My Mister Ostrich-Side Story 1 HOW MUCH I ENVY YOU (2/4)

Translated by Twelve_Months_of_May

Don’t cut it. You look good with long hair.

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When I was younger, I lived in South Africa. My dad often went away for business trips across the African continent. My mother and I stayed in Cape Town awaiting his safe return each time.

South Africa was one of the more developed countries in Africa. There was more diversity, and education there was better than much of the continent. I would go to school with all the other little kids, and then I’d study Chinese at home with my mom.

When my dad returned, he would tell me about all the things he’d heard and seen when he was away. Interesting things, thrilling things, difficult situations, magical things… Listening to the stories, I felt almost intoxicated. He showed me the pictures he took. Sometimes he would stay in the field with his team for a very long time, just to observe the habits of zebra or antelope. He told me about how a lion hunted a zebra. He told me that this was a world where the strong preyed on the weak, and if you didn’t want to get eaten, you’d have to make yourself stronger.

I was completely amazed with the fantastical world. During summer vacation, Dad would take me and Mom along with him to work. The first time that I sat in the off-road SUV and saw the vast African savannah filled with droves of animals, I was shocked. For the first time in my life, I felt the insignificance of humankind.

Once, when I followed my dad’s team out to the field, we came across an area covered with animal carcases, left after a large fight. From the remains, one of the scientists supposed that it was a fight between some lions and a group of hyenas.

On the battlefield, my dad and his team found a dying baby lion in the heap of hyena corpses. It was heavily injured, left behind by its pack. It had likely survived a few days by eating the rotting flesh remains.

Dad brought the little lion back to our camp. It wasn’t really that small, but Dad said that it was still young. Its body was covered in scars. In order to protect its life, the accompanying veterinarian amputated a limb.

The little lion’s entire right-side front leg was amputated. Its right-side hind leg was also missing a chunk. When I saw at it, it was wrapped up in gauze, asleep from the anesthesia. I asked my dad when it would get better, when it could return home.

My dad told me that it would never be able to go home.

A major predator on the food chain, still young and missing a leg. If it was released back to the wild, the only end for it was death.

At the time, the film ‘The Lion King’ was sweeping the globe. My dad told me that his team stole the name and called their little lion Simba.

Simba followed us back to South Africa and was handed over to a zoo in Cape Town. Afterwards, Derrick and I often went to visit it. All by itself in a cage, it looked very lonely.

Watching Simba limping around with difficulty, its front leg missing, I grabbed onto the railing and felt a strange sense of loss.

Derrick was the boy who lived next door to us. He was white and a year older than me. He had blond hair and a pair of deep blue eyes. We were good friends. Derrick told me that, on our street, I was the most particular kid.

It was true that I was the only Chinese girl in our neighborhood, with straight, black hair and a pair of dark eyes. Derrick said that I looked like a fairy, and I was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

My concept of aesthetics was likely formed around that time. With regards to people’s appearances, I’d never had any particular preferences. When I returned to China, I’d often heard the neighbor girls say that black people looked disgusting. I found that outrageous. In my memories, the black kid next door when I lived in Cape Town, Arno, was brave and cute. Often times, I preferred to play with Arno instead of Derrick.

I started learning violin at a young age, along with Derrick. I wasn’t very good, but Derrick often received the teacher’s praise. Mom had asked me before, ‘Xiao Jing, do you dislike playing violin? If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep taking lessons.’

I told her, “I don’t dislike it.”

My mom was a bit suspicious. “Then why don’t you practice more?”

I thought it was strange. “Who said that I don’t practice?”

I clearly practiced very diligently. It’s just that I wasn’t as good as Derrick, but that didn’t say anything about my enthusiasm for playing the violin. I practiced every day. Derrick would knock on my window and rest on the window sill, saying, “Jodie, your violin playing sounds bad.”

I would quietly push his hands away and lock the window before continuing to play the violin.

Only Arno said that my violin playing was nice. He was from Nigeria, with dark skin and big, bright eyes like two big grapes. Because of his dad’s work, they had just moved to South Africa a few years before. He said that when he listened to me play violin, it reminded him of home, back in Nigeria.

