He shrugs. “The Romans were bastards.”
On our final day, we take a long bus journey to the outskirts of Rome. The guide points to a mansion nestled among the hills. It is the holiday home of Julio Iglesias who once did a duet with Willie Nelson. My father holds his nose and sings – "To all the girls I’ve loved before...”
Finally we come to a quiet convent in the middle of nowhere and are shown to an underground passage. We snake downwards into the cool clay earth to narrow tunnels and large compartments chiselled into the dirt walls. The guide looks around.
“Catacombs,” she says, “where thousands of Christians hid from the Romans. They slept, ate, made love and tried to live a normal life here.”
It is like a human beehive. I try to imagine living here – the only light source candles, the air, rancid. I wonder what they did when they went to the toilet.
My father touches a clay wall.
“People would’ve died here,” he says.
He looks around grimly then heads up top before the rest of the group.
He is silent for the three hour journey back to the city.
Twenty-Two
WHEN WE GET to London, Celia and Chung Si are already there. They are happy to see us, but I do not feel the same way. I must share a room with Chung Si. She has bought along her Charlie Brown tape and I hope she does not plan on playing it all through the night.
My father and Celia go out for a night on the town and I must babysit Chung Si. The next day I can see they’ve had a good time because they are both hung-over. During the day we go sightseeing. We walk the dreary London streets, side-stepping business people on overdrive and homeless men digging through litter bins.
At Trafalgar Square a pigeon shits on Celia’s arm.
We go to the Tower of London, where wives were kept in turrets and their heads sometimes removed. Celia locks arms with my father. Chung Si stands on tippy-toe to look at the view.
Inside the castle, the crown jewels speckle the walls with coloured light. We are not allowed to stop to take a good look.
“Move along,” says the guard. “Move along.”
I have not had a cigarette for two days and am wound up like a spring. There is no money and I cannot access my father’s supply. On London Bridge I tell them I want to go back to the hotel.
“No,” says my father.
Over the side, the churning Thames is chocolate milk.
“I’m bored,” I say.
“You are not going anywhere.”
“We can go to the shops later on,” says Celia.
“No one is talking to you,” I say.
Suddenly there is a large crack. My father has slapped my face, on London Bridge, above the flowing Thames. Parliament buildings blur and I raise a palm to the sting.
Celia and Chung Si stare at their feet. Traffic swishes past. I consider throwing myself under a lorry. Somewhere in the distance Big Ben tolls.
*
At Heathrow airport, an immigration officer looks at me.
“Cheer up,” he says. “Life can’t be that bad.”
*
I am subdued when we get to LA. I am still thinking about the smash to the chops. My father has never hit me, not even a smack on the bum.
We catch a bus to a hotel in Anaheim. We are going to visit the fun park, Disneyland. My father tells us he will not be coming because he’s seen it before with my little brother, so it’s just me, Celia and Chung Si.
It is the height of summer and the queue for the rides is up to two and half hours long. We go on the Small-World-After-All ride and the spinning tea cups. We eat American hotdogs with mustard and ketchup, and have our photo taken with Pluto but cannot find Minnie Mouse anywhere.
I want to go on the Ghost Train but Chung Si is too small. Celia says I can go and she and Chung Si wait with me in the queue. It the longest queue of all and we are there for two hours. The ride is fun and full of special effects.
Celia and Chung Si are waiting for me when I come out the tunnel. Chung Si jumps up and down when she sees me.
“Was it scary?” she asks.
“Ghosts swooped down and touched my head.”
“Aiya!”
After that we go on the Caribbean cruise and watch a dance troupe toss batons into the air. I buy a small velveteen Dumbo from the gift shop and Celia buys Chung Si a pair of Minnie Mouse ears.
“Mummy, can we go on the tea cups again?”
Celia looks tired.
“I’ll take her,” I say.
We spin around in a blue tea cup and Chung Si laughs and waves at Celia who is resting on a bench.
It grows dark and there is a massive parade with floats encrusted with coloured lights. Chung Si is awestruck but falls asleep in Celia’s arms before it is over.
When we return to the hotel, my father is not there. Celia’s looks in the bar but can’t find him. I watch her all tight-lipped and frosty as she tucks Chung Si into bed.
The next day my father is at breakfast reading the paper as if nothing is wrong.
“Terry!” Chung Si runs over to show him her Minnie Mouse ears.
He puts them on top of his head and they slip off, on to the table, into the jam on his toast.
Celia appears, stony-faced.
“You need a shower,” she says to Chung Si.
“Can I have a swim first?”
“No.”
“It is a holiday after all,” mumbles my father.
Celia stares at him.
“Is it?” she says.
She stalks off, nearly pulling poor Chung Si’s arm right off.
We take a bus tour into LA. We drive along massive highways to get there. Up ahead, a Mac truck has turned on its side. There are M&Ms all over the road.
“Now that ain’t something you see every day,” says the guide, Andy Rodriguez.
He is small and stocky and has a thin black moustache.
Downtown there’s the Hollywood sign and gold stars on the boulevard. Andy points to a dishevelled woman with a shopping cart outside the Chinese theatre.
“She’s really a millionaire. A lot of them are.”
