Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jamie Ford
good-bye.
He kissed the quarter and placed it on top of Ethel's headstone. This was our promise of happiness, Henry thought. It's all I have left to give. This is so you can be
happy without me.
He stood back, hands at his sides, and took three deep bows out of respect.
"I have to go now," Henry said.
Before he left, he drew a lily from Ethel's bundle of flowers and set it on his mother's grave. He even brushed a few leaves from his father's stone before opening his umbrella and walking back down the hill in the direction of Volunteer Park.
He took the long way back, down a winding path that lead to the near-empty parking lot. Lake View Cemetery was a beautiful place, despite the somber graves that stood as cold reminders of so much loss and longing. The final resting place of Chief Seattle's daughter and other notables like Asa Mercer and Henry Yesler, it was a walking tour of Seattle's forgotten history. Not unlike the Nisei War Memorial Monument in the northeast corner. It was a smaller monument, smaller than the headstones of members of the Nordstrom family, dedicated to Japanese American veterans--locals who'd died fighting the Germans. These days it went all but unnoticed, except by Henry, who tipped his hat as he slowly walked by.
Speak Your American
(1942)
Henry stood in front of the mirror, examining his school clothes. He'd asked his mother to iron them, but they still looked wrinkled. He tried on an old Seattle Indians baseball cap, then thought better of it, combing his hair yet again. Anxiety about Monday mornings was nothing new. In fact, it normally began on Sunday afternoons.
Even though he was used to his routine at Rainier Elementary, his stomach would knot up as the hours passed, each minute bringing him closer to his return to the all-white school-
-the bullies, the heckling, and his lunch duties in the cafeteria with Mrs. Beatty This Monday morning, though, his ritual of serving the other kids seemed downright exciting.
Those forty precious minutes in the kitchen had become time well spent, since he'd get to see Keiko. Silver lining? Indeed.
"You one big smile this morning, Henry," his father commented in Chinese, slurping his jook --thick rice soup, mixed with diced preserved cabbage. Not a favorite of Henry's, but he ate it politely.
Henry took slices of preserved duck egg out of his own bowl and set them in his mother's before she returned from the kitchen. He liked the salty slices but knew they were her favorite, and she never saved much for herself anyway. On their dark cherrywood table sat a lazy Susan used for serving; he spun it back to its original position just as his mother was returning, her bowl back in front of her.
His father's eyes peeked over his newspaper. The front-page headline read: BRITISH EVACUATE RANGOON. "You liking you school now? Hah?" His father spoke as he turned the page.
Henry, knowing not to speak Cantonese at home, answered with a nod.
"They fix the stairs, hah? The ones you fell down?" Again, Henry nodded, acknowledging his father's Cantonese, and kept eating his thick breakfast soup. He listened to his father during these lopsided, one-way conversations, but he never talked back. In fact, Henry rarely talked at all, except in English to acknowledge his advancing skills. But since his father understood only Cantonese and a little Mandarin, the conversations came as waves, back and forth, tidal shores of separate oceans.
The truth was that Henry had been beaten up by Chaz Preston on that first day of school. But his parents wanted him there so much that not being appreciative would have been a terrible insult. So Henry made up some excuse, speaking his American. Of course his parents didn't understand--imploring him to be more careful next time. Henry did his best to respect and honor his parents. He walked to school each day, going upstream against a sea of Chinese kids who called him "white devil." He worked in the school kitchen as white
He kissed the quarter and placed it on top of Ethel's headstone. This was our promise of happiness, Henry thought. It's all I have left to give. This is so you can be
happy without me.
He stood back, hands at his sides, and took three deep bows out of respect.
"I have to go now," Henry said.
Before he left, he drew a lily from Ethel's bundle of flowers and set it on his mother's grave. He even brushed a few leaves from his father's stone before opening his umbrella and walking back down the hill in the direction of Volunteer Park.
He took the long way back, down a winding path that lead to the near-empty parking lot. Lake View Cemetery was a beautiful place, despite the somber graves that stood as cold reminders of so much loss and longing. The final resting place of Chief Seattle's daughter and other notables like Asa Mercer and Henry Yesler, it was a walking tour of Seattle's forgotten history. Not unlike the Nisei War Memorial Monument in the northeast corner. It was a smaller monument, smaller than the headstones of members of the Nordstrom family, dedicated to Japanese American veterans--locals who'd died fighting the Germans. These days it went all but unnoticed, except by Henry, who tipped his hat as he slowly walked by.
Speak Your American
(1942)
Henry stood in front of the mirror, examining his school clothes. He'd asked his mother to iron them, but they still looked wrinkled. He tried on an old Seattle Indians baseball cap, then thought better of it, combing his hair yet again. Anxiety about Monday mornings was nothing new. In fact, it normally began on Sunday afternoons.
Even though he was used to his routine at Rainier Elementary, his stomach would knot up as the hours passed, each minute bringing him closer to his return to the all-white school-
-the bullies, the heckling, and his lunch duties in the cafeteria with Mrs. Beatty This Monday morning, though, his ritual of serving the other kids seemed downright exciting.
Those forty precious minutes in the kitchen had become time well spent, since he'd get to see Keiko. Silver lining? Indeed.
"You one big smile this morning, Henry," his father commented in Chinese, slurping his jook --thick rice soup, mixed with diced preserved cabbage. Not a favorite of Henry's, but he ate it politely.
Henry took slices of preserved duck egg out of his own bowl and set them in his mother's before she returned from the kitchen. He liked the salty slices but knew they were her favorite, and she never saved much for herself anyway. On their dark cherrywood table sat a lazy Susan used for serving; he spun it back to its original position just as his mother was returning, her bowl back in front of her.
His father's eyes peeked over his newspaper. The front-page headline read: BRITISH EVACUATE RANGOON. "You liking you school now? Hah?" His father spoke as he turned the page.
Henry, knowing not to speak Cantonese at home, answered with a nod.
"They fix the stairs, hah? The ones you fell down?" Again, Henry nodded, acknowledging his father's Cantonese, and kept eating his thick breakfast soup. He listened to his father during these lopsided, one-way conversations, but he never talked back. In fact, Henry rarely talked at all, except in English to acknowledge his advancing skills. But since his father understood only Cantonese and a little Mandarin, the conversations came as waves, back and forth, tidal shores of separate oceans.
The truth was that Henry had been beaten up by Chaz Preston on that first day of school. But his parents wanted him there so much that not being appreciative would have been a terrible insult. So Henry made up some excuse, speaking his American. Of course his parents didn't understand--imploring him to be more careful next time. Henry did his best to respect and honor his parents. He walked to school each day, going upstream against a sea of Chinese kids who called him "white devil." He worked in the school kitchen as white
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