Anyway, da time I was going give da wrestling results, Bungy was looking at me cracking each knuckle in his fingers first one hand den da uddah and I went look down at my paypah wit da winnahs and da times and I thot maybe I better give da news about how da Russian Yuri Gagarin went around in space instead. After I was finished, Bungy raised his hand and said dat da Indian guy, Chief Billy White Wolf went fight Beauregarde, da guy dat always stay combing his hair and he took Beauregarde in two minutes of the third round with a half Nelson. Exact what I had on my paypah! I saw Mrs. Ching marking down our points in her book.
One time, Mrs. Ching went ask me if I like get extra points. She said she would gimme extra points if I get all dressed up like Abraham Lincoln and say da Gettysburg Address to da fift graders. I nevah like but she said I had to go cause I was da best at saying um las year. I still nevah like cause look stoopid when dey pin da black construction paper bow tie and make you wear da tall construction paper hat but she said it was one privilege fo say da speech and dat she would help me memarize um again. Ass cause when I was in da fift grade everybody had to learn da ting and had one contest in da whole fift grade and I went win cause everybody else did junk on purpose so dat dey nevah have to get up in front of da whole school, dressed up like Abe Lincoln. Shoot. I nevah know. I nevah know dat da winner had to go back da next year and say um again to da fift graders either.
Everyting was diffrent. In da sevent grade, you change classes l’dat and had all dese rules and j’like da bell stay ringing all da time. Had da warning bell before school start, had da real bell, and had da tardy bell. And da bells between classes and da tardy to class bell and da first lunch bell and da second lunch bell. And you had to tuck in your shirttails and wear shoes.
Bungy was Benjamen now. I knew cause his muddah and my muddah went make us go Chinese school summer time and we had to be in da first grade class wit all da small kids even if we was in da sixt grade going be sevent. Anyway, whenevah da teacha call Bung Mun, he tell, “My name Benjamen!” So da teacha try say “Benjamen” only ting come out “Bung-a-mun” and Bungy gotta tell again, “Benjamen!” Ass how I knew his name was Benjamen now. But most guys still yet called him “Bungy” even if he nevah answer.
And Charlene Chu had braces so she nevah smile anymore, not dat she used to smile at us anyways. Bungy, I mean Benjamen, would yell at her, “Hey, metal mout, you can staple my math papers wit your teet?” And all of a sudden, she had tits. Sixt grade nutting. Sevent grade, braces and bra.
Benjamen would always wear slippahs still yet even if he was supposed to wear shoes. He tell he get sore feet but his feet always stay bus up cause he like to go barefoot. His feet so ugly and dirty and stink, da nurse no like even look at dem, she jes give him da slippah pass. And if you had to go batroom during classtime you had to get one batroom pass. And had library pass and cafeteria pass and if you work cafeteria you had to wear da paper cap or if you get long hair da ladies make you wear da girls hairnet and you had to wear covered shoes. Even had dis yellow line painted on da stairs and down da middle of da hallway all ovah da school and you had to go up only on da right side and go down on da uddah side. Dey could nab you and make you stand hall for doing stuff like going down the up side of the stairs. Crazy yeah?
If you gotta stand hall you gotta go da vice-principal’s office before school, recess, lunch time, and after school fo so many minutes and stand in da main hallway of the school facing the wall. Ass where everybody walk pass so dey can razz you anymuch dey like cause you no can talk when you standing hall. I tink Mr. Hansen went make up da rules. He was dis tall, skinny haole guy, mean-looking buggah. But he nevah do da dirty work. If you got reported to the office, you had to see da vice-principal, Mr. Higuchi. He was one short, fat guy you had to go see if you was tardy or went fight and somebody said he da one who paddle you. Bungy said watch out if you gotta go his office and he close da door. Anyway, when Higuchi tell you you gotta stand hall, he take you to your spot and he take his pencil and he make one dot on da wall and he tell, “Dis is your spot. Don’t take your eyes off it.” You no can talk or look around cause every now and den he come out of his office and walk up and down da hallway real soft fo check if you still dere and you not fooling around.
So in da sevent grade, I wised-up. Had me and Jon and Bungy left in da classroom spelling bee. Da winner had to represent da class in da school spelling bee and no ways we was going make “A” in front da whole school.
