Half and Half (8 page)

W
ith Grandpa's help, Ron put on his new kilt. It fit him perfectly, as we all knew it would, since he was the same height as I was. Ron made a face when Grandpa hung the purse, or sporran, from his belt, but he didn't mind the Balmoral cap so much. It looked just right on his red hair—his naturally red hair.

When Ron had the whole outfit on, Grandpa stepped back and beamed at him. “There's my …”

Grandpa had started to say “wee laddie.” I even saw him round his lips for the word “wee,” but he stopped himself just in time and ended with “laddie.”

Grandpa decided Ron needed some encouragement. “You know, of course, that dancing is always one of the athletic events of the Highland Games?”

When we went to the Highland Games in Vancouver, Ron didn't see any of the dancing. He spent the whole time watching the hammer throwing and the caber tossing. I saw some of the caber tossing and found it pretty weird. The caber is a great big log about the size of a telephone pole. You're supposed to raise it upright, then spin it around and try to make it fall pointing the other way. It looked totally impossible to me. In fact few of the contestants managed to do it.

After we came home, Ron found a long two-by-four in Dad's toolshed, and he tried to toss it like a caber when he thought no one was looking. But he had to give it up. I suspected that he planned to try it again when he was five years older and two feet taller—if he ever got to be two feet taller.

“You might think dancing is much easier compared to
hammer throwing and caber tossing,” continued Grandpa. “But it's just as hard. Some people believe Highland dancing was really a victor's celebration after winning a battle!” Then Grandpa gave his clinching argument. “In the old days, only menfolk did the dancing. It was considered too strenuous for the womenfolk!”

That made Ron draw himself up straighter. After Grandpa's little talk, Ron was ready to accept the kilt, the cap, and the purse. But he still made a face as he tucked in the frilly blouse.

Grandpa noticed Ron's expression. “Don't sneer at the fancy lace decoration on your blouse. Bonnie Prince Charlie wore a lacy blouse with his kilt at the Battle of Culloden!”

Personally, I found it hard to believe that Bonnie Prince Charlie did any such thing. But it was true that our children's book of Scottish history had an illustration showing the prince at the battle, looking very handsome in his kilt and his lacy blouse.

“Maybe that's why he lost the battle of Culloden,” said Grandma, and winked at me.

Grandpa turned bright red and drew a deep breath to
give a crushing reply, but the doorbell rang and the dancers began to arrive.

Maggie blinked at the sight of my orange Jell-O hair, but she was too polite to say anything. Then she saw Ron dressed in his Highland outfit. “Hey, is that boy going to join our troupe?”

I nodded. “He's my brother, and he'll be taking my place in the dance.”

Maggie looked surprised. “Your brother? But he's got red hair!”

What she meant was that Ron had genuine red hair. “He looks cool in that kilt,” she added.

Ron belonged and I didn't. I turned away, trying not to mind.

The eight dancers took their places, now consisting of four boys standing opposite four girls. Grandpa raised his bow. His eyes were bright as he looked at Ron in the row of four boys. He brought his bow down on the opening bars of the first reel, and soon the room began to shake again with the thumps of pounding feet.

I watched Ron gradually getting the hang of the dances. He really was quick and light on his feet, and his
reflexes were good. Before long, he was swept into the dances, and he was keeping up pretty well. It seemed that Grandpa's worries were over.

As I watched the brilliantly dressed dancers whirling and spinning in front of me, I tried hard to feel glad for Ron. After all, it had been my idea for him to take my place.

Now I was free to put on Nainai's costume and take part in Dad's program. I left the living room, slowly climbed the stairs, and went to my room.

Nainai was upstairs sitting at my desk, reading one of Dad's Chinese paperback books. For years I thought those were serious books about philosophy or history. Then Dad confessed that they were adventure stories about outlaws and bandits, full of sword fights and chases and kung fu. When I told Ron about it, he said it was worth learning Chinese to read those books. I bet anything he'd do it, someday.

When Nainai saw me come in, she smiled and put the book down. “Ready to try on your costume, Fiona?” she asked.

She opened her suitcase and carefully took out the
shiny silk jacket and trousers. Seeing the jacket unfolded, I caught my breath again. Against the green silk material, the embroidered flowers stood out and sparkled like a garden in spring.

I took off my T-shirt and put on the jacket. Nainai laughed when she saw me inserting a button into the wrong loop. She undid the button and put it into the right loop. Then she helped me with the other four buttons.

The silk jacket felt like cool water against my skin, and it made a wonderful swish sound as I moved. I felt like a Chinese princess.

Then I remembered my hair and moaned. “How can I appear onstage as a Chinese girl with my orange hair?”

Nainai smiled. “No need to worry. You see, I know you have short hair, and Chinese girls in the old days wore a long braid down their back. So I came prepared.”

From her other suitcase, Nainai took out a black wig with a long braid. So that was what she and Dad had meant when they said that it was all right as long as my features hadn't been changed. The color of my hair wasn't a problem for them.

After Nainai carefully fitted the wig over my head, I
turned and looked in the mirror. An elegant stranger looked back at me.

From behind me, Nainai said softly, “It's the cover illustration come to life.”

I laughed. “Not with jeans!” I took off my jeans and pulled on the silk trousers. They were a little snug around the waist, but I could stand it. The trouble was that the pants were way too short.

Nainai gasped as she looked at my bare ankles showing under the pants. “Your father gave me your measurements only two months ago!”

