The Expatriates by Janice Y. K. Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

strokes with her arms, kicks with her legs, head stretched out as far as possible. The beginnings of panic. She swam and swam and swam. Finally, light above, her neck straining to see. She broke the surface and looked up. Air heaved into her lungs. The sun was shining. Children laughing, people talking. Life going on. No one was watching for her. Barbara had gone off, to pack something or follow some child’s cry. Mercy ducked her head underneath again and came up new. She swam to the back of the boat and hoisted herself up. She rinsed off with the freshwater shower nozzle, tears stinging her eyes, and dressed. She felt so alone. She thought that she must be getting her period. She must be melancholy for a reason.
    People were starting to gather their things to make the short journey to the beach. They waved over a sampan, and the first boatload left. When the boat came back, Mercy climbed in with her beach bag that had her sunscreen and towel. An old fisherwoman was steering the boat. She had a big black brimmed hat and leathery brown skin.
    She looked at Mercy, with her tanned thighs and white shorts and orange tank top. Suddenly, Mercy felt very exposed.
    â€œ
Joong gok yan?
” the woman asked. “Are you Chinese?”
    Mercy shook her head no. “Korean.”
    â€œ
Hong gok yan
.” The old lady nodded. Then said in English, “You no marry.”
    Mercy laughed. “What?”
    â€œYou no marry.” By this time, another couple and their toddler son had come on board—the worried mother, who had been frightened of accidents.
    â€œYes, I’m not married.” She smiled.
    â€œYou no marry. No have husband.”
    â€œYes,” she said. “Okay.”
    â€œNever!” The woman leaned over and tugged on Mercy’s earlobes. It was so sudden she couldn’t even recoil.
    â€œOkay, okay!” she said, laughing out of shock.
    â€œYour ear say no children.” The old woman looked at the other woman. “She have no children. But you never get fat,” she said to Mercy, as if by way of consolation.
    The other woman looked at Mercy uneasily. “I don’t know . . . ,” she started to say.
    â€œOh, don’t worry,” Mercy said. “You have no idea how used to it I am. It’s fine.”
    The woman looked at her with pity. “Okay,” she said. “But this woman shouldn’t say that to you.”
    â€œOh, what does it matter,” Mercy said. “She’s just an old woman on a fishing boat.”
    The boatwoman pulled on the rope and started the engine. The boat started puttering slowly to the shore. Mercy looked out at the flat horizon and tried to arrange her face in a pleasant expression. When they reached the shore, she got out in thigh-deep water and helped to pull the boat in so she could receive the boy from his mother. She reached her arms out.
    â€œNo, thank you,” said the woman. “Bill will get him.” She waited for her husband to get out of the boat and then handed over the child.
    â€œI’m sorry, what’s your name again?” Mercy said, holding on to the boat so the woman could clamber out.
    â€œJenny,” said the woman. “And Bill, and our son is Jack.”
    â€œMy name is Mercy,” she said. She was so tightly wound she didn’tknow whether she was mad at Jenny or at the fisherwoman or at the world.
    They all arrived at the beach and wended their way to the barbecue pits.
    Lunch was jovial, lubricated. The men poured out charcoal and tried to light the fire, swearing merrily. “Man make fire,” Barbara’s husband grunted.
    When the charcoals glowed orange, they laid down chicken wire and roasted the chicken wings while drinking bottle after bottle of beer. Jenny was nervous about Jack being so close to the fire and kept talking about it.
    Another woman looked at Mercy’s wet hair and said, “You are so brave. I haven’t swum