My fingers tremble as I set the paper on the desk. Mr Murray takes off his specs and taps the big red loops with the earpiece. ‘I’m disappointed, Anna.’
‘I’m . . . sorry,’ I say without thinking, which makes me go redder still. Lily says I’m forever apologising for things that are not my fault. Which just makes me apologise for apologising.
‘“In Macbeth, we learn of the physical, and especially of the psychological toll, that occurs in the pursuit of power for its own sake”,’ he reads aloud. I cringe. I had three goes at the wording and had arrived at what I thought was a satisfactory result. But hearing them now is like listening to iron bells crashing. And Miss Kennedy said I needed to challenge myself; Standard English is clearly kicking my butt.
‘Anna,’ Mr Murray goes on, ‘I don’t need to remind you how important a skill structuring the essay is. Your overall arguments and summaries are fine—not remarkable or particularly astute, by any means, but fine.’ My face grows hotter. ‘However, you’re going to need to understand how to craft a thesis and lay out your points. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’ I can’t tear my eyes away from the big red marks on the paper. They are getting larger by the second, like the blood Lady Macbeth was scrubbing. Is that a thesis? An astute observation?
He’s writing on the paper again, this time in blue pen along the margins, criss-crossing the page. It’s like the work of a bad cartographer, my horrible essay and his scrawling.
‘I know you have potential, Anna. This is why I’m going to suggest you redo the assessment. You can hand it in after the break.’
My jaw drops. This is unbelievable; no teacher has ever reassigned papers. But I can tell Mr Murray is serious.
‘I’ve marked up the areas that you can start from. Your analysis of Lady Macbeth’s madness for example, and your interesting observation of the brain’s ability to manifest olfactory experience into memory—that’s powerful stuff.’
I can feel my ears burning now, but I just swallow and nod. I don’t tell him how back in Gosford, I once found Ma laying our Chinese New Year’s Eve dinner out on the table, spooning rice right onto the varnished wood. She then spent a good half-hour sniffing the contents. She wouldn’t let us near it, and at one point she raised a finger at Lily and asked her to surrender the poison. Baba came home and coaxed Ma into her room. I ordered pizza and we welcomed in the Year of the Dragon with pepperoni, ham and pineapple.
Mr Murray tilts his head, grey tufts of hair flopping over like a puppy’s ears. ‘Have you considered acquiring a private tutor, Anna?’
I shake my head no.
‘I suggest you do. I think you’ll find it helpful.’ He hands me back my paper with a flourish. ‘You can do it, Anna. I know you can,’ he says with a wink. ‘And enjoy the break.’
I mumble some half-hearted thanks. It’s not until I’m slamming my locker, trying to swallow my frustration, that I wonder if that last comment from him was sarcastic.
7
Cat1
On the first day of holidays, I wake up early and go to check on Ma. With all of us home, I hope she might be feeling more up to getting up. I set her teacup down on the bedside table. The shadows are thin and drawn out, like overstretched bubblegum.
‘Ma?’
Not a word. A chilling shroud settles over me as I shut the door. Is this what the holidays are going to be like?
But I find a surprise in the kitchen that makes me instantly feel a million times better. ‘Baba, you’re home.’
He looks up briefly from the paper to give me a small smile.
‘Ma’s still in bed,’ I say as I put the kettle back on to make more tea. We exchange a look and he seems resolved about it. Like this is all normal.
‘Don’t mind your mother.’ I wait for more wisdom or advice but that’s all he has to offer. He returns to scanning the headlines of today’s Chinese newspaper while he’s brewing his tea.
‘What a pity,’ he mumbles at the paper. ‘These people think they can run the country. They’re barely out of nappies!’
I glance at the broadsheet he has spread over the counter. I don’t recognise the young Chinese people in the picture, but the smaller inset has a bird’s-eye view of a sea of yellow umbrellas on a crowded street. I know they are from the Occupy Central protests in Hong Kong that happened a little while back. Local youths took over the streets to protest the increasing Beijing influence over Hong Kong affairs. Hong Kong was ‘returned’ to China from British rule back in 1997, and the locals have historically enjoyed freedoms and liberties that are atypical for the rest of China, which has been under long-term Communist rule. To help ease the transition back to China, the Beijing government had promised a fifty-year period of more autonomous rule. ‘One China, Two Systems’ was the party line pitched to the locals. But the Occupy Central protest had been led by young people who wanted to challenge the Communist Party’s increasing authority that took away the autonomy they had been promised.
The youths in the picture look knowledgeable and professional. The boy has his mouth open mid-sentence, and the look on his face is passionate and defiant. The girl stands fiercely beside him, her thin fingers clutching a thick compendium, her lips pursed and ready to speak. She reminds me of Lily. I always thought my sister would make a great politician, even if there aren’t very many Chinese MPs in Australia.
I know Baba likes to stay up-to-date with the news from Hong Kong and I do my best to keep up out of some obligation to my roots. I often wonder if he misses it, if he wonders what life would have been like if he had never left.
We never talk about either, of course.
He folds the paper up and I sip my tea. ‘How’s the restaurant? Did you find a head chef yet?’
Baba sighs. ‘No. Lim’s improving, but he still has a while to go. We have a big party tonight, too. I hope he can keep up.’
I’m sparked to try my luck again. ‘Baba, why don’t I come help you?’
Baba shakes his head. ‘We’ve been through this, Anna. You have to focus on school.’
‘It’s holidays, Baba. I’m completely free.’ Teeny white lie because of Mr Murray’s essay that I haven’t done yet. But I don’t think that really counts.
Baba considers this for a bit. I plead with my eyes, because the last thing I want is to be stuck at home the entire fortnight. It’s not a holiday on the Gold Coast, but at least it’s something.
Finally, Baba nods. ‘Okay. Go get your things. I’ll meet you in the car.’
I rush to my room, thrilled to have a reason to leave the house. Lily is still sleeping, and Ma is in her room. I find Michael playing with Lego in his room.
‘Anna, come play with me! Look, I made an airship.’ He shows me an impressive-looking winged contraption.
‘Wow, that looks great, Michael! But I have to go. Be good for your sister today, okay?’
He pouts. ‘You’re leaving me. Why?’
‘I’m going to help Baba at the restaurant,’ I tell him. ‘He has a big party today and needs the extra hands.’
‘I want to come too!’ He sticks out his lower lip further.