TheBanyanTree: Transition 19

[Pat M]

Transition 19



Saturday and Sunday, January 26 and 27, were my final teaching days in
Lintong. I avoided talking about my imminent departure and ignored the tears
in some of my students' eyes; I didn't want to feel sad. I'd made a decision
to leave and I wanted the farewell to be as painless as possible.

It was hard for me to leave my friends. My life had settled into a
predictable pattern. The work was easy; I had a nice apartment with a brand
new computer, and except for being abysmally cold all the time, I was happy.
 The past five months had been some of the most trying in my life and my
dependence on Amy and Zhangho and their kindness to me had cemented a bond
with them that time and distance would not break.

I'd prepared a short story on saying goodbye to friends with photos of Amy,
Zhangho and I together, and had it printed in color at one of the shops. The
final line said, "Even if I don't see you again, I will never forget you;
you are special."

 Although my flight was on Tuesday evening, Frank suggested I stay in Xian
Monday night because of the unpredictable weather and possible road
closures. I had Zhangho pre-book a taxi to Xian for me leaving after lunch
on Monday. It was very expensive but even if the expressway was closed, the
driver knew another route and guaranteed he'd get me there. Leaving the
frigid temperatures behind was foremost on my mind, and the thought of
missing my flight for any reason was unbearable. I had to catch the plane.

While sitting near the coal stove between classes, Amy's cell phone rang.
When she hung up, she said, "Guess who that was—the bank. Your money has
arrived. You have to go to the bank in Xian to get it."

"Great!" I said. "Just in time."

It started to snow heavily again on Sunday—big fat flakes. After classes,
one of my students, Sherry, whose six-year-old son Jordan was also a
student, invited me, Zhangho and Amy out for dinner.  She also invited
little Frank and his grandmother. Sherry's husband joined us and we walked
up the lane to the restaurant. It was dusk and a couple of inches of snow
covered the road. Zhangho, Amy and I walked arm in arm.

We passed the karaoke bar Amy, Zhangho and Zhangho's husband and friend had
taken me to at the beginning of winter. I recalled the evening with a smile.
The place was unheated and no one took off their winter coats. Everyone in
my group took turns singing except me. Some Chinese music is quite lovely
and I enjoy both pop and classical. (Chinese opera is something else,
though.) One of the songs was a military song and the video took up the
entire far wall of the room. It showed old war photos of troops manning
stationary machine guns at lookouts on the coast, as well as video clips of
Chairman Mao. I'd found it fascinating to see the patriotism it sparked in
my companions and had marveled that I should be in such a place so far from
home—so far from the familiar. I'd had one of those 'I'm really living'
moments there.

The Chinese are particularly fond of colored lights and neon signs, and many
buildings, bridges and shops are decorated with them. At night they make
ordinary, even dirty streets, dazzling. The restaurant was decorated with
blinking strings of multicolored lights and outdoor speakers blasted a
lively tune. Amy, Zhangho and I began to dance, carefully, in the snowy
parking lot. We laughed and tried to get the others to join us; we'd danced
together numerous times in Amy's room or my apartment but never outside.
This would be our final dance together. Then, we shook the snow off of our
clothes and went inside. Several hostesses stood by the door.  They welcomed
us and one of them led us upstairs to a private room. The better restaurants
in China all have private rooms in addition to the usual open layout of
booths and tables.

This restaurant also had a children's area with a play gym and slide—the
perfect place for our dinner as little Jordan and Frank had something to
keep them occupied.

The restaurant's specialty was hot pot. The table had built-in stove
elements and there was a control on a ledge under the table.  A waitress
brought each of us a pot and set the control. Sherry and her husband placed
the order. First came plates of thinly-sliced beef and soon the table was
covered with plates of vegetables, tofu, sweet buns and more. We ate a
leisurely meal.

At a certain point I became aware that little Frank's grandmother was saying
something about me in Chinese, and it wasn't good.

"What's she saying?" I asked Amy.

"She's talking about the time you phoned Alice to complain about her hitting
Frank."

"Oh," I said. I didn't mind that she hadn't liked it. Although I thought
Grandmother loved her six-year-old grandson, Frank (who she took care of
full-time), very much, she didn't seem to know how to show it. She expected
him to be perfect.

My grade 1 class had only two students, Jordan and Frank. Sherry, Jordan's
mother and Frank's grandmother always stayed for the entire class. If Frank
didn't know the answer to something or misbehaved in any way, his
grandmother would swat him in the head. I had often seen fear in Frank's
eyes and it had touched me deeply.

Now, in my final hours in Lintong, I entered a long discussion with
Grandmother (Amy translated for me).

"I don't believe in hitting," I said. "Tell her that I saw fear in Frank's
eyes many times during class. Tell her I was hit in the face when I was a
child and still remember what it feels like. I want Frank to learn because
he wants to learn, not because he is afraid."

I grew more animated. "Tell her that Frank tries very hard to please her.
He's just a little boy and she shouldn't expect him to be perfect.  Tell her
she needs to praise him for what he does right."

When I finished, I felt satisfied; I'd been given an opportunity to express
the thoughts I'd been holding in for the past five months. I knew I couldn't
change Frank's grandmother but she might at least think about some of the
things I said, and I hoped, for Frank's sake, she might lower her
expectations of him just a little and allow him to be a child.

After a delicious dinner, we all walked back to the school where I said my
final goodbyes to Sherry, Jordan, Grandmother and Frank.

Amy, Zhangho and I went inside. Mrs. Zhang stoked the coal stove.

"Well, I'd better get going. So, you'll come to the apartment at 10 tomorrow
and help me take my boxes to the Post Office, right?"

"We'll be there," Amy said.

Zhangho linked arms with me as I stepped outside. Every night she walked me
to the corner to catch a taxi and every night she spoke to the driver to
make sure he didn't overcharge me.

Snow covered the icy road. We picked our way toward the main street. As we
neared the corner, she said, "This is the last time." She began to cry, "I
don't know if I'll ever see you again."

The walls I had built around my feelings crumbled. I reached for her hand
and gripped it tightly, almost desperately.

"I don't know how it happened," I said, "but I love you."

"I love you too. You are my best friend."

A taxi pulled up and I got inside. Tears stung my eyes. As the taxi pulled
away I waved to her as I'd done every night for five months. She stood
motionless beneath the street light. Tears streamed down her face.

***
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