But there had been no such luck. Ma had been called into the school, baby Michael strapped to her in an old-fashioned Chinese-style wrap. The meeting was with her, Ms Lawn and the principal, and because there was no official school translator, they made me sit in as well. My face was red-hot as they made me go back and forth between English and Cantonese. Poor Ma. Her own daughter saying the shameful words of accusation. Child abuse. Social services. Family violence.
‘But I don’t know the words for that,’ I said.
‘Just try your best.’ Principal Harris had a tall, thin nose that made her sound perpetually irritated.
‘The school is upset because you hit us. They saw the bruise on Lily’s arm,’ I said in Cantonese, after a beat.
‘What? That girl said she was doing her homework, but I saw her in the room on the computer. Of course I hit her! She lied to me. Tell them.’ Ma had been extra animated, bouncing the sleeping baby strapped to her front.
‘What did she say?’ Ms Lawn asked.
I took a deep breath. ‘She said it’s common practice in Chinese culture to discipline children this way.’ I kept my voice steady, trying to add a sense of authority, the way a teacher might sound.
‘Your mother has to know this is unacceptable behaviour here in Australia. We don’t hit children, and we certainly don’t hit them with whips or anything of that sort.’
‘It was a feather duster,’ I had muttered before turning back to Ma. ‘You can’t do that in Australia. They say it’s illegal and they could make Lily, Michael and me live somewhere else. They can take us away.’
Ma’s eyes had widened in a mixture of anger and fear. ‘Wah! Are you kidding me? My own children and I can’t hit them? No wonder their children all do drugs and become pregnant. Children need to be taught.’
‘Well?’ The chair had squeaked in protest as Principal Harris leaned forwards onto her clasped hands.
‘She says she didn’t know it was against the law. She promises she won’t do it again,’ I said quickly.
The eyebrows had gone up again. She hadn’t said a word but looked over at my mother, who held her fierce and steady gaze. Ma’s small frame had been rigid, her jaw tight. I could almost hear a growl coming from deep inside her throat.
Finally, Principal Harris had relented. ‘This is a warning, and it’s important that she know the rules are different here. She’s in Australia. She has to follow our system or there will be consequences. Tell her. Make sure she knows.’
‘What did she say?’ Ma had demanded.
‘She said—she said we can go home,’ I had replied. My weary body had crumpled against the chair. Principal Harris had been busy shuffling papers on her desk, having already handed down her final judgement and decision.
Ms Lawn had jumped in. ‘Anna, I want to see you and Lily in my office once a week for the rest of the school year. Is that clear?’
I had nodded. At least if Lily and I were kept together, I could be sure she wouldn’t stray too far off script.
Ma had stood uncertainly, her expression wary. Baby Michael had started to cry, but she didn’t look away from the principal until I nudged her towards the door.
‘I don’t like the look she gave me. This woman has malice in her heart and they put her in charge of kids?’
We never said anything else about the meeting ever again. But after that day, Ma retired the feather duster and only occasionally opted for a soft indoor slipper for discipline instead. Meanwhile, Lily and I were careful about what we said to our teachers and school officials.
Michael’s so innocent and young, I think now, stroking his hair as I watch him fly through the game levels, snatching up pixelated coins like a greedy old Scrooge. He’s still my baby brother. Though maybe not so baby anymore.
‘Why didn’t you tell us you won the art contest?’ I ask. ‘I’m so proud of you!’
He shrugs again, not lifting his eyes from the screen. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it? Ma still won’t come.’
His words splinter my insides. ‘Don’t say that. Ma . . . Ma is very proud of you. She’s just tired is all.’
Finally, he looks up. His eyes are dewy. I swear some days he’s a living anime character. ‘Ma’s not really tired all the time, is she?’
‘What do you mean?’ I grimace. ‘She’s just feeling a little under the weather.’
He shakes his head. ‘Albert’s mum doesn’t stay in bed all the time. None of my friends do.’ He looks at me with those luminescent, heart-wrenching eyes. ‘Is something wrong with Ma?
I sigh heavily. There’s no point pretending, but I want to hold on to his innocence a bit longer. ‘I think sometimes, it’s just a bit . . . too much for her.’
He crinkles his nose. ‘What is?’
I shrug. ‘All of it, I think. Everything.’
His eyes widen. ‘Are we too much for her?’
‘No, honey, you’re perfect,’ I say automatically, but he doesn’t look convinced. I pull him close and lean my chin on his smooth, shiny hair. ‘It’s just for a little while, you’ll see. She always comes back.’
‘I miss her.’
‘Me too.’ I’m not sure how much truth is in that reply.
4
Sei3
Lily is studying in our room when Michael and I arrive home. I say our room, in that we both sleep in it, but really, she claims it as hers. I’ve let her have most of the say in what we do with the space—she spends so much time in it, so I figure she deserves it. It’s the big sister thing to do, give way to my mui6 mui6.
So Lily’s the one with the posters over three-quarters of the walls, K-pop bands that I know nothing about. I’ve hung up a couple of old movie posters I pilfered when Civic Video finally shut down. Lily has the giant corkboard with study notes, schedules and retro polaroid selfies of her and her friends; I have a single picture of our family by my bed. It was taken outside the Jade Palace in Gosford a few years back and we’re all smiling, Ma, me and Lily and two-year-old Michael. Even Baba is showing his teeth.
It’s the happiest I can remember us being. Almost normal.
Ma’s door is still shut. I grit my teeth and gear myself for the task of rounding up dinner.
I set Michael up at the dining table to do his homework and peer into the fridge. There’s nothing except bread and milk and jars of sauce. No greens, no meat. I sigh heavily. I’ll need to go to the store.
I put the rice cooker on so at least that’s going and grab my keys and bag, then pull on a thin jumper that belongs to Baba. ‘I’m going to the shops. Be good,’ I tell my brother.
‘Get some toilet paper!’ Lily calls from our room. I swear that girl has supersonic hearing.
I pause by Ma’s door, my heart ticking faster. After a moment’s hesitation, I push open the door and peek inside.
She’s a lump of doona and darkness.
‘I’m going to the shops. Do you want anything?’ I ask softly, hopefully.
No reply. I pull the door shut and pull my headphones on.
Ashfield is a bustling suburb that Baba says is a lot like the New Territories in Hong Kong where he and Ma grew up. I haven’t been to Hong Kong, even though we still have family there, but all the images I’ve seen of the picture-perfect harbour city look nothing like the streets of Ashfield. I can’t imagine the characters from Crazy Rich Asians using two-dollar sunshields meant for cars in their flat windows to block out the afternoon sun.