“Why is she homeless then?” someone asks.
Andy shrugs, “Schzio. Lifestyle choice. Who knows?”
He waits while everyone takes a photograph of the lady.
After that, we go to Universal Studios and I sit in Kit the Knight-rider car and see the fake town where Gremlins and Back to the Future was shot.
Twenty-Three
NEW YORK IS like Hong Kong, with its skyscrapers and traffic and hissing manholes, except for the bridges which look like giant harps. We stay at a rundown, inner city hotel. My room overlooks an alleyway. A neon sign flashes outside the window.
It’s dinnertime when we arrive, so we eat in the hotel diner. I have a cheeseburger. It comes with a large green pickle and a small pack of salted crackers on the side.
I ask my father if I can have some money.
“What for?”
I nod toward the gift shop.
“A magazine or something.”
He gives me five dollars.
“Be back in your room in half an hour. Celia and I are going out, and you need to watch Chung Si.”
So it looks like they have made up and it is back to the babysitting plan.
I go to the gift shop and buy a pack of smokes. When I reach for the change, my hands shake, not from fear but anticipation. I hurry to the lobby toilet, into an empty stall, lighting up before the door is shut.
When my father and Celia go out, Chung Si and I stay in our hotel room and play checkers and a game of cards. I let her brush my hair and listen to You’re the Greatest, Charlie Brown.
When she is asleep, I watch television. There is a movie called A Street Car Named Desire. Marlon Brando is young and handsome with a tanned, ripped torso. The woman he loves is a shrew and not really good enough for someone like him, although she is a lot smarter than he is.
Every now and again,
I must turn up the volume because of the police sirens outside. My father says there is a murder in New York every six minutes.
I look at Chung Si, lying on her side, black hair fanned across the pillow. I blow on her face to see if she is awake but she is dead to the world so I light a smoke. I think about going out, for a quick look around, then another police siren flares up and I decide it is safer in bed.
*
The next morning, I am still sleeping when Celia arrives to get Chung Si dressed for the day. They try not to wake me and whisper in Chinese.
Sometime later, I am woken by my angry father.
“You are a liar.”
He clutches my pack of cigarettes in his fist.
“No more money,” he says. “No more smoking.”
“I can’t help it.”
He shoves the pack in his pocket.
“Get dressed. We are going out.”
I meet them down in the lobby. I glare at the little snitch as she hides behind her mother. There will be no Charlie Brown tonight. My father insists we walk to the Empire State Building. In New York, many streets do not have names but numbers like 23rd and 32nd and 18th instead. I lag behind. I do not want to be part of his lame little group.
I pretend I am a runaway, living on her wits on the streets of New York. I practise looking tough, run my tongue over my teeth, a hand through my hair.
A black man on a stoop calls out to me.
“Hey sister, you wanna buy a little something?”
I am flattered.
“Nah,” I say.
“No problem,” he says. “Take it easy, man.”
For the rest of our time in New York, I do my best to be on the outer. Always a block ahead or one behind. And if I have to sit at a table with them in a restaurant, I will turn my head and look out the window.
My father and Celia are out almost every night and I’m left to watch the little snitch. Then one time, she says –
“Sorry I told on you. Mummy asked if you had been smoking.”
I look at her standing there, with her sad little face, rubbing Snoopy’s ear with her forefinger and thumb.
“Forget it,” I say.
I wish I could go home. Then I think to myself: where exactly is home? Hong Kong? New Zealand? I wonder about Sarah and how she is doing, then remember Fleur and feel ashamed because I did not think of her first.
After the Empire State Building, the World Trade Centre and the Statute of Liberty, we are off to the airport and on to Hawaii. I hide the hotel key in my luggage because it may be useful if I runaway to New York sometime in the future. My father must pay an extra $18 for the lost key.
We hail a yellow cab. The driver stays put while we struggle to get our suitcases in the boot.
“Airport,” says my father when we get in the car.
“No kidding,” says the driver.
The taxi lurches in and out of traffic and stops too close to the cars in front. When we reach the airport, my father hands over a couple of twenties.
“Keep the change,” he says.
“Gee, a whole quarter,” says the driver.
After we unload our suitcases, the cab driver gives my father the finger before he drives off.
Twenty-Four
MY FATHER has been to Hawaii many times. He likes to end big trips with a relaxing time on the beach. The beach in Hawaii is called Waikiki and is so crowded that I almost bump shoulders with the stranger lying next to me. In New Zealand, if you go up to the end of Rocking Horse Road and walk over the sand dunes, you can have the beach all to yourself.
My father has an unsightly skin condition. It leaves him with spots on his chest and behind his ears. He also has a large protruding stomach. There could be a bowling ball or baby in there. The rest of him is not fat, just his stomach, although his spots and his stomach do not stop him from swimming. He likes to lie on the sand and read his book, then take a dip in the water.
Most days while my father, Celia and Chung Si go out, I stay in my hotel room and sleep until lunchtime. One afternoon I stay in bed and watch cable TV. My father tells me that I’m wasting the day and that there are many children who would love to be in Hawaii. I want to tell him that I have had enough and want to go home, but do not make a fuss because I don’t want to be hit.
