An Ocean Apart, a World Away

by Lensey Namioka

  In spite of unpleasant encounters like the one in the laundry, my life wasn’t totally bleak. On Sundays, I went to dinner with the Pettigrews. It was like going home—a little bit.

  “Just look at this poor girl!” Mrs. Pettigrew exclaimed on one of my visits. “Why, she’s down to skin and bones! I’ll have to feed her well and build her up again!”

  The two Pettigrew boys, who were fourteen and fifteen years old, treated me like a younger sister because they were much taller than I was. Also, there was so much I didn’t know that they had to teach me.

  American sports was a subject the boys were most eager to talk about. At Cornell sports were important, because it was believed that they promoted “manliness” in the male students, the same way that home economics promoted “womanliness” in female students.

  The boys were avid fans of a game called football, and they did their best to explain the game to me. They weren’t very successful. First of all, I couldn’t understand why it was called football, since the players hardly used their feet at all.

  One Saturday, the Pettigrews invited me to go with them to a football game between Cornell and Yale. I was astounded by the loud yells of the spectators. It sounded like a revolution breaking out, except that what I had seen of the revolution in China had not been quite so noisy.

  Nor could I make any sense of the game, since all I could see was a big muddle, with the players crashing into one another. Having possession of the ball was apparently very important, but I never did catch a glimpse of it. At least I could tell which players were on our side and which were against us: The Cornell boys wore red, and the Yale boys wore blue.

  Suddenly there was a huge roar, and all the spectators around me jumped to their feet. From the yells, I gathered that someone had downed a touch—or maybe touched a down. Whatever it was, it was obviously a good thing.

  After the roaring died down, somebody blew a whistle, and the players left the field. A file of musicians playing various instruments marched across the field, reminding me of an old-fashioned Chinese funeral.

  “It’s halftime,” said Mr. Pettigrew. When I didn’t understand, he explained. “It’s like an intermission. Boy, I can use a rest from all this excitement.”

  Not having been excited, I didn’t need a rest, but I was glad to get up and stretch a bit, since I was stiff from sitting on a hard bench for so long. As I stood up, I heard voices speaking Mandarin Chinese behind me. I whipped around and saw three Chinese students—the same three I had seen before.

  One of the boys met my eyes. “Are you Chinese?” he asked. “I remember seeing you in the Peach Garden restaurant.”

  I couldn’t help it. I broke into a big smile. “Yes. I’m from Nanjing, and this is my first time in America.”

  He also smiled. “I think you’re in my physics class, too.”

  So he was the one I had seen! I didn’t realize that he had noticed me as well. “My name is Zhang Xueyan,” I told him.

  “Mine is Gao Lihong,” he said. “But please call me L.H. We all use the initials of our given names, because it’s convenient and it sounds informal.”

  His friends had overheard our exchange, and they both turned to look at me. “Hey, it looks like we’ve got a new addition to our group!” said the other boy. “I’m Y.C.”

  I remembered how long I had addressed Baoshu by his full name, Liang Baoshu, because it would have been unacceptable socially to use only his first name. I rather liked this use of initials. It was informal and gave a sense of togetherness without specifically breaking Chinese etiquette.

  The third Chinese student, the girl, said shortly, “I’m Celia.”

  So. It would seem that while boys used their initials, girls used their English names. That was also a compromise, since using an English first name felt somehow less shocking than using a Chinese first name. What bothered me was that it made the status of male students different from that of female students. Also, I disliked my English name, Sheila, which I used only with Americans. I didn’t feel like a Sheila.

  But it couldn’t be helped. “I’m Sheila Zhang,” I muttered.

  The boy called L.H. smiled and said, “Hello, Sheila, I hope we see more of you.”

  Before he could say anything else, Celia pulled at his arm. “We’d better go back to our seats. The third quarter is about to begin.”

