Girl in Translation

by Jean Kwok

  Annette grabbed my wrist. “Okay, you just come home with me, then. We’ll get in the car and drive away. We can drop you off at your place.”

  I wanted to agree. But how could I show them where I lived? And Ma was expecting me at the factory. Besides, Luke would just wait for me tomorrow, or the day after that. It would only get worse. He’d been staring at me for a while now.

  “No,” I said. “I fight him.”

  After school, I could taste the sour from my stomach in my mouth. I’d never been struck before. Even though I’d often seen fights in the school yard, I’d never been punched or kicked or spit upon. I had never hit anyone either. I’d done some tai chi in the park with Ma back home, but since most of the other students had been in their seventies, what we’d learned had hardly trained me for a street fight in Brooklyn.

  Everyone had heard about the brawl, and a tight circle of kids reined us in. The words fight fight fight pulsed in the air like drumbeats. Annette disappeared into the ring of faces and I stood in the center alone, facing Luke. He was waiting: large, gray, a battleship. I came up to his chin and he weighed twice as much as I did. He came from one of the toughest neighborhoods in Brooklyn, where the mailman wouldn’t even go to deliver parcels, and had only recently moved to this area. I was so scared, I would have given anything never to have come here.

  I did not run. There was no place to run to. I felt a great stubbornness rising from my core, even though my fingers were numb and cold. The calm of terror swept over me. I am born from a great line of fighters; my ancestor was one of the greatest warriors during the Tang dynasty, and I wouldn’t flee. Methodically, barely audible, I began to curse him in Chinese: You have a wolf’s heart and a dog’s lungs, your heart has been eaten by a dog.

  “What the fuh you saying?” Luke said.

  I didn’t answer. I continued under my breath as if I were praying. We circled each other, his shadow looming over me.

  “You’re so weird,” he said. Suddenly, he took off his book bag and swung it, thwacking me in the side. The blow twisted me around, so that my back was to him, and I felt a thud on my book bag, from where he’d kicked me. I took off my bag and connected with his arm. Left, right, I beat him on either side of his fleshy body, the material of his jacket catching against my bag. To my surprise, he didn’t try to hit me back. Then I swung my right leg and connected with his calf.

  “Shit!” he cried. For a second, something wild flared in his eyes but he still didn’t strike me again. Instead, he took my shoulder in one hand and gave a casual push, so that I stumbled back a few steps. Then he swung his bag over his shoulder and sauntered away.

  Annette was hugging me. “I didn’t know you could fight!” she said. “You can do kung fu!”

  I didn’t tell her otherwise, but I knew that I couldn’t fight, that I hadn’t fought. I walked home in a daze. He could have killed me. What had happened?

  The next day, Mrs. LaGuardia, the principal, opened our classroom door in the middle of Social Studies and said, “Mr. Bogart, I need to see Kimberly Chang.”

  A number of kids whispered “Ooooooh” and clasped their hands against their mouths. Even though quite a number of jokes about La Guardia Airport were made behind her back, Mrs. LaGuardia was well respected and universally feared. I felt my chest freeze. I glanced over at Luke, who didn’t meet my eyes. Who had told on us?

  Mr. Bogart nodded. “Do try to be good, Kimberly.”

  I had to hurry to keep up with Mrs. LaGuardia’s smooth strides. When we reached her office, she shut the door behind us and took off her spectacles, letting them hang over her bosom on a silvery chain. I sat on the chair facing her desk and my feet barely brushed the floor. I knew what happened to students in the principal’s office: they were annihilated.

  “The results of the national test scores have just arrived. Miss Kumar noty yours and asked me to take a look. Especially your math scores are very something. Of course, your reading scores are low.”

  I stared at my fingernails and my blood thudded harder. I understood this meant that my English scores were not good enough, an embarrassment to the school. I was going to be suspended on the grounds of grades and fighting. Or perhaps they’d found out about my forgeries of Ma’s signature too.

  “Tell me, what are you planning to do next year?”