When I was 12 years old, an epidemic started spreading through several countries in Africa. For my and my mother’s safety, my dad accepted a work transfer and prepared to take us back to China.

I told Derrick that I was going back to China. After being startled for a moment, he finally said, “Jodie, I love you. I will miss you.”

I told Arno that I was going back to China, and he blinked a few times before silently heading home.

That evening, Arno came over and knocked on my window. He handed me something.

It was an African drum.

It had a strange body with some complex carvings on it.

Arno told me that the drum was handcrafted by his grandfather when he was younger. Even the skin used for the drumhead were from the animals that his grandfather personally hunted.

“Jodie, I’m giving this drum to you.” When Arno opened his lips in the dark of the night, his shining white teeth and eyes were very conspicuous. He said, “My grandpa told me that this is a magical drum. He gave the drum to my grandma and they got married later. My dad gave my mom this drum, and then they also got married. My grandpa told me that if I give this to the girl that I love, we’ll be together in the end.”

I felt that I couldn’t accept such a precious gift. Arno looked a bit crestfallen. He asked, “Jodie, do you not like me?”

No, I liked him.

I accepted the drum and held it tightly. Arno smiled and said, “I’ll come teach you how to play it tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

Later on, I followed my parents back to China. The first summer vacation, I started to practice the drum at home, but the neighbors ended up complaining.

My mom said that this wasn’t Cape Town and implored of me to stop playing the drum. Then I begged my dad to let me call Arno’s house. I wanted to play the drum for him. But then came the despairing news.

Arno had been infected with a virus. A month ago, after treatment failed, he passed away.

That was the most heart-aching summer day of my life.

The day that Year 1 (of high school) finished, I gave the drum that Arno gave me to Gu Mingxi. I knew that a few minutes later, he would give that drum to Pang Qian.

If this drum from Africa was really as magical as Arno said, then, one day, a pair of lovers would finally end up together because of it.

After Year 2 started, Pang Qian was no longer in our class because of the class restructuring. Teacher Dai asked Gu Mingxi and me about our opinions, and then we became deskmates.

Gu Mingxi didn’t speak much. After the ‘Outstanding Student’ incident, he became much more quiet and solemn. And perhaps it had to do with the fact that Pang Qian was no longer by his side.

Zhou Nanzhong and Wang Song would help Gu Mingxi with some of his daily needs, but otherwise, he would use his own two feet to slowly take care of his own matters. He rarely asked me to help him. And I didn’t offer my help either. At lunch, he would still eat together with Pang Qian. When we lined up in the cafeteria, I often saw the two of them together, standing at the window. Pang Qian carried two lunch boxes and pointed at the food behind the glass, asking Gu Mingxi what he wanted to eat.

Only when he was with Pang Qian would Gu Mingxi’s expression relax and be at ease. He would smile and discuss with Pang Qian about which dishes were better.

The image of them eating together was still clear in my mind. They sat across from each other, a lunch box for each of them. Pang Qian would steal Gu Mingxi’s food, and Gu Mingxi would help her eat the things she didn’t like.

One person used their hands, the other used their feet. They picked at each others’ lunches with their spoons. That kind of intimacy and understanding was like an invisible wall, keeping everyone else out.

So I didn’t interact much with Gu Mingxi.

Perhaps to other people, I was a very strange person. I didn’t really have any friends in the class. I didn’t understand what the girls in class would chat about. The comics and celebrities that they liked, fashionable clothing, I didn’t know about any of it.

I always kept my hair short and wore a pair of large glasses. My clothes were very ordinary, a t-shirt and jeans. I knew that I wasn’t a girl who would catch anyone’s eye, but I didn’t care about that at all. After I returned to China, everyone said I was very refined. At first, I didn’t know what that word meant. After I understood it, I was a bit surprised, and also relieved.