  I was so happy at having met the three Chinese students that I hardly noticed what was happening on the football field during the second half of the game. Our side must have won, because when we got up to leave at the end, people were beaming and saying things like, “Great game, wasn’t it?”

  Down on the field, a number of spectators were running around, yelling and tooting little horns that squawked and bleated. The eyes of the Pettigrew boys were shining, and their parents had a hard time preventing them from joining the noisemakers. Even Mr. Pettigrew, who didn’t usually display his feelings, discussed some of the more thrilling moments of the game with a friend, and praised the skills of the star quarterfront—or was it quarterback?

  “I can tell you had a wonderful time, too, Sheila,” said Mrs. Pettigrew.

  I nodded. “Yes, I did. This was one of the best days I’ve had since I came to Ithaca.”

  Dear Ailin,

  Today the Pettigrews invited me to watch a sport called football. It was very confusing, and I had no idea what was going on. All I knew was that each team wanted to get the ball past the other team to something called the end zone. Have you had a chance to see a football game? I know how busy you are. But I hope you have a chance to take a little time o f.

  I met three Chinese students today who are also attending Cornell. I hope to get better acquainted with them.

  Yanyan

  Dear Yanyan,

  No, I haven’t attended a football game, although some of our customers talk about the game, since it seems to be important in America. I do have more free time than before. Our restaurant is doing well enough so that we can a ford to hire someone to help with the dishes and the cleaning. When I’m free, I like to walk in the park or along the beach.

  I’m glad you managed to meet some fellow Chinese students. Our restaurant is in the Chinatown area, so we see lots of Chinese people. You’ll find it very interesting here if you come and visit.

  Ailin

  I had thought that time would creep by very slowly and that my four years at Cornell would last an eternity. But time went by surprisingly fast, and before I knew it, the days were getting shorter and the leaves started changing color.

  In Nanjing, we made trips to the countryside every autumn to enjoy the beautiful red leaves. But the leaves in Nanjing were nothing compared to the ones in Ithaca. Whole streets of trees changed to a scarlet color so brilliant that they seemed to be on fire. I also loved the way the piles of fallen leaves crunched under my feet when I walked through them.

  I could keep up with Sibyl’s strides now, and in my classes, too, I was keeping up somewhat better. The big surprise was in my English class, where I got one of the best grades on a midterm test. Maybe it was because I had studied harder than any of the others. Also, the rest of the students found the old language of Beowulf as strange as I did.

  In fact, I had almost as much trouble with modern English as with the Old English of Beowulf. Individual words I could always look up in my dictionary, but the words were often combined into phrases that turned out to mean something quite unexpected. One day I heard Mrs. Harte mutter, “I really have to pull myself together and get my housework done sooner.”

  I puzzled over the phrase pull myself together. I looked at Mrs. Harte, and she didn’t seem to be coming apart in any way, or even to be loose. Why did she have to pull herself together? Finally I took Sibyl aside and asked her to explain. When she stopped giggling, she told me that Mrs. Harte simply meant she had to stop wasting time and make a stronger effort. I thanked her and decided that I rather liked pulling myself together. It gave the impression of being solid, hard, and
determined.

  In my home economics class, I finally succeeded in beating the eggs for a cake batter without spilling a single drop. Unfortunately, I forgot to put in baking powder, and my cake came out flat and leathery. It was tougher than the soles of my cloth shoes in China.

  I made progress in my physics class too. Even the teaching assistant was unable to find fault with my lab work. I didn’t manage to talk to the Chinese boy, L.H., but we were now sitting only a few rows away instead of being across the room from each other. There were more than a hundred students in the class, which was held in a large lecture room, but most of the seats were taken by the time I arrived, so I had little choice. I always got there fairly late from my home economics class, which was some distance away on campus. Maybe L.H. had a long way to walk too.

  I was beginning to lose hope of meeting the Chinese students again. Since I lived down the hill, I wasn’t on campus much after classes. Where those students lived, I had no idea.