“Tenement,” Miss Hashimoto said.
“T-E-N-A-M-E-N-T,” I went spell um.
“T-E-N-T-E-M-E-N-T,” Bungy went spell um.
“T-A-N-E-M-E-N-T,” Jon said.
“This is easy, you guys,” Hashimoto went tell.
“Nah, S-L-U-M!” Bungy went tell.
“Okay, nobody got um. Next word, syncopate.”
“S-I-N-K-O-P-A-T-E,” I went tell real fast. I was trying fo spell um as wrong as I could cause I nevah like spell um right by accident. Miss Hashimoto went sigh real loud.
“Definition please,” Bungy went jump right in. He throw da ack him.
“To shorten or produce by syncope.”
“S-Y-N-C-O-P-A-T-E . . .”
“Yes!” Miss Hashimoto said. She sounded relieved.
“E!” Bungy went yell. He knew he went spell um correct. He went spell um again, “S-Y-N-C-O-P-A-T-E-E.”
Jon was laughing and I was telling, “No fair! He had two chances. Da first one was good! Was correct.” Hashimoto looked pissed, she caught on. “If you boys don’t shape up and start being serious I’m just going to dock your grade and send all three of you to the finals.”
It ended up being me. I tink da uddah two guys was still yet missing on purpose but everytime came to me, Hashimoto went gimme me da eye and made her mout kinda mean and I could feel my heart loud in my throat and she everytime had to say, “Louder, please. Repeat the spelling.” And I would spell um different jes in case I spelled um correct da first time and she would say, “Correct!” even when I tink I went spell um wrong. So I was da one.
When I was up on stage, da principal, Mr. Hansen, was pronouncing da words and he went gimme “forefathers” in da first round. I went spell um “F-O-R-F-A-T-H-E-R-S” and I knew I had um wrong by da way Miss Hashimoto went look at me when I went look out at the seats and saw my homeroom class. I knew she was tinking I did um on purpose but actually I was figuring on staying fo a coupla rounds fo make um look good before I went out. When I got back to my seat on stage I went look at her and I tink she was crying. She had one Kleenex in her hand and she was wiping her eyes. I felt bad, man. Wasn’t my fault. I was really trying dat time. I went aftah school fo tell her sorry I went get out on da first round and she started crying again. I wanted to cry too cause I neyah mean to make da teacha cry. I hate Hashimoto fo making me go up dere in da first place. Bungy and Jon was smartah den me. My ears was hot, j’like dey was laughing at me.
Mostly da teachas was all dese old futs. But we heard dat had one cute new speech teacha, Mrs. Sherwin and dat she was one hot-cha-cha. Gordon Morikawa said da eight graders said she was good-looking. He said dat how many times Jimmy Uyehara went catch da bone while he was giving one speech cause when you give one speech you gotta go to da front and she go to da back and sometimes when she cross her legs can see her panties. “Naht,” I couldn’t believe dat. Besides I said, “She must be old if she married, she Mrs. Sherwin, yeah?”
Anyways we all wanted to see what she was going be like cause anyting was bettah den having chorus wit Miss Teruya who was one young old fut, and mean. She whack you wit her stick if she tink you not singing loud enough and if you no memarize da words, she make you stand next to da piano and sing solo. One time we went spend one whole class period practicing standing up and sitting down when she give da signal cause she no like when everybody stand up or go down crooked.
Da first day of da second semester we switched from chorus to speech and we went to her room and everybody was quiet cause was j’like da
first day of school again. Bungy kept poking me in my back wit one book. “She cute,” he whispered to me, “I heard she cute!” even though we nevah even see her yet. Some of da girls went turn around and give him stink eye and tell him, “Shhhh!” He jes went stretch out his legs and tell loud, “You tink Charlene Chu wear falsies?” I donno if he knew she was walking in da door but everybody went laugh when Charlene came through da door. Jon guys was trying fo be quiet but dey was all trying fo grab da small paperback dat Benjamen was reading behind his social studies book, Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Jon said dat was one hot book and only da guys in their club could read um. Jon sat in front of me, and Benjamen sat behind me, so I had to pass da book back and fort between dose two guys. Nevah look like one hot book. I went look inside and nevah see no hot parts.
