Girl in Translation

by Jean Kwok

  The guys were busy trying to impress Vivian and they paid me no notice. I could hear they were speaking English, to seem cooler.

  “Hi, Kimberly,” Vivian called as I approached the doorway.

  “Hi,” I said.

  A few of the boys looked up but dismissed me and turned back to her.

  The door opened and out stepped Park. Staring at the ground as usual, he didn’t see me standing in front of the doorway and bumped into me behind. This set off the whole group of boys laughing. I saw that Park was wearing bright orange pants. His plaid shirt was buttoned wrong and it bunched up where it met his neck.

  “Are you all right?” Vivian asked Park.

  He didn’t reply and just tried to walk on, past the group.

  One of the teenage boys, who was wearing a red bandanna on his head, stepped out in front of him. Like an imitation of a gangster in a bad movie, the boy said in accented English, “Lady asked you a question.” Then he switched into Chinese. “You, white disease.”

  “Don’t call him that,” I said.

  “Who made you his keeper?” Red Bandanna said.

  “It’s not a problem,” Vivian said to him. She had a smile plastered to her face. She seemed unsure of what to do.

  The boy pushed Park again, no doubt thinking that this would win him points with her. “Say a word.”

  “Stop it,” I said.

  He kept shoving Park. “C’mon. The lady asked you something, now you answer her. C’mon.” He punctuated each word with a push. Park’s eyes were looking in every direction, bewildered and disoriented.

  Vivian just stood there, frozen.

  I stood in front of Red Bandanna. “Stop it!” I reached up and pulled the cloth off his head. His hair tumbled out in matted locks. “Least he’s not so ugly that he’s made of essence of monkey.”

  The whole gang laughed.

  Underneath the wild strands of hair, he was red with fury. “Give that back!”

  I tossed it in his face, then grabbed Park’s arm. “Run!”

  We’d already taken a few steps. Red Bandanna was just about to race after us when I looked back and saw him get jerked by the scruff of his neck. He was yanked around to face Matt, who had just come outside.

  “What are you doing with my little brother when you don’t even have a hole in your ass?” With his arms and fists clenched, Matt had swelled to twice his normal size, it seemed. He threw Red Bandanna to the ground, effortlessly.

  “That your brother? Sorry, Matt, I didn’t recognize him.”

  Now Matt pulled him off the floor again.

  “You knew. You remains of a human being.”

  There was a chorus now from the other guys. “Take it easy, Matt. He was just starting a child’s game, that’s all, it was just a prank.”

  Matt looked like he wanted to hit him but instead, he dropped Red Bandanna abruptly onto the ground. “You’re not worth planting.” Matt meant he wasn’t worth the effort.

  Red Bandanna scrambled up off the floor and the whole group fled, leaving Vivian standing there, still looking apologetic.

  By this time, Park and I had come back within a safe distance.

  “You guys all right?” Matt bent down and picked up one of my barrettes, which had fallen onto the sidewalk when Park and I had tried to escape. Gently, he clipped it back in my hair. It seemed to me that his hand lingered a moment longer than was necessary. His look to Vivian was cool. I saw she was almost in tears.

  “Vivian tried to get them to stop too,” I said.

  “Sure,” Matt said. He was still breathing heavily; I could almost feel the adrenaline draining from his body. He glanced at the plant, which had been abandoned on the ground, and turned to Vivian. “Your admirer took off without giving you your plant back.”

  “Matt . . .” she said.

  “Forget it,” he said. He picked up the plant and swung an arm around her. “Come on,” he said to Park, and the three of them left together.

  Through the tall windows, the spring rain fell onto the trees in the distance. I was still tutoring Curt. Many of the kids were nervous about the upcoming standardized tests at the end of eleventh grade, and had already been enrolled in outside test courses for months. Curt’s parents had pressured him to do the same, but he’d gotten them to agree to extra tutoring by me in his school subjects instead. My own preparation for the tests was going to consist of filling in a few sample exercises in the booklets I received with my registration form, since I didn’t even have a book with practice tests.

