Thursday, March 1
A new month, Diary, and have you noticed that I have been dutiful in my entries. I hope this will continue. I will have more schoolwork than usual, though. It was very exciting today, because Mr. Hughes announced a contest.
A former pupil has visited from Ontario, where he now lives. Mr. Hughes was his favourite teacher, the one he says who helped him most. He wants to encourage us to work hard, as he did when he was with Mr. Hughes, and he has set an essay competition with two dollars and a dictionary as the prize. We are to research and write about either the land we came from, the place we live now or any province of Canada. We may use illustrations if we wish. Our entries must be in by Friday, March 23rd, and the winner will be announced a week later, but on the Thursday because the Friday is the Christians’ holiday and there will be no school.
What a grand idea! I would love to win, but I do not think I will. Everyone was talking about it. Ivor boasted that he would win because he would write about Britain, which as everyone knows (he said), is the greatest country in the world! I have not decided what I will choose, but I will enter, that is one certain thing. Bess grumbled and asked Mr. Hughes if we all had to enter and looked very cross when he said we did.
I forgot to mention that the dictionary is very beautiful. It has a black cover with gold letters. Mr. Hughes has put it on a shelf behind his desk, facing us. “To inspire us!” he said. I am inspired, but I think more by the $2.00 than the dictionary!
Friday, March 2
I learned a new word today, “blustery.” We have strong, strong winds, a little rain and snow. Mr. Hughes described the weather as blustery. I like the way the word sounds. You can almost hear the wind in its middle.
I have felt very tired all day, and when I was with Miss MacDonald the numbers of my Maths problems spun around the page and would not stand still. I did not tell her this, but struggled on. I do not think I want to write any more — my head feels funny. Baba is waiting to put out the light.
Thursday, March 8
Diary, I did not forget you, I was just sick. My head is a little clearer, but it still hurts. I have had a big, big fever with aching bones. I do not remember much of Sunday. Baba says that when he came home I was very hot and lay in my bed all limp. Mr. Chee had sat with me, but when Baba arrived he was relieved because he was just going to get Mrs. Lee, as I was not making sense when I talked, mixing English and Chinese together.
People have been very kind. Mrs. Lee has sent soup over with Mr. Chee, and a message from Lily that she had told Bess what was wrong with me. On Monday I was too sick to even remember that I should go to Miss MacDonald. She came looking for me. It was lucky she went to the restaurant and found Tsung Sook there, who told her what was wrong. If she had come to our room, I’m sure that Mr. Chee would either not have answered her knocks or would not have let her in if he did. Tsung Sook spoke to Mr. Chee and told him that Miss MacDonald would visit me on Tuesday and that he should be sure to let her in. Mr. Chee made a sour face, but he did. While she visited, he stayed, sitting on Baba’s bed, glowering at her.
I thought that she would be angry with me for not coming, for missing our lessons, and that she would make me do them there and then. But no, she felt my forehead with her hand, and shook her head, saying that I was still feverish. She said I probably had the influenza that was going round. She had brought me some lozenges to suck for my sore throat, and then she sat and read to me. We finished Anne of Green Gables and she brought another Anne book yesterday. I shut my eyes and let the words flow around me. For just one little moment I thought my Ma was there, smoothing my hair from my forehead, but when I opened my eyes, it was only Miss MacDonald’s hand.
When I wrote on Thursday I thought I was feeling better, but the sickness came crashing down on me again, like a waterfall. All I have wanted to do is sleep. Never have I missed a whole week of school before. I hope I have not fallen too far behind. Miss MacDonald has told me not to worry, that we will catch up quickly if we work together. She has been very kind, coming every day and spending some time with me. She too brought me soup to eat, something she called consommé, that she said was good for invalids. I did not like it, but I ate it. It was weak tasting with a funny perfumey taste. Miss MacDonald said that was sherry. I like Mrs. Lee’s chicken soup with ginger much better.
We talked about the essay competition this morning. I still did not know what I wanted to do. I would like to write about China, but I do not know its history, not its grand and proper history — just bits of stories and legends that Baba and Wong Bak have told me — and surely that is what an essay like this will expect. So, I thought instead, I would write about Ontario, using the books we have in school. Miss MacDonald sniffed a little at that and said that this would just be copying, as I have never been there. She thought to write about China would be much better, and it didn’t matter that I didn’t know the history of the whole country. I should write about my village, where it is, what it’s like, what stories and legends are told about it. When I thought about it, I liked that idea more and more. I can draw pictures from my memories: my grandfather working the fields, my grandmother sitting on the porch telling Little Brother the stories she once told me. My eyes feel wet as I think of them, wondering if she makes him the little clay figures she once made me. I wish I could hear those stories again. Does Sing-wah realize what a fortunate boy he is?
