Heart of Iron - Ekaterina Sedia [10]
Chiang Tse was a better sport than I—he changed the topic to his home city, of which I had only a vague notions in connections to the recent war between China and Britain. He told me Hong Kong was now a free port under British control, and I gathered from his reserved manner that he had no love for the British. He also mentioned the unrest that was starting in the Guangxi Province and the dangers it presented to the travelers.
“When one’s country is so war-torn and ravaged,” he said as he poured another cup of tea, “one cannot help but feel guilt in escaping to a place so peaceful, so . . . ” his fingers threaded the air, searching for the right word to pluck, “so northern. And yet, I am very grateful for being here. Perhaps, here I could learn to live in peace with the West.”
“It’s never an easy peace,” I said. “Why, our emperor fought in the Napoleonic invasion. And as much as Peter the Great wanted us to become westernized, it is always a struggle; Russians have a deep seated mistrust of the West.”
“You do not see yourself as western?”
I thought a little. “My aunt certainly does. My mother and I . . . I’m not so sure. I am less enamored of the reforms, but I certainly find this train convenient.”
Chiang Tse nodded, pleased—at least, his sparse mustache bristled in a small smile. “You don’t think you’re a part of Europe. And yet you speak English.”
I shook my head, momentarily despairing to explain the national anxiety about being and yet not being European in a few words, when Anastasia, quiet until then, spoke. “The Countess tells me that you can see Europe from St. Petersburg—across the bay just so, on a clear morning. And how can you see something that you’re a part of?”
“Exactly,” I said, relieved.
Chiang Tse nodded with some hesitation. “There seems to be much for me to learn.”
“You will,” Anastasia said generously, and patted his shoulder.
Chiang Tse and I traded a wide-eyed look, and he couldn’t suppress a laugh. I suppose he found being patronized by a servant amusing, and I decided not to scold Anastasia for her treprass.
I dozed off for an hour or two, and woke up due to Anastasia’s soft snoring. Our companion was sleeping as well—in the uncertain light of the dimmed gas lamp, I could see his head pitched back, exposing his dark throat over the white collar of his jacket, his hands folded in his lap. I would not confess my relief to anyone, least of all Chiang Tse, but I thought it was good to know someone—besides the girls who would be in as much distress and confusion as I—who was not like me and yet understood my discomfort.
Most male students hired rooms in the city. Girls, apparently, could not be trusted to find their own rooms, pay the bills, and protect their own virtue, so they were housed in the dormitories. I was quite pleased with my assigned dormitory—it occupied a low building, with each of the apartments containing two bedrooms, a small room with two cots for the maids, a parlor, and a kitchen. Each apartment was supposed to be shared by two women, but since half of us did not show up, we each had an entire apartment to ourselves. There were three on the second floor and three on the first, with one of the apartments on the first floor given to an elderly woman who was charged with making sure that we were accounted for at all times.
I helped a shocked Anastasia prepare our beds and unpack the suitcases. There was no reason for me to play the lady and not be of use. After all, was I not a modern university woman? Soon enough the kitchen was furnished