Heart of Iron - Ekaterina Sedia [16]
“You’re trying to stick her as far away from you as possible,” I whispered to Chiang Tse. “You’re afraid that she might be condescend you again.”
He smiled at my teasing, and even blushed a little.
Olga and I took seats at the table. She looked a little apprehensive, I thought, in her striped black-and-white two-piece dress and hat with a thick veil. But soon enough the friendliness of our hosts dispelled lingering doubts, and she chatted with one of Chiang Tse’s friends, Lee Bo, who was in our physics class. By mutual consent, Ipatiev’s name was never mentioned, and instead we laughed about some of the unsuccessful static electricity demonstrations we had all witnessed.
I waited for a lull in the conversation and turned to Chiang Tse. “You’re very quiet,” I said. “Do you miss home?”
Chiang Tse sighed wistfully, and for a moment I was entranced by the way his thick eyelashes cast a shadow over the steep curve of his cheekbone. When he looked up, his eyes reminded me of blackberries, dark and shiny in the eyelash thicket. “Sasha,” he said, “I wish you had been there, I wish you’d seen it. It is so difficult to explain when you have nothing to compare it to. When my family lived in Canton for several years, there were boats and ships sailing from the sea to the delta of the Pearl River. I cannot forget the way the golden ships—the color of the sun—would push softly through the emerald reeds. Ships, winged dragon boats, war junks . . . There were so many ships in the harbor you could not see the water under them. There were boats that sold books and actors on boats that put on plays—floating theaters! There were boats selling moon cakes and sweet rice, dumplings and slices of mango, sweet bean paste and wood-smoked chicken.”
“From the boats?” I asked. “Where did they all go?”
He shrugged. “They kept floating along the shore and into the mouth of the river, and up the river and then back down. When I first saw it, it was like heaven—green reeds and the river, and the beautiful stately buildings . . . I thought of taking my examinations there, in that city, when I was old enough, and I thought of what happiness it would be, to live in that place of floating palaces and theaters and bookshops. In Hong Kong, there are ships, but nothing like I saw in Canton. And back then, there were no foreigners allowed in Hong Kong, although there were smugglers. But in Canton, the foreigners had a whole sector to themselves. We would go outside of the city walls to watch those solemn men in their strange clothes.” He looked up from his teacup, smiling at the fading sunlight in the streets outside of the Crane Club. “And now I cannot help but feel there were little hints then of things to come, as if my life prepared me for being here.”
I smiled back, content that his life—and the lives of his friends—turned out the way it had. I was certainly happy he was here now, and that I was fortunate enough to have met him.
Wong Jun, another student at the university—distinguished by his luxurious golden robes—sat across the table from us without joining in our conversation. “He’s Manchu,” Chiang Tse whispered into my ear. Noticing Olga’s uncomprehending look, he explained, “Qing, the ruling dynasty of China, is Manchu, while most of the people—including quite a few students here—are Han. So if you notice any tension . . . ”
“There’s no need to whisper,” Wong Jun said with a wave of his hand and a grimace of mild irritation. “Then again, there’s no need to bring up petty disputes either.”
“I’m interested,