Girl in Translation

“Hey, help a hand?”

I went over and grabbed the back part of the cart. Even with him in the front, the floor was so slick with dust that I had to dig my feet into the ground to keep the back wheels from veering off to the side.

He cocked his head to one side to see me around the skirts. “So, had fun at school?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Fu

My eyes stretched wide.

“C’mon, lighten up. Any idiot could tell you were playing hooky,” he said.

“Shhhhh!” I looked around to see if anyone was listening.

He went on as if I hadn’t said anything. “I didn’t see you doing any homework.”

“You never have homework either.”

“I don’t ever do any. You, you’re a real homework-doer.”

I voiced my real fear. “Do you think my mother knows?”

“Nah, I only know because I did it myself.”

“Really?” I warmed to him.

“But I just heard a lady complaining to your ma about having to work today because it’s Turkey Day. That’s a big holiday here. Anyway, you better think of something fast.”

My mind whirled upon itself, panting and empty. “What? What?”

He thought for a moment. “Say you only found out after you got to school, then you went home and did your homework first because you got a big project due next week.”

By then, we’d reached the hemming area, which was at the front end of the factory, near the manager’s office. We released the cart and it rolled forward a foot more on its own before stuttering to a stop.

“I really owe you.” Ma had taught me that all debts had to be repaid. I turned my pockets inside out to see if there was anything I could give him, but I found only scraps of leftover toilet paper that I had used as tissues stuck to the i

“Gross,” he said. “Forget it.” He turned and went back to the seamstresses’ area.

I caught a glimpse of Aunt Paula’s tall figure in the manager’s office and hurried away. I walked down the length of the factory to the finishing station.

Ma’s hair was hidden under a kerchief and there was a mauve smudge on her right temple, where she had probably tried to wipe away the sweat beading along her hairline.

I said immediately, “Hi, there was no school today.”

Ma folded her arms. “So why didn’t you come earlier?”

“I had a big project to work on for next week.”

“What’s this project on?”

I thought fast. “Current events. I needed to watch the news.”

Ma nodded but she still seemed thoughtful. “So you happened to come to the factory at just the same time as you usually do after school?”

I paused a second too long. “I never took the trains at any other time.” Ma started looping a belt through a skirt she had in her hands. Then she said, “What were you and the Wu boy talking about just now?”

“N-nothing,” I stammered.

“You seemed surprised at something.”

“No, he just wanted me to play with him later.” I tried to laugh. “He’s always goofing off.”

“I think you should be careful with that one.”

“Yes, Ma.”

Ma put aside the skirt and sat down on a stool. She looked at me. “Don’t get too close to the other children here. Ah-Kim, you must always remember this: If you play with them, learn to talk like them, study like them, act like them-what will make you different? Nothing. And in ten or twenty years, you’ll be doing precisely what the older girls are doing, working on the sewing machines in this factory until you’re worn, and when you’re too old for that, you’ll cut thread like Mrs. Wu.”

She paused a moment, as if she were unsure if she should continue or not. “Most people never leave this life. It’s probably too late for me. My days of being a refined music teacher are over.” At my stricken look, she hastened to reassure me. “That’s all right. That’s what a parent is for, to do whatever is necessary to give her child a good life. But you, don’t forget you were the smartest student our primary school in Hong Kong had ever seen. Nothing can change how bright you are, whether your current teacher knows it or not. Most important, nobody can change who you are, except for you.” She drew me close to her for a moment. “I’m sorry I brought you to this place,” she whispered.

It was the closest Ma would ever come to expressing regret at her choice to come to America. I understood what my task was now and I laid my cheek against her shoulder. “I’m going to get us both out of here, Ma, I promise.”

I had to go back to school on Monday. Pa was dead and no one else could save Ma from this life. The image of Ma cutting thread as an old lady in the factory was unbearable. I thought back to what Aunt Paula had said in passing about my cousin Nelson, that his teacher thought he could become a good lawyer. I wasn’t sure what lawyers did exactly, but I knew they made a great deal of money; if even Nelson could become something so powerful, then so could I.

In a way, I was relieved at my decision. The hours in the apartment had been guilt-ridden and fearful. Cold, hungry and lonely. In the back of my mind, I had known that I couldn’t get away with it forever. The gods were giving me a second chance. With the turkey holiday, I had a few more days before I had to go back to school and could make up an excuse for the five days I’d missed.

I had hardly any appetite that weekend, anticipating my return to Mr. Bogart’s class. Even as I helped Ma finish the factory work, I kept seeing his face before me, the light round head that seemed so malevolent in its hairlessness. Only much later did I realize that he did have very thin hair: it was hair I hadn’t recognized as such because it was blond. I imagined not being able to understand anything, getting a zero again. I thought about my teachers in Hong Kong, how they’d always showered me with praise and prizes. I’d felt sorry for the dumb kids who fumbled with their thumbs and stuttered when they gave the wrong answers, but now I was the stupid one with a weight on my heart.

The first thing Mr. Bogart said to me after we filed into the classroom was, “Where’s your accent note?”

Luckily, I understood the word “note” and I’d known I would have to hand in something to explain my absence from school. I gave him a note I’d forged as best I could, based on my old English schoolbooks:

Dear Sirs,

Kimberly was sick. Sorry with the trouble.

Your obedient servant,

Mrs. Chang

Mr. Bogart glanced at it and then filed it away without further comment. I slid into the seat I’d had the first day.

We had a test. Since I hadn’t been to class, I had no idea what it was about. Then I saw that we’d been given tables with figures and there was text above each one. There are three different basketball teams and each has played five games… It took me a few minutes to try to understand what the word problems were asking, but then I figured out they were simply mean, median and mode problems mixed in with a few decimal problems. It was like unexpectedly ru

However, I was still scared under Mr. Bogart’s eye. I misunderstood a sentence, then realized too late that I’d made a mistake and I had nothing to erase it with. Would he be angry if I crossed out my work? Probably. And then I wouldn’t have enough room for the new answer. I didn’t dare ask any of the other kids in case he would think I was cheating again.

My only choice was to ask Mr. Bogart himself. I stood and walked to his desk. At least I knew what I had to say because this exact situation had been covered in one of my old English lessons.

“Excuse me, sir.” I tried to enunciate clearly. “May I borrow a rubber?”

He stared at me for a moment and a low titter swept through the classroom.