continue fighting.How could he treat a fight so casually, like a cup of tea he could just pick up and put down whenever he wanted? There was no emotional attachment.
“You won. Now sit down before the teacher catches you,” the King said. “You know, you’re not bad. I should arrange more of these fights. You’ll come to like it.” He laughed and slapped my shoulder, then pressed hard and made me sit down. I threw his hand off, tossed my books into my bag, and went home early.
“You’ll get over it, virgin,” the King said and laughter rang in my ears all the way home.
One day an announcement was made through the crackling school loudspeaker. There was going to be a meeting in the playground for the entire school. A new directive was to be read. As I started to follow the rest of the class outside, Teacher Chu stopped me and said, “You are to remain here by order of the principal.”
“Why?”
“Because of the document’s contents. You’re not politically ready yet.”
“If all the others can listen to it, why can’t I?”
“You’re not like them,” he said.
I was insulted and hurt and wanted to ask, What kind of shithole is this? Again, the fear of isolation and pain gripped my heart. When was this bullshit going to end? If there had been a bomb in my hand right then, I would have brought it to the stage and blasted the fucking principal, teacher La Shan, and his little groupies into tiny pieces.
I stayed in my classroom, depressed and disillusioned. When the class returned, they questioned me with their eyes and left me alone for the rest of the day. I prayed that my new friends would not desert me as my last ones had done. But, thank Buddha, they didn’t. The whole thing was forgotten the next day. I was still King’s valued counsel on academic matters, and I like to think that I played no small role in finally pushing him through the fourth grade. Though he didn’t exactly answer the questions on his paper, his bigshot navy father should be proud of him, if not for his work, then for his ability to get his work done for him.
I considered it a tragedy when group eight was dissolved at the endof the term. A school closer to the villagers reopened and the students happily went back to their own school. I got placed in group two, next door to the hateful faces I tried to erase from my memory forever. Each day I ran past the doors of group one as fast as possible, for fear of bumping into them and getting into trouble. In the new group, I soon became the recognized top student. I began to hear some good words from a few of the teachers. But a gang of students in my new class was organized against me. It was headed by a sneaky boy called Han, whose father had fallen out with mine after a bee-raising business they had started together failed. The others in the gang were Quei, the son of a local politician, and Wang, whose father was a carpenter and an enemy of some of my father’s good friends.
Inside the class, they made up silly songs to humiliate my family, revived the old accusations and discouraged others from being friends with me. After school, they spied on me and made up a story that I had picked up an expensive ballpoint pen and didn’t return it to the school as I should have. It got me four hours of questioning in the same principal’s office that was a living hell to me. Outside the window, they smiled and made faces. The next day, I ran after Han with a rusty iron spade when he passed our house going back home. I whacked and whacked his head and his back until a bystander stopped me. Han cried and reported me to our teacher, Mr. Lan. But I had already written and turned in my side of the story and the teacher believed my version.
What really made me mad was these kids also demanded that I share my homework with them while doing everything they could to make my life miserable. In the beginning, I complied, thinking I could convert them into my friends by sharing a little with
“You won. Now sit down before the teacher catches you,” the King said. “You know, you’re not bad. I should arrange more of these fights. You’ll come to like it.” He laughed and slapped my shoulder, then pressed hard and made me sit down. I threw his hand off, tossed my books into my bag, and went home early.
“You’ll get over it, virgin,” the King said and laughter rang in my ears all the way home.
One day an announcement was made through the crackling school loudspeaker. There was going to be a meeting in the playground for the entire school. A new directive was to be read. As I started to follow the rest of the class outside, Teacher Chu stopped me and said, “You are to remain here by order of the principal.”
“Why?”
“Because of the document’s contents. You’re not politically ready yet.”
“If all the others can listen to it, why can’t I?”
“You’re not like them,” he said.
I was insulted and hurt and wanted to ask, What kind of shithole is this? Again, the fear of isolation and pain gripped my heart. When was this bullshit going to end? If there had been a bomb in my hand right then, I would have brought it to the stage and blasted the fucking principal, teacher La Shan, and his little groupies into tiny pieces.
I stayed in my classroom, depressed and disillusioned. When the class returned, they questioned me with their eyes and left me alone for the rest of the day. I prayed that my new friends would not desert me as my last ones had done. But, thank Buddha, they didn’t. The whole thing was forgotten the next day. I was still King’s valued counsel on academic matters, and I like to think that I played no small role in finally pushing him through the fourth grade. Though he didn’t exactly answer the questions on his paper, his bigshot navy father should be proud of him, if not for his work, then for his ability to get his work done for him.
I considered it a tragedy when group eight was dissolved at the endof the term. A school closer to the villagers reopened and the students happily went back to their own school. I got placed in group two, next door to the hateful faces I tried to erase from my memory forever. Each day I ran past the doors of group one as fast as possible, for fear of bumping into them and getting into trouble. In the new group, I soon became the recognized top student. I began to hear some good words from a few of the teachers. But a gang of students in my new class was organized against me. It was headed by a sneaky boy called Han, whose father had fallen out with mine after a bee-raising business they had started together failed. The others in the gang were Quei, the son of a local politician, and Wang, whose father was a carpenter and an enemy of some of my father’s good friends.
Inside the class, they made up silly songs to humiliate my family, revived the old accusations and discouraged others from being friends with me. After school, they spied on me and made up a story that I had picked up an expensive ballpoint pen and didn’t return it to the school as I should have. It got me four hours of questioning in the same principal’s office that was a living hell to me. Outside the window, they smiled and made faces. The next day, I ran after Han with a rusty iron spade when he passed our house going back home. I whacked and whacked his head and his back until a bystander stopped me. Han cried and reported me to our teacher, Mr. Lan. But I had already written and turned in my side of the story and the teacher believed my version.
What really made me mad was these kids also demanded that I share my homework with them while doing everything they could to make my life miserable. In the beginning, I complied, thinking I could convert them into my friends by sharing a little with
Similar Books