  So that was it. I was going to be kept back. Everyone else would graduate from the sixth grade except for me. How could I hide this from Ma? I was really going to be in trouble when I got home. I slunk down lower and tried to think of an answer that would appease her.

  “Honey, look at me.”

  I was so startled by the word “honey” that I obeyed. I had heard Mrs. Avery using it for Annette. This was not a word principals used back home. Mrs. LaGuardia’s face looked strangely naked without her glasses. Her lashes were short but her eyes were kind.

  “You’re not in trouble,” she said.

  I straightened a bit in my chair even though I knew better than to believe her.

  “Unfortunately, there aren’t many good choices when it comes to public junior high schools in this area. I’ve been lobbing to change this fact because all of our children deserve to go someplace first-rate after graduation, but this is still the way it is. The closest public junior high school is still quite far from here and it’s not in the safest neighborhood. A child of your cola brr usually gets into one of the specialized public schools for bright children, but your English scores aren’t high enough yet. I also know you haven’t had the easiest time here so far.”

  I was looking at the seat of my chair again: the upholstery was violently green. I felt vaguely sick.

  She went on. “The truth is, Kimberly, I’m worried about what might happen to you if you get thrown into a school without the faciltees to help you nur chore your abilities. Off the record, I think you should consider a private school. Most of our students wouldn’t have a really stick chance of getting in or of being able to pay for it, but you might.”

  Now I was alarmed for a different reason. Somehow, Mrs. LaGuardia had mistaken me for one of the white kids, the ones who had housekeepers waiting at home, ready with an afternoon snack. I had to play it cool until I could get out of that office, throw her off the scent and then bolt.

  “Thank you, Mrs. LaGuardia,” I said.

  “I know of several good schools, if you should need some names,” she said.

  I stared at her blankly.

  “Do you want some recordy shunts?” she repeated.

  “No, thank you.” I was too quick to answer.

  She looked at me. No one ever said Mrs. LaGuardia was dumb. “Don’t you want to go to private school, Kimberly?” She was beginning to sound annoyed. “Or if you can tell me how to reach your mother?”

  I shook my head and stared at the floor.

  She sighed. “It’s your decision.”

  I could hear she’d given up and instead of feeling relieved, the unhappiness in me grew heavier.

  “I want go,” I mumbled. I could feel her leaning forward across her polished desk to hear me better but she didn’t interrupt. “But we should pay.”

  “I should have been clearer.” Her tone was brisk now. “No one would expect you and your mother to pay for it all yourselves. I meant that the private school would naturally have to offer you a scholarship. I can’t promise anything, but I believe there is a chance they would.”

  “Really?” I had never imagined that I might get to go to a fancy school like Annette.

  “But don’t get your hopes up too much, because this is very late to apply. The normal application process is already closed. Any school who accepts you, if they do, would have to squeeze you in and their budget may already be ex-sausaged.”

  “Maybe Harrison?” I asked. That was where Annette was going.

  Mrs. LaGuardia laughed. “Well, you do set your sights high. Why don’t you let me make some phone calls? I’ll get back to you, Kimberly. You may go now, but again, don’t hope fo
r too much. It’s a long shot.”

  After I came back from Mrs. LaGuardia’s office without being expelled, Luke wanted to fight me every day. We had our exchange of backpack blows a few more times when another girl caught on to what was going on before I did. She was beginning to develop a woman’s body and she was much prettier than I, with her soft brown curls and creamy skin. She started challenging Luke as if she were defending me.

  “You better not pick on my friend,” she said, pushing her face close to his. She had never spoken a word to me before this, but I was still grateful.

  It wasn’t long before Luke transferred his attention to her.

  “You wanna fight?” he asked.

  They had to fight only once before they started necking in the school yard. Finally, I understood. I hadn’t been involved in fights: it had been a courtship, the rules of which I’d violated by kicking him so hard the first time. I felt ashamed. In any case, the whole episode earned me a kind of respect from the rest of the class and I began to feel more at home.

