Fish Heads and Duck Skin

by Lindsey Salatka

  “Listen, you don’t need toys, you need school. All kids in China go to school as soon as they can walk. Do you ever see kids playing here during the day?”

  “No, never,” I said.

  “That’s because they’re all in school.”

  I looked at her like she was pulling my leg. “Really? I thought we were just going to the wrong places to play.”

  “Nope. And another thing—do you want Piper to learn Mandarin?”

  “Yes, definitely. Someone in our home needs to be able to communicate.”

  “Then stick her in a local preschool, like the one Jeremy goes to! It’s by far your cheapest option.”

  “‘Cheap’ has never been a big selling point for me.”

  “Does Daniel’s company cover schooling?”

  “No.”

  “Then trust me, it’s a selling point. Listen, if she’s not in school, you’ll be staring at each other all day long, and that’s not good for anyone.”

  “But I just quit my job!” I whined. “I haven’t had much time with her or Lila until now.”

  She took my hands. “Tina, deep down, you and I both know that you and Piper will be happier with a little school time. Look at you—no offense—but you’re a mess! A few hours of separation during the week isn’t a bad thing, it’s a life thing, okay?” She squeezed my hands and let them go. “Come with me to tour Jeremy’s school; I’ll set up a meeting with the principal. I’m working tomorrow, but I can take you next Thursday.”

  I cocked my head. “What’s your job again?”

  “Cross-cultural communication. I consult expats sent to Shanghai by large companies on how to adapt. This advice I’m giving? I usually charge for it.”

  As we stood up, I said, “I have my doubts about a local school. I mean, I haven’t been inside one, but I’ve walked by plenty. The uniforms freak me out. Does Jeremy wear a red neckerchief?”

  “Yeah, and trust me, they’re great. It looks like you could use a neckerchief right now. You’ve blown through an entire tree’s worth of napkins wiping the sweat off your face. Neckerchiefs are useful in this climate.”

  I pushed my wrought-iron chair under its matching table and then leaned heavily on it. “What about the morning calisthenics on the playground? I can’t picture Piper following the instructions of one man with a megaphone doing head, shoulders, knees, and toes while counting to eight over, and over, and over.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Ha! You may have noticed—my child is not much of a rule follower. She needs a school that lets her believe she is in charge and that everything that happens is her idea. She sees herself as the supreme leader, and I don’t see that going over so well in these parts.” I paused. “What about the international school where Andrew works? They learn Mandarin there too, right?” I asked.

  “That’s a good one!” She slapped her leg.

  “What?”

  “No one puts their kids in an international school unless they’re a client of mine and have been sent here by a huge corporation. Those schools are outrageously expensive! The families who send their kids there have allowances to pay for it. They also have housing allowances of ten thousand dollars a month, minimum. And cars with drivers who wear white gloves.”

  “But everyone wears white gloves.”

  “My point is that those schools aren’t for normal people. I couldn’t afford one day of tuition there.”

  “Oh.” I looked down. “Not for normal people.”

  “You know what I mean. How about we meet in front of your place at 8:00 a.m. on Thursday? We can walk to Jeremy’s school together.”

  “Sure, that works,” I said, feeling the unintended sting of being average and unexceptional.

  21.

  “I can’t do it,” I told Daniel the following Thursday night. I dropped my head onto the plastic throw pillow adorning our love seat which, much like the playground and the grassy areas in the parks, was not intended for use. The love seat, covered in an unfortunate lavender floral print, felt like it had been pushed through a laminating machine. At that moment I didn’t care though; I felt exhausted and needed to be horizontal without actually going to bed. It was only 7:30 p.m., and the kids had just fallen asleep. I couldn’t admit defeat that easily. My legs hung off the end of the mini couch from the knees down, and my butt was wedged into the crease between the foam cushion and the arm. Daniel walked in with a beer, saw that I had assumed ownership of the love seat, and lowered himself onto a glossy wooden stool. I usually preferred the stool—it was better for all my wiggles—and he preferred the love seat. But on this night, I simply couldn’t hold my head up for another minute.