“Dat’s because you donno which page fo read,” Jon told me afterwards, “Benjamen get um all written down in his Pee Chee folder.” Dey was passing da book back and fort reading da good parts all da way in social studies and now in speech. I wanted to read um too but if you stop and read um, Benjamen start kicking your chair until you pass um on. Dey was still yet passing um around when Mrs. Sherwin walked into da room and threw her cigarette case on the desk.
“Okay class, let’s begin.” She looked like one nint grader or little older maybe and she was wearing one short dress and everytime her bra strap was falling out and she tuck um in.
“Whoa, she smoke,” Bungy was telling Jon, “She smoke!”
“See, I told you she cute,” he said in my ear and put da hot book on my desk. I was supposed to pass um on to Jon but even though I was poking Jon wit da book, he nevah turn around and take um cause Sherwin went start class and he nevah like her see. I went put um undah my folder but I started fo get nervous about what if I get nabbed for having one hot book. Probably gotta stand hall for da rest of da year.
We went watch her reaching up to write her name high at da top of da board “Mrs. Sherry Sherwin—Beginning Speech” in one loose, half-printing, half-script style. She was skinny and we was watching her ass and her arm and she even write sexy and all da boys started to adjust their pants in their seats. Even her name was sexy . . . Sherry . . . Sherwin. She turned around and we watched her lick her lips with da tip of her tongue. Da girls was looking at her and den turning around and looking at da boys. Dey probably was jes jealous.
Da rest of da time was regular. Pass out books, write your name on da card and hand um in and she gave us work on da first day, man. Was boring da beginning part so I started to read da hot book. Dis time Benjamen wasn’t kicking my chair and Jon went forget about getting um, so I went read um. Mostly was about dis creepy gardener guy and he was trying fo get dis young girl. He was peeking in her window or something and was checking out her tits and he was reaching for his dick, da book call um his “member” and somebody went kick my chair real hard and I went drop da book and quick Benjamen went kick um undah my chair. “Stoopid!” he went hiss at me. Sherwin went look up at us.
Turn out, Sherwin was the sevent-grade adviser and when came time fo the first canteen, she told the boys that we had to learn the etiquette of asking a young lady to dance. She made us practice.
“Make sure all the girls get to dance,” she said. “If any of my boys notice wallflowers, I expect you to say . . .” She looked around da room and went call on me, “Daniel?”
“May I have dis dance,” I mumbled.
“And ladies, how should you reply? Charlene?” Sherwin said.
“Why I’d love to, Daniel,” Charlene said, all sassy. All da guys laughed.
“Whoa, Dan-yo! Maybe she going make you dance wit Charlene!”
“Maybe Charlene going ask you fo dance!”
Charlene straightened up and tucked her blouse tightly into her skirt. She looked at me disgusted. I wonder if dey was falsies?
“Whas one wall-fla-wah?” Jon asked.
“Stoopid,” Benjamen said, “da ugly ones!”
Jon raised his hand. “Geez,” Benjamen said, “he going ask someting stoopid,” and he put his head down.
“Yes, Jon.”
“So what if we no like dance wit da wall-fla-wahs?”
“Then you have to dance with me,” Mrs. Sherwin said. “Would you like to dance with me, Jon?”
“Oh, no! Ah, I mean yes. Ah, I mean it would be an honor m’am.”
“Don’t gimme that bull,” Mrs. Sherwin said laughing. “I just want to see you out on the floor, dear. Kicking up those heels.”
I wouldn’t mind dancing wit her. I was looking at my shoes. If I had Beatle boots, maybe she would dance wit me. Evans said that if you had real shiny shoes you could look up the girls’ dresses. No wondah he was always rubbing the top of his shoes on the back of his pants legs. He had Beatle boots with taps and stomped on anybody with new shoes. Scuffed um up and said, “Baptize!” Like how he baptized everybody after they came back to school with a fresh haircut. Everytime he sweep his hand around my ears and tell, “Ay, whitewalls!” Evans had sideburns and a sheik cut, a razor-trimmed cut around his ears that made his head look like a black helmet, hard and glistening with pomade, swept into a ducktail in the back.