  We often met in the Art studio, where he spent so much time that the teachers allowed him to leave some of his work in the back. I’d gotten there early this lesson and was thinking about the upcoming SATs while I waited for him to be ready. I looked down at the studio floor, which was covered in paint splotches and wood shavings. I had to be careful not to step on the electric saw and sanding machine, which Curt often left lying around on the floor, still plugged in. The studio was filled with the smell of rain and cut wood and wallpaper glue.

  Curt was using a paintbrush to smear a few pieces of wood with glue before our lesson started. He started telling me about a pair of shoes he’d found in the trash, which he was delighted to be wearing now.

  “It is proof that serendipity does exist. They showed up just when I needed them.” He fit the pieces of wood together carefully and used a clamp to hold them in place.

  I studied the shoes, peeking out from under his faded jeans. They were brown work boots, heels worn down. “Did you clean them first?”

  “Nope.”

  “It is not as fun to be poor as you think.”

  “I’m trying to cast off the trappings of a wasted life.”

  “Was it wasted? That your parents gave you a secure home?”

  “They were both born with money. Trust-fund kid one marries trust-fund kid two.”

  “I always thought editors were smart and thoughtful.”

  “Nah. Well, maybe a little. What about your folks?”

  “They married for love.”

  I was wandering around and I noticed he’d thrown his jacket carelessly onto an easel. A sleeve lay on the floor. I picked up the jacket and felt the fine weaving with my finger, then turned it over and stroked the paisley silk lining. I hung it so that it wasn’t dragging on the floor.

  Curt hadn’t even noticed. He was washing his hands at a small sink in the corner, then wiped them on his shirt. “So, thanks to my smart and thoughtful parents, I’m giving a party. Can you come?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said automatically. This was what I always said to these kinds of invitations, or whenever the boys I kissed tried to see me outside of school. “I’m very busy.”

  “Well, the party’s a bit because of you. My parents are so happy I haven’t flunked out yet. The party is meant to be positive psychological reinforcement before all the big tests hit.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you. It’s almost your party. You can think of it as an extra-long tutoring session.”

  I laughed. I was tempted. I’d never been to a party or a dance and this gave me an excuse for going. “Let me think about it.”

  I found Annette at the theater. In addition to her small role, she was also pitching in as the stage manager for the current production. She was on the stage, walking toward a sofa set with a cane in her hand.

  “I need a longer one,” she called to someone offstage. She had tied her puffy hair back with a blue ribbon.

  “Annette.” I stood by the edge of the stage, feeling self-conscious under the bright lights.

  “Hey!” She came forward and knelt by me so we could talk.

  “Curt’s invited me to a party. What should I do?”

  Her eyebrows seemed to shoot up to her hairline. “Are you thinking about going? Why? You never do!”

  I started twisting the button on my blazer around. “I know. But I could. Not all the time. Just once.”

 
“Oh, you like him!” Her voice was loud in the theater.

  “Shh! No! He’s just a friend. I guess it’s a bad idea.”

  “No, I think it’s great for you to go to a party! You need to get out more.” Then she frowned. “But you never come to my plays or parties.”

  “I know.” I sighed. I knew I was a difficult friend for Annette sometimes. This was why I always said no, because if I said yes once, I didn’t know how I would handle any of the invitations afterward. I could possibly convince Ma to let me go out at night once but not much more than that. It was just on impulse that I’d wanted to accept this invitation, and because he’d said that the party had something to do with me.

  “Will you come to something of mine too?”

  “I promise.”

  Annette and I made our plans. Ma would never let me go to a party given by a boy. I would tell Ma I was sleeping over at Annette’s and then Annette and I would go together. I was sure it would be okay if she tagged along. I just needed to convince Ma.

  Ma frowned. “Why do you suddenly want to sleep over at Annette’s house?”