  As schoolwork became slightly easier for me, I began to have a little free time on weekends. One Saturday, Sibyl asked me if I would like to get some exercise by taking a walk with her near Cascadilla Gorge, where the maple trees were particularly brilliant.

  A month earlier, I would have laughed at the very idea of going out for more exercise—except that I wouldn’t have had any breath left for laughter. But now I agreed eagerly to Sibyl’s suggestion. For once I had done most of my homework, and I could afford a relatively leisurely weekend.

  The air had a nip, a taste of what winter might bring. I didn’t mind. Back home, the sharp autumn air was something we welcomed, because it meant an end to the notorious Nanjing summer heat. Sibyl and I shuffled happily through the crisp leaves.

  At the edge of Cascadilla Gorge, I peered down and was impressed by how deep it was. A fall into the gorge would mean certain death. We continued our walk, and before we had gone far, I heard voices—Chinese voices.

  Rounding a bend, I saw the three Chinese students I had met before, and with them was another woman student, also Chinese. “There’s Sheila!” cried the student called L.H. “We wondered when we’d see you again!”

  I was warmed by the smiles of the Chinese students—except for the look on Celia’s face. It was more of a pout. I introduced Sibyl to them, but it was clear that they had no interest in her, an American woman, and an older one at that.

  In fact, the fourth student, also a woman, looked older than the rest as well. “I’m Loretta Feng,” she said. “I’m majoring in biology.”

  Finally, I had an opportunity to talk to my fellow countrymen without having to rush off somewhere. “Do you all live in dormitories?” I asked.

  “Loretta and I live in a dorm,” said Celia. She didn’t look happy about it. “The boys don’t live on the campus.”

  “Y.C. and I have rooms nearer downtown,” said L.H. “It’s cheaper than living in a dormitory.”

  “I rent a room, too!” I cried. I indicated Sibyl. “We’re staying at a house on Seneca Street owned by a Mrs. Harte, and it’s about halfway up from downtown.”

  “Mrs. Harte’s house on Seneca Street,” said Y.C. “I think I know where it is.”

  “Do you walk here often?” L.H. asked me. “I come here a lot because I like the view here at the gorge. It reminds me of a Chinese landscape painting.”

  “We haven’t got all afternoon!” said Celia before I had a chance to answer. “Come on, we’d better go if we want to do any canoeing.”

  L.H. waved good-bye to me and followed the others, who started walking briskly down the hill. Sibyl watched them go with a smile. “I didn’t understand a word of the Chinese, but I could tell that boy was interested in you, Sheila.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said in confusion.

  “You’ll find out,” said Sibyl. “I can also tell that girl called Celia is pretty miffed about it.”

  How could Sibyl really understand the feelings of people speaking a different language? Perhaps what she had detected in L.H. was simply his satisfaction at finding another Chinese student at Cornell.

  What about my own feelings? After refusing to run away with Baoshu, I had made my decision to pursue a medical career. I wasn’t interested in another boy.

  CHAPTER 8

  The very next Monday afternoon, just after I returned home from the university, Mrs. Harte knocked on my door. “There are a couple of boys here looking for you,” she said.

  I thought they might be the Pettigrew boys with some message from their parents. Instead, I found L.H. and Y.C. standing on Mrs. Harte’s front porch. They looked very pleased with themselves. “So we did find your rooming house!” said L.H. “I looked up all the people in Ithaca called Harte, and I found one with an address on Seneca Street.”

  “We’re wondering if you’d want to come to our place for some Chinese food,” said Y.C. “Celia and Loretta are cooking.”

  I didn’t think that the two girls had issued the invitation. But I could tell from the sulfurous smell that Mrs. Harte was boiling cabbage again for dinner. Her usual way of cooking vegetables was to boil them in a big pot of water until they turned grayish yellow. Chinese food, cooked by anybody, sounded heavenly. I immediately agreed to go with them.