“And boys,” Mrs. Sherwin was saying, “if I catch you combing your hair in the dance, I’m going to confiscate your comb. Get a nice haircut before the dance and comb your hair in the bathroom.” Once, I got nabbed with my comb, da long skinny kine, sticking out of my pocket and Sherwin took um cause she no even like see one comb. She told me I had to come back after school if I wanted um back. So I went after school fo get um back and when she went open her drawer, had uku billion combs, all hairy and greasy and probably had real ukus on top.
“Which one is yours?” she told me.
“Uh, ass okay, I foget which one was mine,” I said even though I could see mine, right dere, on top.
“You don’t need to comb your hair anyway,” and she went rough up my hair and I could feel her hand go down the bristly back of my neck, almost like how Benjamen baptize you.
“Eh, no make,” I said. Felt good though. Could smell her perfume. Spicy. I felt hot. I wish I had one sheik cut. But I couldn’t cause nutting was growing in front my ears. I no like when da barber jes buzz um off. I like get one sheik cut but I no mo nuff hair over dere to shave. Costs fifty cents more, too. Even my father no get one sheik cut. He get the 85 cent special at Roosevelt Barbershop, one time around da ears wit da machine and scissors cut on top. Pau fast.
Every time my fahdah go cut hair, I gotta go too. Even if I no like. Geez, I hope nobody see me cutting hair. Da barbah guy, Fortunato, still take out da booster seat, one old worn-out board dat he put across da arms of da chair and I gotta sit on um cause da stuff fo crank up da seat stay broken.
Da only good ting was da barbah shop was next to da theater dat showed hot movies. Hard fo look at da pictures when you stay wit your fahdah but you can look look side-eye at da Now Playing and Coming Attractions posters. “Alexandra the Great 48 in Buxom Babes!” and “Physical Education!” Couple times I went put da National Enquirer inside one of the old magazines, Soldier of Fortune or Guns and Ammo or Field & Stream, and read the main story, “My Bosom Made Me a Nympho at Twelve.” I read um so many times I almost memarized um. Had this picture of one kinda old lady bending over and could see down her dress but I knew that couldn’t be one picture of da girl cause she nevah look like she was twelve and no ways you could have tits that big. Maybe trick photography. Sometimes when my fahdah stay in da chair and I stay waiting my turn, Fortunato stop cutting and quick I look up fo see if he nab me but he only stay listening to da D.J. on da radio talking Filipino. Fast, excited. He jes suck his teeth and make one “tssk” sound and cut again. And I would look at da picture again and try to imagine dat it was Mrs. Sherwin but I only could see Charlene’s face in dat picture, bending ovah. Smiling at me, her braces shiny, glistening. Whoa, da spooky.
THE MANAGEMENT OF GRIEF
Bharati Mukherjee
A woman I
don’t know is boiling tea the Indian way in my kitchen. There are a lot of women I don’t know in my kitchen, whispering, and moving tactfully. They open doors, rummage through the pantry, and try not to ask me where things are kept. They remind me of when my sons were small, on Mother’s Day or when Vikram and I were tired, and they would make big, sloppy omelets. I would lie in bed pretending I didn’t hear them.
Dr. Sharma, the treasurer of the Indo-Canada Society, pulls me into the hallway. He wants to know if I am worried about money. His wife, who has just come up from the basement with a tray of empty cups and glasses, scolds him. “Don’t bother Mrs. Bhave with mundane details.” She looks so monstrously pregnant her baby must be days overdue. I tell her she shouldn’t be carrying heavy things. “Shaila,” she says, smiling, “this is the fifth.” Then she grabs a teenager by his shirttails. He slips his Walkman off his head. He has to be one of her four children, they have the same domed and dented foreheads. “What’s the official word now?” she demands. The boy slips the headphones back on. “They’re acting evasive, Ma. They’re saying it could be an accident or a terrorist bomb.”
BHARATI MUKHERJEE was born in 1940 in Calcutta, India. Having lived in Toronto and Montreal, she came to the United States in 1961 to attend the University of Iowa, became a citizen in 1988, and now teaches at the University of California at Berkeley. She is the renowned author of numerous works of fiction, including the prizewinning The Middleman and Other Stories, from which this story is taken. Her most recent novel is Desirable Daughters.
All morning, the boys have been muttering, Sikh Bomb, Sikh Bomb. The men, not using the word, bow their heads in agreement. Mrs. Sharma touches her forehead at such a word. At least they’ve stopped talking about space debris and Russian lasers.
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