Baba just came back from the restaurant. He is very happy that I am now truly feeling better. He told me that my uncles had missed me. I missed them too! The only one I saw was Mr. Chee, who watched over me so well this week. Perhaps he is not so much an “uncle” but a “grandfather” — a grandfather who is sometimes a little crotchety, but one who is part of my Gum Shan family here. He poked his head round our door this morning, but when he saw Miss MacDonald there he grunted and went away. I had thought he might come back this afternoon, but he did not.
Tuesday, March 13
I went back to school yesterday, and it was very hard. My head still is buzzy inside, and even just walking with Lily there left my legs feeling like they had no bones inside. A lot of students have been sick. Ivor has been absent these two days. Bess seemed pleased to see me, which made me happy. She taught me a rhyme about my sickness, which made me laugh.
I had a little bird whose name was Enza,
I opened a window and in flu Enza.
Then she told me how the rhyme came about — how in 1918 many, many people got sick with influenza and even died. The rhyme showed how easy it was to catch it — people believed just by opening a window and breathing the bad air. That was not so funny.
Mr. Hughes gave me all the work I missed to take to Miss MacDonald. Yesterday she thought I looked too tired to do much, so we talked — talked a lot about my life before I came here. I am getting used to Miss MacDonald’s questions now. She is just a very curious person.
Last night I did not write, my body wanted to sleep so hard. Today I feel a little stronger.
Wednesday, March 14
Ivor is still away. Is it wicked to hope that he will be sick as long as I was? He has not done a big mean thing to me since my blouse, but when he is there, I must always be watchful. It is not just me who feels like this. It feels better in class without him. It is hard to explain, but the funny feeling that school had — a feeling like something bad was going to happen — is not there when he is away. Only Declan misses him, and that is because the other bigger boys, Ivor’s friends, do not have much time for him.
Thursday, March 15
Please forgive my short entries, Diary, but I am working on my essay for the competition at night, when I normally write in you. Miss MacDonald has been very kind and given me paper to use, and has lent me crayons. Our village is so small that I could not find it on a map in the big atlas she has, but I have drawn a map of Kwangtung province, showing the district of Poon-yue, and explained that it is there. It is making me happy and sad to do this. Happy because I am thinking of the good things that happened when I was a little girl. The sadness comes because I want to see my Ma so badly. I think that she might not even recognize me now. I have grown so much taller.
Baba has watched me work, and it is funny because I have to explain things about the village to him. This puzzled me a lot because I thought he should know these things. Then he reminded me that he left when he was just a little older than me, when Uncle Wing-lok sent for him, and that he has only been back twice in all that time — once to marry Ma, and later when he brought me here. I wanted to ask him which was now home for him, China, where he was born, or here, where he has lived so much longer.
Friday, March 16
Ivor has been absent the whole week!
Bess showed me her essay. It is done, she says, and that is that. She only worked on it in the time Mr. Hughes gave us in class. She drew a map of Ireland, and copied things about it from a book. I tried to help a little, suggesting that she might add some more details, or even correct the words that she had copied incorrectly. This did not please her, and she tossed her hair and got huffy. “Not everyone is a swot like you, Mei-ling,” she said.
I did not like this, but then thought that perhaps I had hurt her feelings. Bess tries to make it seem like nothing bothers her, but I know things do. I have seen her cry.
Sunday, March 18
My heart is full with worry. Mr. Chee has not been well. It has felt frivolous to worry about you, Diary, when there is so much to be done.
All last week, his cough — the one that never really went away since last year — got worse. Yesterday when I went to help him clean, he was still in bed. His face had little drops of sweat upon it and was very pink. I did not know what to do. Baba had already left for work, so I could not ask him.
While my mind thought, my feet had ideas, and I found myself running to the restaurant. I knew Wong Bak would be there, or in the room above it where he and Tsung Sook sleep. I ran so fast that I did not hear the men who called out: their faces and voices were lost in the air.