  There were several other notable events that spring: Easter, a holiday about rabbits and eggs, and the school photo. Ma and I couldn’t afford to buy the pictures, so I kept the print they gave me, which had the word PROOF stamped across my chest. The new PTA meeting came and went without Ma’s knowledge.

  After Easter, I heard from Mrs. LaGuardia that Harrison Prep was indeed interested in me as a scholarship student, which I understood to mean they might be willing to pay for me as long as I got into a good college in the end. That seemed to be a reasonable bargain to me. What else could I offer?

  Mrs. LaGuardia made an appointment for me and Ma at the school, which was in a part of Brooklyn I had never seen.

  Ma was breathless with excitement when I told her. “What a chance! I am so proud of you!” But her brow furrowed when she heard the date. “So soon? The shipment is going out that night.”

  “It’s all right. I can go by myself.”

  “Can we reschedule the appointment for another day?”

  “Ma, I’d like it if you came with me but I don’t want you to get into trouble at the factory. You can’t miss any day there.”

  Ma looked sad. “I wish you didn’t have to do it alone but I’ll light incense for you.”

  I was allowed to miss my own classes that day and I had to take three subways to get to Harrison Prep. Then I walked for a while, following the map they’d given me, until I came to a huge wooded area. This was a part of Brooklyn I hadn’t dreamed existed. It didn’t look like anything else I’d seen, not even Annette’s neighborhood. It was so beautiful and peaceful it seemed like I was in the country.

  I thought I was walking along a park but it later turned out that this was already a part of Harrison’s campus. The school was so old that it owned a great deal of property. The trees and shrubbery turned into a high wire fence and through it, in the distance, I could see high school kids playing a game on an enormous and immaculate lawn. They were wearing shorts that were so wide, they seemed to be square. These kids and their game were completely alien to me. At my current elementary school, at least I wasn’t the only nonwhite child and I certainly wasn’t the only poor one. No one I’d ever known had done things like what these students were doing, and if I stayed here, I would also have to run with a netted pole, be expected to catch balls and toss them to some figure waving in the distance. I would also have to run in square shorts. We could never afford square shorts.

  I stopped walking for a moment and thought about turning back, going back to who I was. If they knew that Ma made even my underwear for me, that we slept under pieces of fabric we’d found in the trash, they would surely throw me out. I was a fraud, pretending to be one of the rich kids. What I didn’t know then was that I shouldn’t have worried about pulling any of this off; they weren’t fooled at all.

  I finally reached a large brick building set in the same smooth lawn. The door was made of carved wood inset with pieces of colored glass. It was so heavy, I could hardly get it open. Through the lighter parts of the glass, I could already see a young woman at a desk in front of an enormous curving staircase. She was in a crisp white blouse and high heels, her light brown hair neatly pulled back in a bun.

  I felt very small in that hall. A portrait of a bearded man holding a Bible watched me as I walked up to her. I looked at the crumpled slip of paper in my hand, even though I already knew it by heart. I’d thought a lot about how to get through this appointment.

  “Do you know Dr. Weston?” I asked in a squeaky voice.

  She looked faintly surprised, then took a breath and said, “Do you have an appointment with her?”

  “Yes,” I said, relieved she’d understood me. She would take over from here.

  “You must be Kimberly Chang.”

  I nodded and handed her the stack of forms I’d had to fill out for my application.

  She glanced behind me. “Is your mother parking the car?”

  I looked down. “No,” I said. “She is ill today.”

  “Someone else must have brought you, then?”

  I should have thought of this and been ready with an answer. Lies flashed through my mind—someone brought me but they were waiting in the car, someone brought me and left.

  She interrupted my thoughts. “Did you come alone?”

  The engine of my mind stuttered to a halt. “Yes.”

  She paused, then smiled at me. “You must be tired from all the traveling, then. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll tell Dr. Weston you’re here.”