  Daniel rested his cast across his thighs, took a swig of his beer, and sighed. “Thank God China makes good beer.”

  “Beer can’t erase what I saw today, Daniel. Or smelled. The stench of that school! I’m pretty sure the acrid aroma of urine has permanently lodged itself into the lining of my nostrils, never to depart.”

  “Did you ask Kristy if it always smells like that?”

  “I asked that exact question, and do you know what she said? ‘Does it always smell like what?’ She doesn’t smell it anymore, Daniel! She’s adapted to a world that reeks of piss.”

  “Okay, so besides the pee smell, what was it like?” he asked, stretching out his legs and then re-crossing them.

  “Well, I’d tell you, except I have no idea! They wouldn’t let me in! There’s this weird little hut right inside the gate where the administrators work; they took us there to discuss the school. I asked if I could see a classroom and they said, ‘No, that would be disruptive, and we don’t allow disruptions.’ Not even for prospective parents! And, get this, parents must drop their kids outside the gate at 8 a.m., and pick them up outside the gate at 4 p.m. Parents aren’t allowed inside the gate between 8 and 4, unless they have an appointment, and then they’re only allowed in the hut.”

  “That’s different,” Daniel said, shifting from one butt cheek to the other on the stool.

  “Especially when you’re trying to decide if your child would be a good fit there! I, for one, would like to know how they punish the kids who are naughty. What if Piper bites someone and they pull out a paddle? Or one of those medieval stretching machines? We don’t know what they’d do to a child who’s not afraid to use her teeth!”

  Daniel shifted again. “I’d like to put that couch through a stretching machine.”

  “Get this—Kristy says they give the kids candy all the time, especially the foreign kids. She said Jeremy’s teeth have rotted from all the candy he eats at school.”

  Daniel looked at me. “Is there anything you like about it? Because it sounds like you hate it.”

  “I made a list of pros and cons. And you’re right, the con list is significantly longer. But the school is really cheap; that’s a pro. And the kids become fluent in Mandarin, fast, which, as we both know, would be hugely helpful.”

  “I thought you decided that Piper learning Mandarin was our primary objective.”

  “But not like this! We can’t squelch her spirit! I think she’d be a terrible fit there.”

  Daniel stood and shook out his legs, then sat again. “We don’t have to decide this right now, do we? Can’t we think on it?”

  “No, we need to decide right away. We have to sign up three days before the end of the month because kids can only start at the beginning of every month. Today’s the twenty-third. If I miss this window, I’ll have to find alternative ways to entertain Piper for another month. She needs stimulation outside of the apartment. And friends! You know how social Piper is. She dominated the playground back home.”

  “She dominated everything back home.”

  “True.”

  “So, what are you thinking?” he asked, taking a slow swig.

  “Well,” I paused and looked at him. “I made an appointment to check out an international school, the one where Kristy’s husband works.”

  He sudd
enly looked alert. “Wait, isn’t that school outrageously expensive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tina, you know I don’t make a lot of money, right? We can’t spend the way we used to. This is a start-up operation I’m working for—”

  “I know, I know, I just need to see all of our options.”

  “But that school’s not an option.”

  “I know! I just want to see it, okay!” My head was pounding, and I sealed my eyes shut.

  Daniel polished off the rest of his beer in one giant glug and stood. “That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  “It doesn’t have to make sense; I just need to know what’s out there.”

  “It’s a waste of your time.”

  “You forgot—I’ve got nothing but time—all kids all the time,” I said.

  He paused and crossed his arms. “When’s the tour?” he asked.

  “Monday, at 10.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  22.

