sharply, “did you vandalize this property?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Two black marks! And you?” He pointed his chin at the boy behind me.
“I am s-sorry, Teacher Lee.”
“You get one.”
“But—”
“Shut up, Tong!” Teacher Lee pointed at me, his finger quivering. “Two black marks means you are on probation. I will notify your parents immediately.”
Indignation flashed up inside me. “But Teacher Lee—” I said.
He stepped toward me, glaring, his face scrunched up in fury. I was almost as tall as he was, and he breathed into my face, the capillaries of his skin crisscrossing his nose.
“Tong Chia-lin,” he said, “do not say another word. You have the mind, you have the opportunity to get the best education available on this lousy, ungrateful island. If you say one more word, you will lose that opportunity.”
My heart pounded on the front of my chest. I opened my mouth.
“You people , ” he said. His shaking finger jabbed at me, then at the window facing the street, where a siren wailed, its pitch rising, then lowering as it passed. “You people think you can get away with breaking the rules, with insubordination. You think you are better than me, do you? Well, we will see about that, won’t we? Because I am the one with the upper hand.”
My heart hammered. I knew that I should be prudent and swallow my pride, that my future was at stake and I would do well to save my fighting for another day. But my indignation swelled up. It rose on a hot tide brimming with fury over losing The Earth, with the headiness of the anti-Nationalist banners and the crescendo of discontent in the streets, and it exploded forth, over the threats and the fear and the prudence. The truth was on my side. “But Teacher Lee,” I said, “we did not cause any damage. You’re punishing us for being honest!”
Teacher Lee stepped toward me, his face quivering. His finger pointing. “Tong Chia-lin, I told you not to say one more word. You have defied me, and I expel you from this school .”
His eyes bored into mine, his face engorged with hatred that extended far beyond my preadult body, into the streets and city squares, the valleys and dormant volcanoes, that were at Taiwan’s heart. No one spoke. The silence was broken only by the sound of his quickened breathing and a class letting out for recess down the hall. The chattering and footsteps receded. And then a door slammed shut.
I WALKED OUT through the school gates, legs wobbly, arms trembling.
I expel you!
Why hadn’t I kept my mouth shut? How could I go home now?
“Sweet potato or pig?” a man shouted at me.
I jumped. A group of young men encircled me on the sidewalk. They were dressed like college students but clutched bricks and empty bottles by the neck.
“ Hun-chi, ” I said. Sweet potato. My voice shook, a half whisper.
They brushed past me, walking toward downtown Taipei. They broke into a Taiwanese folk song my relatives often sang at parties to celebrate the midnight orchid’s annual bloom.
Rainy-night flower
Blown to the ground by the wind and rain
No one takes heed of you
When your petals touch Earth, they will never return to life.
I watched, erupting in shivers. Sirens sounded. Their sound waves overlapped, distorted, as though the air itself no longer conformed to the laws of physics. I no longer recognized the world.
A government car zoomed down the street, and the young men who had challenged me pelted the car with bottles as it passed. A fist emerged from the car window. The sight of this, and the sound of angry shouts, roused me, and I ran toward the train station, ducking into a side entrance.
The train platform overflowed with people—people in business suits, farmers with chickens under their arms, children like me in their school uniforms.
“What’s going on?” I asked a boy.
“They’ve shut down the railways.”
I wandered through the restless, anxious crowd. How was I to get home? I climbed onto an empty
“Well, yes, but—”
“Two black marks! And you?” He pointed his chin at the boy behind me.
“I am s-sorry, Teacher Lee.”
“You get one.”
“But—”
“Shut up, Tong!” Teacher Lee pointed at me, his finger quivering. “Two black marks means you are on probation. I will notify your parents immediately.”
Indignation flashed up inside me. “But Teacher Lee—” I said.
He stepped toward me, glaring, his face scrunched up in fury. I was almost as tall as he was, and he breathed into my face, the capillaries of his skin crisscrossing his nose.
“Tong Chia-lin,” he said, “do not say another word. You have the mind, you have the opportunity to get the best education available on this lousy, ungrateful island. If you say one more word, you will lose that opportunity.”
My heart pounded on the front of my chest. I opened my mouth.
“You people , ” he said. His shaking finger jabbed at me, then at the window facing the street, where a siren wailed, its pitch rising, then lowering as it passed. “You people think you can get away with breaking the rules, with insubordination. You think you are better than me, do you? Well, we will see about that, won’t we? Because I am the one with the upper hand.”
My heart hammered. I knew that I should be prudent and swallow my pride, that my future was at stake and I would do well to save my fighting for another day. But my indignation swelled up. It rose on a hot tide brimming with fury over losing The Earth, with the headiness of the anti-Nationalist banners and the crescendo of discontent in the streets, and it exploded forth, over the threats and the fear and the prudence. The truth was on my side. “But Teacher Lee,” I said, “we did not cause any damage. You’re punishing us for being honest!”
Teacher Lee stepped toward me, his face quivering. His finger pointing. “Tong Chia-lin, I told you not to say one more word. You have defied me, and I expel you from this school .”
His eyes bored into mine, his face engorged with hatred that extended far beyond my preadult body, into the streets and city squares, the valleys and dormant volcanoes, that were at Taiwan’s heart. No one spoke. The silence was broken only by the sound of his quickened breathing and a class letting out for recess down the hall. The chattering and footsteps receded. And then a door slammed shut.
I WALKED OUT through the school gates, legs wobbly, arms trembling.
I expel you!
Why hadn’t I kept my mouth shut? How could I go home now?
“Sweet potato or pig?” a man shouted at me.
I jumped. A group of young men encircled me on the sidewalk. They were dressed like college students but clutched bricks and empty bottles by the neck.
“ Hun-chi, ” I said. Sweet potato. My voice shook, a half whisper.
They brushed past me, walking toward downtown Taipei. They broke into a Taiwanese folk song my relatives often sang at parties to celebrate the midnight orchid’s annual bloom.
Rainy-night flower
Blown to the ground by the wind and rain
No one takes heed of you
When your petals touch Earth, they will never return to life.
I watched, erupting in shivers. Sirens sounded. Their sound waves overlapped, distorted, as though the air itself no longer conformed to the laws of physics. I no longer recognized the world.
A government car zoomed down the street, and the young men who had challenged me pelted the car with bottles as it passed. A fist emerged from the car window. The sight of this, and the sound of angry shouts, roused me, and I ran toward the train station, ducking into a side entrance.
The train platform overflowed with people—people in business suits, farmers with chickens under their arms, children like me in their school uniforms.
“What’s going on?” I asked a boy.
“They’ve shut down the railways.”
I wandered through the restless, anxious crowd. How was I to get home? I climbed onto an empty
Similar Books