Grandma MacMurray said I had grown three inches since she last saw me. That was an exaggeration. But I had certainly grown at least two inches since Nainai's last visit. Dad may have even given her my new measurements (at least they were new a couple of months ago), but I suspect she refused to believe them.

“Maybe I can put a border around the bottom cuff, something really pretty,” said Nainai. She started rummaging around in her suitcase and took out a bag of silk remnants.

I took off the silk pants and put on my jeans again. “I
want to show Dad his book cover coming to life,” I told Nainai, and went across the hall to Dad's studio.

He looked up from his worktable and grinned. “Like the costume?”

“It's gorgeous!” I told him. “But the pants are too short, and Nainai is adding some strips at the bottom to make the legs longer.”

Dad laughed. “She refuses to believe that a girl can grow as fast as you do!”

“Can I look at the cover of the new book?” I asked. He doesn't show anybody his work until it's finished, but this time things were different. Since I was on the cover, I had a right to know what I looked like.

“All right.” He got up and opened the big cupboard where he stores his folders. It's Dad's treasure chest. I've always wanted to poke around in that cupboard and look at all his pictures, both old and new. But it's strictly off-limits. Even Mom doesn't look inside without Dad standing close by.

So I eagerly peered inside while I had the chance, but all I saw were big folders, neatly arranged in the vertically divided shelves. Dad took out a folder and closed the cup-board
.He untied the string of the folder and laid out the paintings for his latest book.

“I'm not finished yet,” he said. “My editor says I have too many pictures crowded around the beginning of the story and not enough at the end. So I have to paint two more for the second half of the book.”

He took out the picture that was to be on the cover. I looked at the girl standing next to the familiar figure of the dragon that appears in all Dad's books. Dad paints in watercolors, so his pictures are not as bright as the covers of some other children's books. But the softer colors are perfect for the clouds and mist that always swirl around his dragon. The backgrounds of his pictures remind me of Chinese landscape paintings I've seen in museums.

I stared at the figure of the girl on the cover. Was I really as pretty as that? I felt a warm glow as I realized that this was how my father saw me.

The girl on the cover was wearing Nainai's costume. On me, the unfamiliar outfit felt a little awkward, but in the picture, this girl looked graceful and comfortable. Her head was slightly bent as she looked thoughtfully at the dragon. She showed no fear, in spite of the dragon's fierce,
bulging eyes, his sharp fangs, and his murderous-looking claws. Obviously, she had already guessed that he was a coward.

Next to the fearsome dragon, the figure of the girl looked dainty. Then I realized that something was not quite right: the girl in the picture had tiny hands and feet. Not only do I have fingers that are already an inch longer than Nainai's, but the size of my feet horrifies her. And of course we had just discovered that my legs were too long.

But Dad still saw me as a dainty, graceful Chinese beauty. So I hugged him. “Thank you, Dad. That's the greatest compliment I ever got in my life!”

If the Chinese prefer dainty maidens, then how did Dad happen to fall in love with Mom? Was it because she was a gifted mathematician? I didn't think it could have been Mom's Scottish accent, her long legs, her red hair, or her hazel eyes.

Then I saw the row of Dad's books on the shelf. He writes books for young people because he loves children. I remembered Mom's mischievous smile when she pulled another one of her thrifty tricks. She never gets tired of playing games, and maybe Dad was attracted to her because
he saw that, in some ways, Mom would always stay a child.

Nainai came in with the pants she had lengthened. Dad only laughed when she told him what she had had to do. “Fiona can't remain a little girl forever, Ma,” he said. “Let's enjoy her while we can.”

So I put on the whole costume and did my best to look like a dainty Chinese beauty. Nainai wanted to teach me how to walk with tiny, mincing steps. She also told me to keep my eyes down, instead of boldly staring at the audience.

“Don't make her too timid, Mother,” said Dad. “Remember, in the story she's the brave one who shows the dragon the meaning of courage.”

“She still has to be modest, like a proper Chinese girl,” insisted Nainai.

They began to argue, and soon they started speaking in Chinese again. For once Dad didn't use his high, little boy voice.

Since I couldn't understand them, I left the room and changed back into my regular clothes. Then I went downstairs to see how the rehearsal was going. The dancers
were working on their last number, one of the slower reels called a Strathspey. I was glad to see that Ron was keeping up pretty well.

I sat down next to Grandma MacMurray and did my best not to feel left out. She put her arm around me and gave me a little squeeze. I think she knew how I felt.

By now the dancers were sure of themselves, and from the smiles on their faces, I could tell they knew they were doing a good job. Suddenly I noticed that Ron was not smiling happily like the rest. Of course he was new at the dancing, and he was probably still concentrating hard to avoid mistakes.

Then I remembered that I had had a great time from the very beginning. Maybe Ron was thinking about his kung fu competition and didn't want the dancing to tire him out for his bouts.

No, that couldn't be it, since Ron does all sorts of exercises, like bicycling or jogging, before a bout. I guess he just doesn't love dancing as much as I do.

I glanced at Grandpa, who was fiddling away. Occasionally he glanced at Ron and beamed happily as he watched his laddie treading the steps of the dance.
Grandpa didn't notice that Ron wasn't enjoying himself. In his eyes, this was his redheaded grandson doing a Scottish dance, at last.

In Nainai's eyes, I was a graceful, modest, little Chinese maiden—even with my orange hair. I guess our folks see what they want to see.