Wong Bak came at once. Since then, either he, Tsung Sook or Baba have been with Mr. Chee. Wong Bak sent me to buy herbs, which they brewed as tea to ease Mr. Chee’s sickness. Then he sent me to the restaurant, and this has stolen all my time. We have managed, but it has been hard. Tsung Sook and Baba do not cook as well as Wong Bak. One rowdy table complained, and Tsung Sook was very angry. He told them not to come if they did not like the food. I thought they would fight, but it did not come to that, thank goodness. One man asked where Wong Bak was and I told them. They grew very silent. Everyone knows Mr. Chee.
Last night Baba slept on the floor in Mr. Chee’s room. Wong Bak will sleep there tonight. Tsung Sook tomorrow. I will be helpful in any way I can. I hope that Mr. Chee is well soon. That silly rhyme that Bess taught me about my illness keeps going through my head.
Monday, March 19
Ivor was back today. He had influenza too, but perhaps not very badly. He boasted how his mother had brought him his meals in bed, and how she went to the library for him and got books so he could finish his essay. He made a great show of handing it in early to Mr. Hughes. It did look very fine. He had made stiff covers for it and covered them with wallpaper — white paper with raised patterns on it, he called it anaglypta. I looked at Bess, and said that he would probably win. She thought so too, and said that he would be very smug and unbearable if he did.
Later
I had to stop writing. There was much shouting and I heard Tsung Sook’s voice, so I went to see what was wrong. He was struggling with Mr. Chee, who was trying to get out of bed and calling for people whose names I did not know. I helped Tsung Sook get him back beneath the covers. I was scared because Mr. Chee’s eyes did not seem to see us. I sat on the side of his bed and held his hand. He grew calmer, the shouts becoming little mutters. Tsung Sook’s voice was shaky when he thanked me. He said I had a knack for nursing.
When Baba came home, I asked him if it is my fault that Mr. Chee is ill. Baba said that perhaps Mr. Chee might have caught influenza from me, but that he could have caught it anywhere, as many people have had it. Lily Lee did not go to school today and, at Baba’s job, both boys have been home ill. This only made my worry go away a little.
Tuesday, March 20
I have finished my essay too. I worked on it in class a little, and then took it to show Miss MacDonald. She read it while I worked on some Maths problems. It was odd because she sniffed as she read it, and her eyes were teary.
“Oh, May,” she said, “it’s beautiful. You must miss your family so much.”
I told her that I do, but that here it is good too, because I am with my Baba and that one day we will all be together. That is something my Baba says will be for certain. Miss MacDonald looked sadder then, and she hugged me, saying, “Oh, I hope so, May. I do hope so.”
Thursday, March 22
I try so hard to write each day, but some days there is no time. We are all very tired. Tending to Mr. Chee fills the time more and more. He is not eating and his fever does not break. We are all worried.
Last night when the restaurant closed Wong Bak came home with us to spend the night watching over Mr. Chee. He and Baba talked in low voices, I think so that I would not hear, but I am ashamed, Diary, that I strained my ears to catch their words. Baba thought that we should seek treatment for Mr. Chee. He wanted Tsung Sook and Wong Bak to take him to the little hospital run by the white nuns on Keefer Street. They take in men who are sick and have no family. Wong Bak would not agree. He was very fierce, more fierce than I have ever heard him before. He argued with Baba, telling him that Mr. Chee would hate that, that it would frighten him, and that we are his family. It made me scared to hear them talk like that, as Baba would not suggest such a thing unless he thought Mr. Chee to be very, very sick. Wong Bak did bring a herbalist to see Mr. Chee today. I hope the medicines we bought will help, just like the medicine helped my grandmother when she was sick.
The herbs do seem to have helped. Tsung Sook said that Mr. Chee slept more last night, and did not just toss and turn. His breathing is very rattly though, and he still does not want to eat much. Tonight I sat with him so that Baba and Tsung Sook and Wong Bak could be at the restaurant; Friday is a busy night. Mr. Chee slept mostly, but once he woke up, looked at me and called me by a girl’s name that is not mine. This made me sad as I wondered who that girl had been — a wife, maybe, or a daughter?
I gave my essay to Mr. Hughes today. I could not make a beautiful cover like Ivor’s, but I drew a picture of our village for the front. Ivor saw it and laughed rudely, asking loudly why I had drawn pictures of sheds. Mr. Hughes spoke sharply to him, but he did not seem to care. He was strange all day today, as if he were excited about something. He kept whispering in class to his friends, and at recess a big group of them were all bunched together again. A lot of the Italian boys were also standing in a group in another corner of the schoolyard. Bess asked Declan what was going on, but he stuck his tongue out at her and told her to mind her business.
