The Language of Threads by Gail Tsukiyama Page A

nuisance. Well, one less to dust this way. Come along, then, let me show you to your room.”
    All Pei’s second thoughts about working for the Englishwoman began to fade. And then were banished forever when, instead of leading them toward the kitchen quarters as Pei had expected, Mrs. Finch led them down the hall to a good-sized guest room with two single beds, a dresser, and a mirror. Pei couldn’t imagine ever sleeping in a room next to Chen tai and Chen seen-san. Only the baby amah would be allowed to stay on the same floor as her employers, much less in a room so close to theirs.
    â€œHere?” Pei exclaimed. “It’s so big!”
    â€œIt’s about time it was used for something other than a storageroom for my past exploits as a teacher.” Mrs. Finch waved apologetically at a stack of boxes at one side of the room. “It could use some cleaning, though.”
    Ji Shen looked out the window. “There’s a beautiful garden.” She smiled, dropping her bag.
    Pei whispered, “Thank you.”
    â€œWelcome to your new home.” Mrs. Finch cleared her throat. “You must be thirsty. What would you both say to some tea?” On her way out of the room, Mrs. Finch gently pushed aside one of the boxes, and the clinking of glass filled the room.
    Everything was uncomplicated for Mrs. Finch. Pei’s cooking was mediocre at best, but she had no trouble boiling Mrs. Finch’s potatoes and frying her piece of meat. Afterward, she prepared rice and a plate of fish and vegetables for herself and Ji Shen. Pei was thankful that Mrs. Finch had to have her food plain and simple. “I’m afraid my days of rich, spicy sauces are over,” she often said with a sigh.
    The first time Mrs. Finch had showed her how to cook her meals, Pei could barely resist lifting the meat out of the pan before it became too dry and overcooked. “Just leave it,” Mrs. Finch directed. “I like my meat cooked all through, just like my mum used to make it!”
    It was much more difficult to please Ji Shen, who had eaten Moi’s cooking back at the girls’ house and found Pei’s efforts decidedly less satisfying.
    Each morning, Mrs. Finch had taught Pei a few simple words of English, words she might use at the marketplace, names of fruits and vegetables mainly: “ap-ple” and “or-ange,” “po-ta-to” and “toma-to.” Pei was thrilled with each new word that came from her lips. Mrs. Finch had even rummaged through one of her boxes and produced a small blackboard to teach Pei to write the funnysounding words.
    â€œA lifetime ago I was a teacher,” Mrs. Finch explained. “It runs through my veins, but you have my permission to stop me if I get carried away.”
    Pei never stopped Mrs. Finch. As if she’d been starved, she couldn’t seem to learn fast enough. She moved from words to phrases, the new language rolling off her tongue like a song. Not since Lin had taught her to read and write Chinese characters at the girls’ house had anyone taken the time to teach her. Pei smiled to think how much fun Lin would have had repeating over and over, “One, two, three ap-ples in the bas-ket.”
    Sometimes, in the late afternoon, after the flat had been cleaned and dusted, Pei found some spare time to sit with Ji Shen as she finished her homework in the kitchen. These were her few precious free moments before she began preparing dinner. She loved to sit down across from Ji Shen and practice writing her words on the blackboard, the chalk screeching across the surface until Ji Shen couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’ll finish the rest of my work in the bedroom!” she said, more times than not, gathering her books and stomping off.
    Now Mrs. Finch patted the bed next to her. “Sit down for a moment. I want to tell you something.”
    Pei knew Mrs. Finch’s “moments” could easily lead into