  “This is amazing!” I said as we pulled up to the glossy new campus of the British International School. The exterior façade of the three-story main building was sleek and modern with dark wood outlining large windows overlooking a courtyard. The trees lining the driveway were tall and healthy; the lawn was perfectly manicured with no rope around it. A group of children were playing Duck Duck Goose on the grass. A full-sized soccer field lay to the right. A separate but equally modern kindergarten complex lay to the left, in front of which bloomed a sizable veggie garden lined with roses and lavender. I strapped the girls into the stroller as Daniel perfected his frown. I nearly skipped in the front door.

  “May I help you?” the beautiful Chinese receptionist asked in perfect English.

  “Yes, we have an appointment at 10?”

  “Oh yes, you must be Miss Tina. I’m Amber,” she said. “Would you like some tea while you wait for Heather to lead you on a tour of the campus?”

  “Tea? I love tea!” I almost clapped. “Daniel, would you like some tea?” I looked at him, eyebrows up, silently begging him, willing him to accept the tea.

  “No, thank you, I don’t drink tea.” He looked at me and rolled his eyes. He dropped into one of the soft leather chairs arranged for a civilized conversation about elegant topics and grabbed a magazine from the sparkling glass coffee table. He flipped it open.

  “You’re looking at the monthly publication that goes home to our families, the BIS Chatter. That is last month’s Chatter. Every month we highlight students for their academic achievements, musical pursuits, and of course, their social consciousness. Last month our eighth graders rebuilt an orphanage.” She beamed.

  “An orphanage! Daniel, isn’t that incredible?” I said.

  “It is,” he said, looking bored. He dropped the magazine back on the table. “Do you have sports teams?”

  “Oh yes, once our students are in middle school, they can choose from a wide variety of sports. Our teams compete against the seven other international schools in Shanghai. Our best teams travel to Beijing to compete at higher levels. But for our primary school students, like Piper, we offer a comprehensive physical education program every day followed by daily violin lessons. Do you like the violin, Piper?” she leaned over and stroked Piper’s head, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Ribbit,” Piper said.

  “Piper, please use your words, honey.” I smiled at Amber. “Piper loves music, don’t you, Piper?”

  “Ribbit,” she repeated.

  “Hello, my name is Heather,” said a throaty voice from the doorway.

  We all turned to look at her. Heather made Amber look like she’d just napped in a foxhole. She was approximately eight feet tall and stunning, nay, flawless. Her sleek black hair was rolled into a perfect bun on the top of her head. She wore cat eye glasses and tiny diamond stud earrings. A silky white blouse glimmered under her fitted black suit. Pinned to her lapel was a brooch with BIS written in cursive diamonds.

  I suddenly felt under-dressed. I looked down at my favorite shirt and realized it had seen better days. The week before I’d worn it to coffee with Kristy and felt pretty put together. Smart even. Now I felt like I’d dressed myself in the dark in something I’d plucked from the bottom of the hamper.

  “I see you have two children,” she said with disdain, looking at Lila on my lap. “Amber, please prepare a packet on our toddler program for the Martin family.”

  Amber rushed from the room.

  “Oh no,” I said. “It’s okay, we’re really only looking for a program for Piper right now.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she said and smiled at Daniel. “How are you today, Mr. Martin?”

  Daniel smiled back. “Doing great, thanks. You can call me Daniel.”

  I noticed he hadn’t shaved, probably since Friday. I pulled Lila’s finger out of her nose and looked out the window, away from all of them, silently listing off the areas I would address the minute we got home.

  “Follow me, please. I’d like to show you the classroom for our K3 program. This is the class Piper would join. Right now, they’re preparing for a play they’ll perform at the end of the month.”

  “A play! How wonderful! Which play is it?” I gushed.

  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream; have you heard of it?” She smiled at me and then winked at Daniel. “The junior version. One class prepares a play each month to perform for the entire school. This gets the students comfortable speaking on stage and teaches them to be a good audience. At the end of every term, the primary students perform in a violin concert. Three hundred children gather on stage to play the songs they’ve practiced in their daily lessons. It’s truly a sight to behold.”