I go on a day trip with Celia and Chung Si. We see the sunken warship, USS Arizona. Leis of red and white carnations drift above the wreak. Greasy rainbows skim the water.
We visit the night market. It’s not like the crowded, jumbled tourist markets of Mong Kok. Here, everything is pristine and golden and shimmers under the lights. There is lots of jewellery and polished shell souvenirs. There are many things I would like to buy, but I ran out of spending money in Rome. My father feels sorry for me and buys me an oyster in a can. When I crack open the shell, there is a pearl inside.
Then he and Celia have a fight. I know this because when we are in Pizza Hut there is a coldness between them. Things gets worse because my father makes a joke when Chung Si says she has a sore stomach and rocks back and forth as though she has spikes in her gut.
“Mecca’s the other way, Steph,” he says.
Celia gets to her feet, angry.
“She is sick, Terry.”
“I think you mean spoilt. She should eat what’s put in front of her.”
Celia glares down at him, grabs Chung Si’s hand and exits the building.
They do not talk to each other for days and things are tense. Late one morning when I am sleeping, my father comes into my room. He throws me a plastic bag. Inside is a box of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts and a green T-shirt with ‘Hawaii’ in white letters on the front.
“What’s this for?” I say.
He shrugs.
“I was at the shops.”
He looks out the window.
“It’s a nice day out there.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to go to Diamond Head?”
“With Celia and Chung Si?”
“Just you and me.”
“Okay.”
Afterward, when I try on the t-shirt, it’s at least two sizes too small.
*
I am surprised to learn that my father is not coming to Japan with us. He says he must get back to work. I don’t want to go without him. It won’t be much fun.
On the plane, Celia tells me he has not gone back to work but onto Bangkok.
“He has a lady,” she says.
“How do you know?”
“Because I am his wife.”
We stay in a little Japanese village with a young woman called Hoshi and her parents, Mr and Mrs Tanaka. Hoshi was Aunt Brenda’s home-stay student in New Zealand and we are honoured guests. The house is tiny and the doorways are low. If my father was here, he would need to duck to get under.
We must leave our shoes at the door and use house-slippers.
“Why is that?” I ask Hoshi.
“So the carpet does not get dirty.”
I sleep upstairs. There is no bed, just a bamboo mat, and a small pillow filled with rice. In the morning, I have a very sore neck and wonder how I will cope with four more nights.
Apart from the first day, Mr Tanaka is never home because he is always at work. But Mrs Tanaka is a gracious host and every dinnertime prepares a large meal with many Japanese dishes like rice balls and platefuls of vegetables in tempura batter. We sit on the floor around the table and eat until we are full.
Celia, Chung Si and I take the bullet train into Tokyo. The city is more fast-moving, ordered and clean than Hong Kong. People don’t amble but walk with purpose and obey all the road signals. We look at some shops but quickly get lost. People will not help Celia when she asks for directions. The men are the worst. They turn away and refuse to look at her. One just spits on the concrete and laughs with his friend.
It is very hot and Chung Si is tired.
“Chisó hái bīndouh a, Mummy.” Where is the toilet?
We walk for another
fifty minutes and find a McDonalds. But when we get there the toilet is locked and they won’t let us in. We search for another and finally find one at the train station over an hour later.
After Chung Si goes, we try to board a train, but there is no room because it is rush hour, so we wait for the next one, but that one is full too.
“Come on,” I say.
I take Celia’s hand and she takes Chung Si’s, and we push through the bodies until we get inside. Behind me a stinky man presses his groin into the back my thigh. The corner of a brief case jabs the left cheek of my butt. When we get home, we are late for dinner and Mrs Tanaka asks us where we have been.
On the last day, Hoshi and her boyfriend have hired a car so we can drive into the Japanese countryside. The car is very small and I must sit sideways in the backseat. It is a very long way and takes over three hours to get to the park where there are cherry blossom trees and a sparkling river. The place reminds me of somewhere familiar. I try very hard to remember, then it hits me – Mount Holdsworth and my first family’s wintertime picnics.
We take the long journey back to the village. Chung Si and Celia fall asleep. Later when I ask Celia why doesn’t she leave him, she tells me I am too young to understand.
Twenty-Five
WHEN WE get back to Hong Kong there is a letter from my sister. She is getting married next year to her long-time boyfriend, Shane. I do not like Shane very much. He once threw a cup at me when I walked in front of the television set, and refuses to eat fruit of any kind, even bananas. But the news offers me hope.
“Can I go back for the wedding?” I ask my father.
“It’s a long way off yet.”
I wonder where my sister will get married. I know it won’t be a church because Shane does not believe in God.
*
Two days later, we also find out we are shifting apartments.
“I have good news,” says my father. “We got into Mount Butler. We move in two weeks.”
He has wanted to live in Mount Butler for years. His best friend, Parker, lives there. My father has always called Parker by his last name. He is an insurance lawyer. Parker has a stay-at-home wife and daughter who speaks both French and Chinese and attends an exclusive boarding school. Parker often sleeps with his Filipino maids. Once he got one pregnant and she was sent back to Manila.
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