My study time today was not good. I have nearly caught up with all my work, and I thought that Miss MacDonald would be pleased, but she did not seem as if her mind was with me today. I asked if perhaps she was not feeling well, but she said that she had many things to think about. It was very strange.
Sunday, March 25
My eyes are sore from weeping. There is a hollow space inside me. Mr. Chee died on Friday night. Wong Bak was with him, and that was fitting — they have known each other many, many years and come from the same village, a village close to ours. It is hard, Diary, my words are muddled when I write. I write as if he is still alive.
I spent much time with him, but I knew very little of his life. Instead, I listened to his small grumbles of how his bones ached — one foot had been crushed working on the railway — of how strange Canadians were. He did not talk of family, and never went back to China. Little jobs kept him, and kindnesses from those who had known him a long time. He always ate with us at the restaurant, and in return was often my guardian when Baba could not be with me, especially when I first came. His friendship with Mr. Lee’s dead father meant that he was welcome to spend his days in their store, drinking tea and playing a little mah joong on the tables at the back. Many stories have been shared since Friday, and more will come when we have a banquet to honour him. Baba and the uncles will see that all is done properly. They have already contacted the association of the people from our district and the leader will attend. They will also ship his bones back to China when it is time.
I cannot write any more.
Monday, March 26
The banquet to honour Mr. Chee will take place at the end of the week. I do not know that I will be allowed to attend, some may not see it as proper, but I will help with the preparations.
It was hard to make my mind behave at school today. Mr. Chee was in my thoughts and it felt like I was shut behind glass windows. People talked to me and I could not hear them. I told Bess what had happened, but she was a good friend, she let me be in silence. No one bothered us. Too much else was going on — much whispering, and many of the boys have bruises and cuts. Bess said there had been a big fight on the weekend at some vacant lot. Declan was boasting about how Ivor had led them and that they had given the Italian boys a beating that they would not forget. I did not care about this. It is just spitefulness. I was glad when the day ended and I could walk Lily home. She was quiet too.
Tuesday, March 27
It has been a little better today, but only a little. Mr. Chee is still much in my thoughts. I talked of him to Miss MacDonald. She was very kind, and did not mind when I cried. She talked about her church and how they would say that Mr. Chee had gone to be with god. Miss MacDonald has talked of her god before, but not much. Today I had to ask more. Mr. Chee did not believe in her god, so how could this be? She explained that this did not matter — that her god loved everyone and that, from what I had said, Mr. Chee was a kind and good man. It is very puzzling. She asked me if perhaps on Sunday I might like to attend church with her. She thought it might make me feel better. I do not know. Baba’s hero, Sun Yat-sen, is a Christian. So it might be all right. I would not lose time with Baba as church is in the morning, so perhaps …
School today did not help my thoughts from sadness. All day the boys in our class were niggling each other, that is the word Bess used. Ivor all the time made remarks about how the Italian boys cannot fight, and made faces at them. They were all angry at each other, and Tony Sarducci punched Ivor in the back of the head as he walked past his desk. Mr. Hughes was very furious and sent him to the principal. It did not seem fair to me. Ivor, who is the cause of the trouble, did not get punished. That is how it always is though. He is too sneaky to ever get caught.
Wednesday, March 28
A dreadful, dreadful day. I am even sadder, because I may have lost Bess as my friend and I may have made new enemies. I do not think I can bear this. She and I have argued, and, of course, it is about Ivor. Why does that boy make so much trouble?
At recess this morning I did not feel well. My stomach was not settled, so I asked if I might go inside. It was permitted, but Bess was told she could not come with me. I could hear voices in our classroom, and when I peeked around the door, I was surprised to see Tony Sarducci and another boy there. They were standing by Ivor’s desk and laughing. This was strange, but I did not think too much of it, and went on to the cloakroom to sit quietly. They did not see me.
Later, when our lessons started, Mr. Hughes’s face was very white, and he would not allow us to talk. He pointed behind his desk, and told us that the dictionary prize was gone. It had been there before recess, so someone must have taken it. I felt scared because I had been inside — would he think that it had been me? He made us all stand up and open the lids of our desks while he came around and looked inside. When he got to Ivor’s he reached inside and pulled out the dictionary. Its beautiful cover was ripped, and pages were falling out and torn. Ivor’s face went very pale and he started to cry, saying that he did not know how it had got there. Mr. Hughes did not listen. He just took Ivor by the arm and marched him out of the room. No one spoke. Then the noise came. Some people, and Bess was one, were laughing, happy to see that Ivor was in trouble. I did not say anything, but I remembered Tony and the other boy.