  She led me to one of the wooden chairs set against the wall and left with my pile of paperwork. She hadn’t been unkind but I wasn’t reassured. Her heels echoed in the hall.

  When she returned a few minutes later, she was accompanied by a compact older woman in a beige suit with a face like a bulldog, the jowls hanging below a pointy nose, and close-set bright eyes.

  The older woman stopped before me. “Hi, I’m Dr. Weston,” she said.

  “How do you do?” I said, glad that I had practiced this with Mrs. Avery. I extended my hand to her and she shook it without hesitation. Her hand was pale and soft except for the hardness of several square glittering rings.

  When I was seated in her office, Dr. Weston leaned back. A silver stopwatch rested on the yellow legal pad on her table. My forms also lay on her desk. She gave me a smile that only moved the bottom half of her face. I knew this was supposed to put me at ease but it only made me more nervous.

  “We normally do this in written form but because I’ve been told you’re a special case, I’m going to ask you a few questions myself, all right? Just answer them as best you can, and if you don’t know the answer, tell me.”

  I braced myself: Where is your mother? Why didn’t she bring you here today? What do people wear for Easter? Which hand should you hold your knife in when you eat? I gripped the armrests of my chair.

  “Would you please count from one to forty in threes? I’m going to time you. It begins one, four, seven . . . ?”

  I blinked. This, I could handle. “Ten, thirteen, sixteen . . .”

  “Good. Now, a boy is sixteen years old and his sister is twice as old. When the boy is twenty-four years old, what will be his sister’s age?”

  She went on like this for about an hour. It was the strangest conversation I’d ever had with anyone but I liked it. I understood it was a test, of course, but all such conversations are tests and this, at least, was one for which I understood the rules. In a world of uncertainties, I was on concrete ground. When I didn’t know a word, she explained it to me. I had to skip a question only a few times and then she asked me something else. Finally, she stopped and looked up at me.

  “Excellent,” she said. “Now, there is one last thing.”

  She handed me a sheet of paper and a pencil. “Draw a picture for me. Anything you like. A house, a girl, whatever.”

  I didn’t want to draw a picture of our house. For a girl, I imagined she meant a non-Chinese girl
, and I drew the only kind of girl I knew about, the sort I’d read about in books: a princess. She had long blond hair with a crown on her head and a Cinderella ball gown with puff sleeves and an impossibly narrow waist.

  When Dr. Weston took the sheet of paper and saw the drawing, she gave a short bark of laughter. She contained herself immediately and riffled through her papers, but I didn’t know why she had laughed. I must have looked hurt as I wondered if it was because of the incongruity between my clothes and the beautiful ones I’d drawn.

  She glanced at my face. “Your results on the test were so impersee, I’d forgotten how young you were. Listen, why don’t you take a tour of the school and we’ll talk again afterwards, all right?”

  I nodded. The first lady came in and took me around. First, she showed me their trophy showcase, which was in the main hall where I’d entered. I heard her talking about the awards the school had received, but I was looking at the pictures of the kids who had won them. They were all wearing blazers. No one wore blazers at my school. We made them sometimes at the factory, but these were different. I could tell they weren’t made of polyester. These blazers looked stiff, reining in the students’ shoulders, making sure that they didn’t take up any more space than they were allowed.

  The students who were smiling showed even, white teeth to match their even, white skin. Was I going to be the only Chinese person in the whole school? Was that why they were interested in me? The framed pictures were arranged one above the other, with the older classes at the bottom. The older classes contained only boys, and then there were both boys and girls, but as the photos moved forward in time, one thing hardly seemed to change: a few darker faces appeared here and there, but those were rare exceptions.

  Then, to my surprise, I was taken to several other buildings, all large and spacious, the walls paneled with wood. I had thought the first building was the entire school. Inside the other buildings, I tried not to stare at the statues of women with bare breasts, their whiteness glowing in the alcoves; they even had nipples. This too was something Western. As we passed some classrooms, I saw they were filled with students who looked just like the kids in the pictures.