gave him a knowing look, but he took another helping of lasagne and kept on eating. She tried another approach. “My class is going to Victoria on Friday, to Chinatown. And we’re having lunch in a Chinese restaurant.”
“What a great idea! To celebrate Chinese New Year?”
Jasmine nodded. “1989 is the Year of the Snake. And after lunch we can look around the shops and buy souvenirs. So can I have some money, please?”
“I knew it. How much?”
“Four dollars for lunch.”
“A bargain.”
“Mrs. Butler got a special deal.”
“And you want some souvenir money?”
“No, it’s OK. I’ve got lots in my piggy bank.”
“Maybe I’ll borrow some from you.”
“For your trip, you mean?” There. It was out.
His mouth fell open with surprise. “How did you know about that? I was going to tell you tonight.”
“I just happened to see the travel folder in the drawer. You’re not very good at hiding things, Dad. Anyway, I was wondering why we’re having such a special dinner. I mean, it’s a rainy Wednesday in February and it’s nobody’s birthday. So why the celebration?”
“How about some dessert?” he asked, removing the plates.
“Don’t change the subject! Where are we going? And when?” She carried the bowls of pink mousse to the table. “I saw the word February on your itin— whatever—but there must be some mistake because we can’t go anywhere in February.” She took a heaping spoonful of the mousse and let it sit on her tongue before swallowing. “Mmm,” she sighed. “Best ever, Dad. But what were those places again? I thought the ticket said Shanghai and Beijing—that’s the capital, isn’t it? But come on Dad, we’re not seriously going to China! And why, Dad? Why China?”
“Whew!” Her father wiped his brow. “She’s finally stopped talking.” He put down his spoon and looked at her with an unusually serious expression. “Jasmine.”
An uneasy feeling crept into her.
“The thing is...I’m going to China alone. I’ve accepted a job at a college in Beijing. The professor who was there got sick and had to come home. So I’m going to take her place. I’ll be leaving on Friday.”
“This Friday?” Jasmine exploded. “That’s—that’s only two days away! That’s impossible! You can’t! You never asked, you never told me—and where am I going to go? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She pushed the bowl of unfinished mousse across the table, hoping it would fall in his lap or crash in a mess on the floor. But he reached out his hand and stopped it. “I understand you’re upset and hurt and angry. But I’d like you to listen while I explain. Can you do that?”
She turned away. Nothing seemed real. Dishes piled on the counter, pictures on the wall, magnets on the fridge— everything was a piece of some other life, totally unconnected to her own. Even her father’s voice sounded distant, as if he had already gone away.
“This has been a difficult time for both of us, since your mother’s death. At first I thought I’d made the right decision, taking a year off. And for awhile, it was the right decision. I’ve enjoyed being home, being here for you, writing my book, cooking up a storm now and then.” He winked, but she didn’t respond. “It’s not enough, though. Jasmine, you can’t begin to imagine how much I miss your mother.”
What about me? The feeling of helplessness raged inside. She felt it would eat her away, one little piece at a time, until there was nothing left.
“So after Chrismas I went to the university and said I’d take any opening that came along. Naturally I thought I’d get something in Victoria. But when this Beijing position turned up, I couldn’t say no. Besides, I’ve always wanted to go to China.”
Jasmine glared. China? He’d never told her that. They were so close, she thought she knew everything about him.
“They’re expecting me by the middle of February. So I’m leaving tomorrow night for Vancouver and flying to China early Friday morning. I’ll get settled and send for you as soon as I can. Meanwhile, you’ll be staying with Val in Victoria. She said she’d drive you out to Sooke, even though it’s such a long way, so you won’t have to change schools.”
Jasmine was too stunned to speak.
“If you don’t want to come to China, you can stay with her until I get back. My contract goes till the end of June, so I’ll be home sometime after—”
“Auntie Val?” She spat out the words. “You seriously expect me to stay with her? How could you? I hardly even know her! And I suppose it’s already arranged. You did all this behind my back!” She leaped from her chair, wanting to hit him.
“Wait a minute! You’re always wanting to go to Victoria, and you like Val—why this sudden change? She lives in a fantastic apartment overlooking the harbour, two steps from Chinatown. You’ll love it.”
“No, I won’t love it! Don’t you dare take off to the other side of the world and tell me I’ll love it! I’ll hate it! And I hate you!”
Choking back the tears, she kicked over the chair and fled to her room, slamming the door behind her.
Chapter 4
The storyteller shuffled from village to village, shoulders hunched under the weight of the baskets slung on his bamboo pole. With any luck he wouldn’t have to dip into his meagre rations, for the villagers were usually willing to share their rice in return for a story or two. Although in this Year of the Snake times were hard, and people barely had enough food for themselves let alone wandering storytellers.
The old man sighed. For many years now, times had been hard in the farming districts of southern China. Too many people, too little food. And the gods had not been kind. If it wasn’t a flood, it was a drought. If not a plague, then a famine. If that weren’t enough, local wars between clans erupted and set bandits loose upon the countryside.
He remembered the day his village had been over-run by bandits. He had returned from the hills to find the whole village in ashes and the starving peasants killed, including his own family.
Now he trudged throughout the countryside, seeking refuge in his stories. What else was there? Farming was impossible; he had no money to rent a field and no hope of ever paying back a loan. Become a pirate? A soldier? No, he was too old. And far too old to move to the land across the sea as so many others were doing. He shuddered at the thought. He might starve or meet a violent death, but at least his bones would be buried in his homeland. What more could a man hope for?
Some kindness from the gods, he thought, answering his own question. Too long, the gods have been angry. Perhaps if the right offering were made, or if the curse were broken....
His