  “Ma, I’ve always wanted to. The other kids—you don’t know all the things they do, the freedom they have. I don’t ask, because you always say no.”

  Ma studied me. “I know, it’s not easy for you.”

  “We’ve known Annette for so long now. And you even met her family.”

  “That’s true.” It had been a long time since my graduation from elementary school, but for Ma, it was important that she’d actually seen them once. Since then, Annette had been a constant presence only on the phone. “All right, but just this one time. Otherwise, she’ll want to . . .”

  “She’ll want to come over here too,” I finished for her, but I was overjoyed. I would finally have a night of freedom.

  “The inspectors are coming! The inspectors are coming!” Aunt Paula looked as flustered as I’d ever seen her.

  She and Uncle Bob hurried through the factory as if they’d been caught in a hurricane. They swept clothing off counters, wielded brooms and dusting rags, but most important, they herded the children in front of them and swept them into small, secret places.

  “Everyone under eighteen, out of sight!”

  Aunt Paula grabbed me by the back of my shirt and practically threw me into one of the men’s rooms. She slammed the door behind me as I landed against someone’s shoulder. We both recoiled from the shock and then I realized it was Matt.

  “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

  Before I could answer, the door opened again and three other kids were crammed in with us before the door banged shut again. They were much younger than we were.

  The little boy had his head wedged into my underarm. The men’s room was filthy, with only a toilet and a washbasin. We knew we had to keep the lights out. Matt was jammed in between the washbasin and the wall. The rest of us all did our best to avoid the open toilet in the middle of the bathroom, which didn’t even have a seat or cover. To combat my usual painful sensitivity to Matt, I allowed a small girl to squeeze in between us.

  Even with the girl there, Matt was still too close. If he moved his arm a bit, it would almost be as if he could touch me, but the other kids were also there, and now the little boy stuck next to the toilet was staring at it, riveted by its proximity.

  “Don’t even think about it.” I heard Matt hiss above my head. “Hold it.”

  The little boy pressed his legs together, his eyes wide. His clothes were matted with fabric dust. I reached out and brushed his hair with my hand. “It’ll be all right,” I murmured. “This will be over before you know it.”

  A taller girl suddenly hissed: “There’s a roach moving in the sink!”

  Matt and I both jumped a mile. He leaped away from the washbasin so fast that in a second he had switched places with the little boy on the other side of me, probably in an instinctive reaction to get to the door. I giggled to myself, realizing that he was as scared of insects as I was. The boy was now wedged next to the little girl, both of them jammed against the washbasin. He gave both Matt and me a disdainful look, then took a bit of paper out of his pocket and crushed the roach in the sink.

  I sagged with relief now that it was dead. I kept my eyes closed. Matt smelled of sweat and aftershave and his chest was hard. I thought I could feel the thud of his heart underneath his thin T-shirt. They must have yanked him away from the steamers. Yet now that I had no choice but to stand there pressed against him, I could feel myself beginning to relax.

  Suddenly, he gave a strangled cry, and I looked up. In the shadows, that child was dangling the piece of paper in front of us. I thought I could see the roach antennae waving above the tissue and the boy was grinning like a maniac. Caught by surprise, I screamed. Despite my daily exposure to roaches in our apartment, I was still as terrified of them as I had been at the beginning, probably even more so.

  There was immediate thumping on the door. It was Uncle Bob’s voice. “Shut up in there! They’re almost in this area!”

  At this, we all froze. Outside, we heard obsequious voices and even the hum of the machines seemed more subdued than usual. I could tell they were speaking English, though I couldn’t make out the words. We didn’t dare breathe for fear that we would be found out. Everyone knew the way Chinatown worked. Money had probably already changed hands to ensure a casual inspection, but we were still as afraid of being found out as the owners. If the factory was closed down, who would fill our rice bowls then?