  Sibyl was in the dining room when I told Mrs. Harte that I wouldn’t be home for dinner. She gave me a meaningful smile, which I pretended not to notice.

  The boys were staying at a house in a part of town close to the canal that fed into Cayuga Lake. Although I knew almost nothing about American houses, I could tell that the homes in this area were less well-to-do than those in Mrs. Harte’s neighborhood. The houses here were set closer together, and some of them had peeling paint.

  L.H. told me that the landlady was willing to let them use the kitchen occasionally for preparing Chinese food, after the rest of the roomers had finished their dinner. “She’s glad to let us do it. On days when we don’t eat her food, she has two fewer mouths to feed.”

  When we arrived, Y.C. told me that Celia and Loretta were in the kitchen. He seemed to take it for granted that I would join the girls. I found the two girls chopping vegetables.

  “Hello,” Loretta said to me. “I see that Y.C. has enlisted you as a cook.”

  Celia looked at me without enthusiasm. “What can you do?”

  I couldn’t think of anything. “I can make radish roses,” I finally offered.

  To my relief, my offer was declined. “Why don’t you join the boys?” suggested Loretta. “Since this is your first time, you can be our guest.”

  In the dining room, the boys were setting the table. I offered to help, although the only thing left for me to do was to set out the chopsticks. I picked up a pair and caressed them. They were plain and made of bamboo, not like the ivory ones we had at home, but it felt wonderful to have a pair of chopsticks in my hands at last, after weeks of eating with knives and forks.

  “We didn’t mean to put you to work right away,” L.H. said apologetically. “We just wanted a chance to get acquainted with a new arrival from China. Are you a freshman?”

  “I’m not a regular student yet,” I admitted. “I applied too late, but I was allowed to enter as a special student. If I do well in my courses this semester, I’ll be able to enroll as a freshman. What about you?”

  “Celia and I are sophomores, Y.C. is a junior, and Loretta is a graduate student,” said L.H. “We’re Boxer Scholarship students. What about you?”

  I knew about the Boxer Scholarships. The Boxers were a group of Chinese fanatics who believed that they were invulnerable to bullets and other Western weapons. In 1900, they attacked the foreign legations in Beijing and inflicted many casualties before foreign troops entered the city and put down the rebellion. In reparation for the attack, the Chinese government was forced to pay enormous sums of money to the foreign governments involved. A number of them, including the United States, decided to use part of the reparation money to finance scholarships for Chinese students at
tending universities in those countries. Every year, competitive examinations were given to choose recipients for these scholarships.

  I looked at the two boys with respect. They had to be very smart to win Boxer Scholarships. “I’m not a Boxer Scholarship student,” I admitted. “My father is paying for my education.”

  Celia entered the dining room, carrying a dish of stir-fried meat strips. “Your father is paying for everything?” she said. “Your family must be really rich! I hope you won’t despise this poor food we’re serving here.”

  “No, no, of course not!” I said hurriedly. “It smells wonderful! I hope I can learn to cook like this someday!”

  I was perfectly sincere. The meal prepared by the two girls, consisting of three dishes and a soup, truly tasted like a banquet to me. I said as much, and Loretta smiled her thanks at my compliments. Celia just looked sour.

  “It’s very kind of Loretta and Celia to feed us like this,” said L.H. “I have a weak stomach, and I’m not sure I could have survived months of eating nothing but heavy American food.”

  It was true that L.H. did not look very robust. Not much above average in height for a Chinese, he looked taller because he was very thin. There was a hint of a stoop in his posture. If he had worn a mandarin’s gown and hat, he could have easily passed for the hero of a Chinese opera, the one who always had to be rescued from the villain by a woman warrior. I began to see why Celia seemed protective, maybe even possessive, of L.H. Was that why she resented me as a potential competitor?

  She didn’t have to be afraid of competition from me. She was pretty, while I never claimed to have remarkable looks. Furthermore, my relationship with Baoshu had left me wounded and unwilling to enter into another one.