hurried out of the cinema, Yoshiko delicately clutching the strap of her imitation-leather purse with the first three fingers of her hand as we passed the cafés and the brightly lit night markets hawking smelly tofu and cheaply made clothing, shaved ice with red bean, and ginger ice cream.
We turned off Mingchu Road toward the school, our footsteps crunching on the gravel as we stepped between a pair of blossoming peach trees. A breeze blew, laden with the delicate fragrance of the trees, whose petals fluttered above us in the cool air. Past the trees, the sky was clear and high, and the stars showered down light from past millennia upon our heads, upon the modest little building and its schoolyard of dirt and grass.
Yoshiko stopped walking and stood in the starlight, a peach petal in her hair, looking at the school.
“This was your school, wasn’t it?” I pulled up beside her, my throat constricted with emotion as I indicated the dark silhouettes of trees behind the school. “We met in those woods.”
“We did,” she said quietly.
I turned to her, and she looked up at me with glittering eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but it’s a bittersweet memory for me, as my cousin and my brother are both dead.”
A motorcycle roared by in the distance, its tail-end growl fading into the screeching of the cicadas, the calling of frogs at the foot of the fence, the rushing rhythm of the blood pulsing through my heart.
The shadow of her eyelashes played along her cheek as she blinked and looked away. “My cousin, Ah-hiang,” she said. “You remember she fell and cut her knee?”
“I remember,” I said. “She was holding the writing board over her head.”
She nodded. “It was a stupid thing to do, as you said. So she fell, and she got tetanus, and I never saw her again.”
“Tetanus!” I looked away at the silhouettes of the trees swaying in the darkness. I lost my bearings for a moment and had to step back.
“Your brother, too? But I saw him later, at the welcoming parade for the Nationalists . . .”
“Did you? Well, he died soon after that.” She frowned. “It’s a long story.” She looked up at me. “What about you?”
“Me?” I had so longed to hear what happened to her that I had never even thought of talking of myself. “Well,” I said, “I was bitten by a water krait and expelled from my middle school.” I said the words without thinking, then quickly regretted it. It was not what a young man was supposed to say to win a girl.
“Expelled? Why?”
“Well . . .” I hesitated, but she looked curious. “I drew a picture of my teacher with a pig’s nose, and unfortunately it happened to be February twenty-eighth.”
To my surprise, she laughed, and her laugh rang out in a womanly way that reassured me.
“So that’s why I went to junior college. I was lucky, actually. They reversed the expulsion.”
“Junior college? That’s pretty good. College is college.”
“Well, it’s not Taipei University, or”—I looked at her slyly—“medical school.”
She shrugged, looking away. “It doesn’t matter what school you went to. Your father didn’t go to college at all and he’s mayor.”
“Well, that’s true.” Why hadn’t I thought of that when he said I’d ruined my life?
She waved toward the fence. “Let’s sit. My shoes are killing me.”
We sat. She smoothed a lacy handkerchief onto the fence railing first to protect her skirt. She patted the railing. “This wood is from our lumberyard. I remember when they built this.”
“Your family owns the lumberyard past the temple?”
“Well, now it’s just my uncle’s. He kicked us all out after the war. My father had no say. He’s number three, like you.” She glanced at me.
“How did you know I’m number three?”
“I asked around.”
She looked down, and I thought she looked a little embarrassed.
“Are you seeing my brother again?”
“I agreed to have dinner with him tomorrow night.”
My
We turned off Mingchu Road toward the school, our footsteps crunching on the gravel as we stepped between a pair of blossoming peach trees. A breeze blew, laden with the delicate fragrance of the trees, whose petals fluttered above us in the cool air. Past the trees, the sky was clear and high, and the stars showered down light from past millennia upon our heads, upon the modest little building and its schoolyard of dirt and grass.
Yoshiko stopped walking and stood in the starlight, a peach petal in her hair, looking at the school.
“This was your school, wasn’t it?” I pulled up beside her, my throat constricted with emotion as I indicated the dark silhouettes of trees behind the school. “We met in those woods.”
“We did,” she said quietly.
I turned to her, and she looked up at me with glittering eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but it’s a bittersweet memory for me, as my cousin and my brother are both dead.”
A motorcycle roared by in the distance, its tail-end growl fading into the screeching of the cicadas, the calling of frogs at the foot of the fence, the rushing rhythm of the blood pulsing through my heart.
The shadow of her eyelashes played along her cheek as she blinked and looked away. “My cousin, Ah-hiang,” she said. “You remember she fell and cut her knee?”
“I remember,” I said. “She was holding the writing board over her head.”
She nodded. “It was a stupid thing to do, as you said. So she fell, and she got tetanus, and I never saw her again.”
“Tetanus!” I looked away at the silhouettes of the trees swaying in the darkness. I lost my bearings for a moment and had to step back.
“Your brother, too? But I saw him later, at the welcoming parade for the Nationalists . . .”
“Did you? Well, he died soon after that.” She frowned. “It’s a long story.” She looked up at me. “What about you?”
“Me?” I had so longed to hear what happened to her that I had never even thought of talking of myself. “Well,” I said, “I was bitten by a water krait and expelled from my middle school.” I said the words without thinking, then quickly regretted it. It was not what a young man was supposed to say to win a girl.
“Expelled? Why?”
“Well . . .” I hesitated, but she looked curious. “I drew a picture of my teacher with a pig’s nose, and unfortunately it happened to be February twenty-eighth.”
To my surprise, she laughed, and her laugh rang out in a womanly way that reassured me.
“So that’s why I went to junior college. I was lucky, actually. They reversed the expulsion.”
“Junior college? That’s pretty good. College is college.”
“Well, it’s not Taipei University, or”—I looked at her slyly—“medical school.”
She shrugged, looking away. “It doesn’t matter what school you went to. Your father didn’t go to college at all and he’s mayor.”
“Well, that’s true.” Why hadn’t I thought of that when he said I’d ruined my life?
She waved toward the fence. “Let’s sit. My shoes are killing me.”
We sat. She smoothed a lacy handkerchief onto the fence railing first to protect her skirt. She patted the railing. “This wood is from our lumberyard. I remember when they built this.”
“Your family owns the lumberyard past the temple?”
“Well, now it’s just my uncle’s. He kicked us all out after the war. My father had no say. He’s number three, like you.” She glanced at me.
“How did you know I’m number three?”
“I asked around.”
She looked down, and I thought she looked a little embarrassed.
“Are you seeing my brother again?”
“I agreed to have dinner with him tomorrow night.”
My
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