When Mr. Hughes came back his face was very stern and Ivor was not with him. I did not know what to do, so at lunch I told Bess what I had seen. “Good for them,” was what she said. “It’s time someone took Ivor down a peg or two! They’re just getting their own back.” When I told her that I thought I should tell Mr. Hughes, she got very angry and said I was stupid, here was my chance to pay Ivor back for all the mean things he had done to me.
Her words hurt.
Ivor was back after lunch, his face all red and wet with tears. The principal had given him the strap.
I told. I thought and thought, and then I told. At the end of the day, when I went to pick up work for me and Miss MacDonald, I told Mr. Hughes what I had seen. Now I worry that when Bess finds out she will not be my friend. I also worry that others will hate me too. Did I do right, Diary?
Thursday, March 29
Such a sad entry yesterday. It was hard to write.
I did not want to go to school today as there were so many bad things to face, but I had to take Lily and that was an end to it.
My worst fear was not a true one. Bess came straight up to me and said, “You told Hughesy, didn’t you, Mei-ling?” She shook her head, so her hair bounced. “I knew you would, you’re such a goody two-shoes!” Then she grinned. “Not like me,” she added. “I would have let him suffer.”
I was very scared in class, but Mr. Hughes did not say anything at all until the end of the day, when he put our essays on his desk, and began a long, long talk about how sad he had been that such meanness had come into our class, leading to the destruction of one of the prizes. He had much else to say, but my heart was beating so fast that I could not hear, until I heard Ivor’s name and that someone had tried to make him look like the thief. I shut my eyes tight as Mr. Hughes continued talking, explaining that the true thieves had been caught and punished. He did not say it was me who had told! I was so happy that I almost missed hearing who had won.
Ivor won. There were groans at this, but Mr. Hughes glared till there was silence. Two other essays were mentioned as being very good and mine was one of them!
At the school gates, as Bess and I waited for Lily, Ivor came by. He was on his own. He stopped and stood for a long time, but did not speak. He looked very uncomfortable. When he left Bess snorted and said, “He knows that you saved his bacon! What a toad he is — couldn’t even bring himself to thank you.”
I did not mind that. I am much relieved that things are right. Now, this weekend we will say goodbye to Mr. Chee.
Saturday, March 31
It was strange not to go to school yesterday. I had thought that there would be much time to write, but it was not to be. It is also strange to be writing now, in the morning. This is time that I would be with Mr. Chee.
Even though there are many people in this rooming house, I feel very alone now, especially when Baba is at work. I will fill this emptiness by writing of yesterday.
All my thoughts were of Mr. Chee, even when I spent the morning helping Mrs. Lee. She talked fondly of him, laughing about the way that even when he was not playing mah joong himself, he could not resist watching others, and sometimes criticizing them if he thought they made a stupid move.
My afternoon was all chopping, chopping and slicing for the banquet. The restaurant closed after lunch, so that we could prepare. Wong Bak looked tired and sad, his back more bowed than usual. Tsung Sook was very solemn. He talked much to Wong Bak about the future, how he wanted to make sure that he married and brought a wife here. I knew he was thinking of how lonely Mr. Chee’s life here had been. Wong Bak made Tsung Sook smile, reminding him of how Mr. Chee teased him that a tall, good-looking man like him would find a very grand bride!
Many came — old friends from the railway days, Mr. Lee, members of the district association, and even the Mahs’ cook. This made Wong Bak nervous a little, but I was happy to see Cook as he had news of Yook Jieh. Her husband had written to say that they were settled and the restaurant open. How I wish I could write to her, and her to me!
Wong Bak’s food was very admired. He had put much effort into it. He cooked and then Baba and Tsung Sook made him sit while they carried the food to the table. I stayed in the kitchen, washing pots and, should I be ashamed to say, listening.
It made my heart full to hear the talk of Mr. Chee, making me feel a little that he was still there. But, oh, Diary, I became angry at them, the men who were there, because soon the talk changed. They started to talk of what was happening in China, of how Sun Yat-sen had lost control of Kwangtung, and was imprisoned on a boat. They talked of things happening here, of how bad things are, how things may get worse. This scared me and I wanted to hear more, but Wong Bak silenced them, reminding them of our friend who is gone.
In what way could things change and become worse for us? I must find out.