunt Paula had recovered herself. “Of course, I am glad for this opportunity for Kimberly. And to think, I worried that the two of you would be a burden to me here.”

“We can take care of ourselves,” I said, meeting her eyes.

Aunt Paula studied me as if she’d never really looked at me before. “I can see that.”

Later, when we were back at our finishing station, Ma and I didn’t speak openly about what had happened. I knew Ma didn’t want to admit Aunt Paula’s weaknesses to me. But I had understood what happened anyway. For just a moment, Aunt Paula had flipped her polite face over and we had seen the black face underneath. We would be allowed to work and not cause any trouble for her, but she didn’t want us to be any more successful than she was. And I wasn’t supposed to do better than Nelson. In other words, Aunt Paula wouldn’t mind if we stayed at the factory and that apartment all our lives.

That summer, Annette sent me postcards. She always addressed them to “Miss Kimberly Chang” and she signed off with “Yours Truly, Miss Annette Avery.” I’d given her my real address because I didn’t want these letters to have to go through Aunt Paula and I figured that even if Annette looked it up on a map, she was too innocent to know what sort of neighborhood I lived in anyway. From camp, she wrote:

I am so bored here! There is no one fun and all of the

activities are dumb. The only thing I like is swimming.

When it gets hot, the water is cool in the lake. They

make us sing stupid songs and play stupid games. I

wish I was back in NY with you!

I’d never seen a lake and I’d never been swimming. Like many people in Hong Kong in those days, Ma and I hadn’t had the money to do such things. Often, when I was working, I pictured being at that cool lake with Annette. Summer in the factory was one long rush of heat amid the deafening roar of the fans. It was impossible to hear one another over the noise and so the summer became a wordless time for us. The windows remained hermetically sealed, probably to deter any inspectors who might look in, and the huge industrial fans were the only relief we had.

Each fan was tall and black like a sarcophagus, swathed in dust. Thick strands of filth hung off each part of the wire hood, swaying in the wind until they broke off to splatter against my face or worse, the piece of clothing I was working on. The air they blew was a sweltering wind, merely redistributing heat from the steamers and scorching motors of the machines to our own wet bodies and back again, yet we were glad of them because there was nothing else. During our breaks, we were too hot to play, and Matt and I stood with arms outstretched in front of the fans, our hair streaming out behind us, pretending we could fly.

The factory dust became worse than usual because we were bathed in sweat and the fabric fibers clung to us. My bare shoulders and neck were streaked where I’d wiped the dust off with my fingers.

Despite the expense, Ma bought me a few stamps so I could write back to Annette, because Ma thought it was educational for me to write in English. I wrote this:

Sorry it is boring there! New York City is

relaxing. I enjoy it to rest and read books.

Songs and games are greatly stupid. I hope

you come back soon. Maybe my mother and

me will go trip soon.

From Florida, Annette wrote:

Your so lucky you get to relax in NY! Well, my

grandmother’s house is pretty neat. Yesterday, we had a

barbeque and I got to eat my hot dog while I was

sitting in the pool! Where are you going? I hope you

have a great time! Don’t forget about your best friend

when your gone!!!

She also sent me a postcard with a picture of a castle and the words “The Magic Kingdom” printed on it.

I answered:

I had a hot dog one time and I liked it very greatly.

Only I not like the yellow sauce. Ma and me maybe not

go trip now because it is too nice in New York City.

When I go trip in future, I will buy you a present. What

you like? Thank you for a beautiful postcard. I like it

very much. Your grandmother belong to your mother’s

side or your father’s side? I hope she has good health.

Every night, when I got home from the factory, I reread Annette’s letters. I longed for a story of my own to tell, about a trip to New Jersey perhaps or Atlantic City, where some of the sewing ladies went. If I were rich, I would buy Annette and Ma many presents, from places all over America.

In our apartment, the roaches and mice had returned with a vengeance and we couldn’t leave anything unsealed even for a moment, not even the toothpaste, or we would return to find a roach licking it, with its long waving antennae. We took off all the garbage bags from the windows in the kitchen. The sunlight streamed in from the back for the first time. I looked for the woman and baby in the apartment next door but their room was empty. Even the bed was gone. As soon as the weather became warm enough, Ma took out her violin almost every Sunday evening. I would clean up after dinner while she played, sometimes only for a few minutes, because we usually had so much work from the factory to finish at home.

I said to her once, “Ma, you don’t have to play for me every week. You have so many other things to do.”

“I play for myself too,” she’d answered. “Without my violin, I’d forget who I was.”

Finally, the heat got so bad that Ma bought us a small fan and we set it in front of our mattresses. After work, we both caught our breath in front of that fan, sitting on the mattresses on the floor, our backs resting against the wall. Slowly, two yellowish human-shaped stains developed against the cracked paint: a small one for me and a larger one for Ma. Those stains are probably still there in that apartment, and I’ve dreamed about them, about our skin cells, our droplets of oil and sweat, sunk into that porous wall, bits of us that will never escape.

One Sunday afternoon near the end of the summer, Annette appeared at my apartment. Ma and I were buttoning up some jackets we had brought home from the factory. I jumped at a loud noise. It was so unfamiliar, it took me a moment before I recognized it as the doorbell.

“Who can that be?” Ma said.

I ran to the front window as Ma said behind me, “Kimberly, stop! They’ll see you!”

I was already peering down and saw Annette’s round face framed by her halo of hair, turned up toward us. My knees buckled. I ducked down and hid myself below the window. I hoped she hadn’t seen me. I’d caught a glimpse of their car on the street with a short man inside, probably Mr. Avery.

The doorbell rang again, then again. Ma and I stared at each other, not daring to whisper, as if the factory inspectors were at our door. Finally, the ringing stopped and I heard the car drive away.

“I think they’re gone,” I said.

“Don’t look yet,” Ma said.

We waited another ten minutes before I dared to check that Annette and her father had left.

A few days later, I got another letter from Annette:

You are going to be very disappointed! Because I actually

came to your house, just to say hi! But you weren’t there.

I thought I saw a face in the window but no such luck.

Hey, what’s your phone number? How come I still don’t

have it? See you very soon… at our new school!!!!

In preparation for Harrison, Ma bought me some new clothes. I had to get a dark blue blazer to conform to the dress code, but it was hard to find one we could afford. Finally, in a discount store, we bought a navy blue one for $4.99. It was made of scratchy polyester and the sleeves were so long they covered my hands. The shoulders were padded and protruded into the air past my own, but at least it vaguely resembled the ones I thought the other kids had been wearing. We got a white shirt and a dark blue skirt at Woolworth’s.

When I had the entire outfit on, I looked in the mirror and I saw a small Chinese girl with short hair, her torso and arms engulfed by a boxy blazer. A cheap shirt peeked out from under the blazer and below that, a stiff skirt jutted out above skinny calves. The skirt had large rhinestones around the waistband because we hadn’t been able to find a plain one. I wore my brown Chinese slippers, the only shoes I had that could go with a skirt. The entire outfit was uncomfortable. I felt lost in the contours of someone I didn’t recognize.