  My heart was now pounding as hard as Matt’s. The other children were squirming around, but I could only think about how his warm breath felt against my hair. Right in front of my eyes was the contrast of his rough cotton shirt and the smooth skin of his shoulder.

  The murmur of English went on outside the door for what seemed to be a long time and then there were the usual factory noises. Finally, the door was opened and the other three kids toppled out and ran off.

  Reluctantly, I recovered my own balance and swayed away from Matt, but then his hand was on my wrist.

  “Wait,” he said. He reached out with his other arm and shut the door behind him. Then he pulled me toward him and I rested my forehead against his chest a moment. The familiar pain receded again, to be replaced by something languid and inexorable, as if I were riding the extended exhalation of a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. His fingertips were entwined in my hair, I could feel the warmth of them against my scalp, and then I was looking up at him. A shaft of light from the window in the door fell on his soft hair. His golden eyes were luminous in the half-dark, and finally, we were kissing in one long heat of melting, and the lush afternoon dissolved into yearning for Matt and Matt alone.

  And when we were done with that kiss, there was another and then another, before Matt broke off to say, in a husky voice I’d never heard from him, “They’ll be looking for me.”

  “Me too,” I breathed.

  Then we kissed again and again before I made myself remember that he had a girlfriend and she wasn’t me. I wanted to be the one to end this. I pulled myself away. “All right, see you then.”

  It took him a moment before his eyes focused again, as if he too were waking up from a dream, and then he said, “See you.”

  He had his hand on the doorknob, then hesitated. Without meeting my eyes, he said, “Kimberly, my climbing can’t reach your heights.” Then he ducked his head and left.

  I stood in the bathroom alone, with my hand supporting myself against the washbasin, shattered. I had made him think he wasn’t good enough for me, when in truth it was I who couldn’t compete for him.

  After work that day, Vivian was waiting in her usual spot outside the factory. I’m ashamed to say I had trailed him downstairs, and I saw him go up to her and kiss her on the lips. When he glanced at me, quickly, guiltily, I knew he was conscious I was there. Then they left.

  It may not seem like much—a few kisses in the dark—but it was enough to burn a hole like an ulcer in my he
art.

  I had nothing else, but I always had my pride. I was as kind to Park as I ever was, but I made a point of flirting with the other boys at the factory, especially when Matt could see. Matt himself, I treated with a cool friendliness. I pictured myself packed in a layer of ice so thick that nothing he did could reach me. Perhaps I imagined it, but I believe that Matt’s eyes often followed me during our work at the factory, that he horsed around more than usual when I was around, dropping down on the floor to do one-handed push-ups and the like, while I ignored him. Whatever he may have done, the bottom line was this: he’d chosen Vivian over me, and none of the little things he did to show me he cared about me could stack up high enough against this one fact.

  I knew that Vivian was still waiting, every day after work. Fortunately, our staggered schedules meant that I didn’t always have to see her, but what I saw was enough. And to make things worse, I did like her. She seemed kind and thoughtful. It wasn’t her fault she was so gorgeous. How many images of them I have filed away in my soul: Matt with a package of treats—dried candied lotus seeds—hidden behind his back for her; the two of them seen from a distance, arms around each other’s waists, going into the herbal medicine store; once, I’d even caught sight of them together at temple, lighting incense sticks by the flame of the oil lamp and then kneeling next to each other to pray. How many ways can you be tortured by love?

  I had finally confided in Annette, my eternal adviser, and she said, “What a relationship looks like on the outside isn’t the same as what it’s like on the inside. You can be more in love with someone in your mind than with the person you see every day.”

  She was the only one who knew about my pain, but in a way, she understood it as something smaller than it was, Annette who was always hopelessly in love herself. But she urged me to move on and forget, which was exactly what I needed to hear.

  The evening of Curt’s party, I went to Annette’s house early. I felt guilty about leaving Ma alone at the factory but I wanted to have some fun for once, like the other kids my own age.