What right did I have to say that Gu Mingxi didn’t speak much? I was clearly the mystery to everyone. f𝒓𝗲𝗲𝒘𝑒𝚋ｎoѵ𝒆𝗹.co𝗺

I was short, even shorter than Pang Qian. That’s why I always sat in the front row in class. When I became deskmates with Gu Mingxi was the first time that I sat in the back of the room.

I sat at Pang Qian’s old spot, and I found out that it was really an interesting seat. In the back corner of the classroom, with a window beside me, I could clearly see the schoolyard below.

Zhou Nanzhong and Wang Song who sat in front of us were both very tall. Sometimes, I suspected that if I played around behind them, the teacher wouldn’t even be able to see me.

After being deskmates with Gu Mingxi for two weeks, I realized that he wasn’t stuffy at all. Sometimes he would do some interesting things, just like other kids.

For example, when he was tired of working on practice problems, he would start to draw a bit. Just like other boys his age, he liked to draw big-breasted, small-waisted, long-legged girls and strong, muscular guys. Other times, it would be robots and monsters. He would start sketching on the paper, hunched over, head down, his body leaning slightly to the right. He used his left foot to block the drawing, seemingly not wanting for me to see.

So of course I pretended not to see. Still, I couldn’t help myself from looking. After he drew for awhile, Gu Mingxi would return to doing his practice problems. He folded up the paper he drew on and stuffed it into his desk.

More than once I saw him sketching out a girl. The girl would sometimes be standing, sometimes sitting, sometimes jumping, or looking back. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, and her face always carried a bright smile.

I rested my chin in my hands and secretly watched him draw. I really wanted to remind him that Pang Qian’s chest wasn’t that big, that her waist wasn’t so small, and she didn’t have long legs like that.

But of course, I didn’t say anything.

For the Autumn sports festival in Year 2, I ran the 800m. Pang Qian participated in her class’ 4x100m relay. From the stands, I watched as she slipped away and joined our class. She sat down next to Gu Mingxi and started chatting with him.

“It’s so hot.” She separated her hair and braided it. She turned and saw me. Then she said to Gu Mingxi, “Ah, do you think I should cut my hair? Like Xiao Yujing’s. It’ll be easier to wash and better to stay cool.”

Gu Mingxi stared for a moment. Then he shook his head and said quietly, “Don’t cut it. You look good with long hair.”

After Christmas, I saw that angry man again in the rehab hall.

He didn’t shout anymore, but was diligently practicing to walk. The t-shirt on his body was covered in sweat. After training a bit, he would quietly say a few words to his physical therapist. With furrowed brows, he pointed to his left leg prosthetic, as if saying there were something wrong with it.

I saw him several times after that, but we never spoke. When he saw me, his expression turned a bit unnatural. I didn’t take it to heart though, and each time, I smiled at him.

As the Spring Festival of 2011 approached, I decided to go home for New Year’s.

Before I left, I had a bit of a headache about where I would leave Ah Miao.

I didn’t want to bother my friends or colleagues, so I ended up deciding to leave it with a pet store.

I found a pet store near the school and carried Ah Miao over in its carrier. And then I met the angry man there.

He was a bit surprised to see me. At this point, we couldn’t help but introduce ourselves.

“My last name is Xiao, little moon Xiao.” I started speaking in Chinese, but then I became a bit uncertain since some ABCs (American-born Chinese) could speak Chinese but didn’t know to read it. Then I added in English, “You can call me Jodie.” (Note: ‘little’ and ‘moon’ are the characters used to write her last name)

“I know, little moon Xiao.” With a serious look, he extended his right hand to me. In Chinese, he said, “Lin Weiqi, English name Virgil.”

I politely shook hands with him. His hands were very big, warm, strong. After we pulled back our hands, his expression warmed slightly. He said, “I have to apologize about last time, Jodie. I was really very irritable that day and I scared those kids. I’m sorry. I promise it won’t happen again.”

I smiled and lifted up my carrier to show him Ah Miao. “I’d like to check in this cat. If you give me a discount, I’ll forgive you.”

He couldn’t help laughing. His firm face suddenly broke into a smile, and his eyes filled with a gentle light. I suddenly felt my mood improve.