  “I’ll bet it is,” Daniel said and looked at me with eyebrows raised.

  We headed toward the Kindergarten complex. I walked behind Heather and Daniel, pushing the stroller.

  “Mommy, I want out!” Piper shouted.

  “Okay, honey, we’re almost there,” I said.

  Heather opened her arms as she whooshed through the automatic doors of the kindergarten building. She swung her head out as she spun to face us. “This complex was built last year. It houses all four levels of preschool students. The toddlers receive instruction in a separate area with the ratio of one instructor to every three toddlers. They study early language development, science, puzzles, violin, and maths.”

  “Math?” Daniel said.

  “Yes, mathematics is an essential part of our curriculum. We believe an early introduction is critical to every child’s development. By the end of the year all of our K3 students can multiply and divide.”

  “Wow, that’s wonderful,” I said. Piper was red-faced, thrashing and bucking in the front of the stroller, working to extricate herself. She’d spied a group of kids her size on the lawn and was desperate to move herself there.

  “Piper, please just wait—”

  Heather interrupted me. “It’s alright, she can play with her schoolmates.” She looked at her slim watch on her minute wrist. “They have five more minutes of physical education before play practice. Why don’t we let her join the class for a bit and then continue our tour? I can tell you about our language acquisition program while she makes friends.”

  Piper ran over to join the game. They had moved on from Duck Duck Goose to Red Rover. Piper sprinted up to a red-headed boy on the far end of the chain and grabbed his hand. He looked at her and ripped his hand out of hers. She grabbed it again.

  Heather started talking. “Each of our classrooms is run by two teachers, one native English speaker and one native Chinese speaker, ensuring they have a full immersion experience in both—”

  The boy ripped his hand out of Piper’s again. I heard him yell, “Don’t!” Piper grabbed his hand again anyway.

  “On Wednesdays, the children get an hour and a half of Latin—”

  “Hold on just one sec, Heather, I really want to hear this,” I said and hustled over to Piper.

  �
�Piper!” I beg-whispered. “Don’t force it! You should ask before you grab someone’s hand.” I kneeled to get eye-level and smiled at the boy. “Hi sweetie!” I said in my happy voice. “This is Piper, she’d like to join your game. Is it okay if she stands here and holds your hand?”

  “NO!” he yelled loudly.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Okay then, uh, Piper, let’s find another place to stand,” I said, looking for an empty-handed kid who was less fierce.

  “NO!” Piper hollered back, louder than the boy. “I want to stand here.”

  “But why?” I pleaded while glancing back at Heather and Daniel. “We’re only playing here for a few minutes. There are plenty of other, nicer kids you can hold hands with.” I looked around. “Look at that little cutie over there!” I pointed to a girl holding her crotch in front of a lavender bush. “Oh wait, I think she needs to go potty.”

  Piper turned to face the boy squarely. She got a few inches from his face and yelled loudly, “My mommy says I don’t have to play with a meanie like you!” Then she kicked him, hard, in the shins and walked toward the sideline.

  “AAH!” the boy screamed and fell onto his back, writhing and grabbing his leg. “She kicked me!”

  “Oh no! Piper! Apologize right this instant!” I sputtered.

  “No, I won’t say sorry! He’s a meanie, you even said so!” she screamed.

  “I, I did not say so! You apologize right now or you’re in huge trouble, Missy, more trouble than you’ve ever been in EVER!”

  “NO! I won’t say sorry because I hate him!” she yelled and sprinted toward the center ring of the soccer field.

  Silence enveloped the taxi as we idled in traffic heading toward our apartment. With this particular taxi driver, it was either all brakes or all gas. Our heads pressed against the seats during bursts of acceleration, flying forward when he stopped. Start, stop, start, stop, we pitched forward and back like passengers on a boat in a storm. I looked to the right, out my window at the concrete barrier of the raised road. Piper sat on the far left with her face buried in her dad’s shirt. Lila whimpered in between us.