If You Could See the Sun (91)
“Well, don’t just stand there like a stranger,” he says, waving me forward. “Come in. There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
* * *
“If I asked you about the main point of Macbeth now, what would you say?” Mr. Chen asks as we enter his office.
It’s quiet here. Clean. The bookshelves stacked but tidy, the walls almost hidden beneath rows of plaques and certificates from Harvard, Peking University, TED. I’m so busy staring I almost forget he’s asked me a question.
“Um...” I scramble to collect my thoughts. There’s a double meaning in there, I’m sure of it. “That...no action is without consequence? That ambition should not go unchecked?”
He nods, satisfied, and motions for me to take a seat. “Good, good. Just wanted to set my conscience at ease first—but so long as you’ve learned your lesson...”
“I have,” I say quickly. “Really.”
He nods again, then says, “I heard you’ll be leaving Airington after this semester. Have you decided which school to attend next year?”
“Not yet, no. There are certain...limitations I have to work through.”
Mr. Chen doesn’t look surprised. After my parents visited the school, I guess most people have realized I don’t come from one of the wealthier families.
“Well then.” He claps his hands together suddenly, startling me from my thoughts. “I might have just the solution.”
I stare at him. “You—you do?”
“Now, I probably should’ve checked with you beforehand about this but... A friend of mine, Dr. Alexandra Xiao, recently opened up her own international school in Chaoyang District. It’s much smaller than this, of course, and they don’t have student housing, so you’d have to figure out the accommodations. The environment isn’t the best either—there’s a fish market right next to campus, though Alex promises you get used to the smell after a while...” He laughs a little, and I get the sense I should be laughing too, except I can’t. I can’t do anything but grip the edge of the seat and pray he’s saying what I think he’s saying.
“Anyway, they still have a few spots open, and I mentioned your family situation, showed them your report card and some of your recent coursework, and told them you’re one of my best students—”
My eyes widen. “You did?”
“I did, because it’s true,” he says simply. “And since Alex knows I never exaggerate, she might potentially be able to offer you a scholarship. You’d still have to take an entrance exam first, of course, but I’m sure you’ll do well.” He pauses, gives me time to let this all sink in. “So. What do you think?”
I almost trip over my own tongue to answer him. “O-of course, that’s—When are the exams? Are there practice exams available? Do I need to prepare references, or—” Then I calm down a little, and a more obvious question occurs to me: “Why... Why are you helping me?”
Mr. Chen looks out the window of his office, at the students throwing their heads back in laughter, books tucked under arms, walking in groups from one class to another. Carefree. Happy. Sunlight spills everywhere around them, over them, flooding through the wutong trees. Slowly, Mr. Chen says, “You know, I was the first person in my entire village in Henan to attend college, and then I moved to the States with my mother. My father never came with us—he didn’t speak a word of English, but he tried to fund my education as best as he could by selling sweet potatoes every morning...” He shakes his head. “I get it, how hard it is. And while it’s important to know how to fight your way to the top... It’s always nice when there are others to help lift us up, don’t you think?”
Thank you, I try to say, but gratitude swells in my chest, up my throat, stealing my voice away.
He seems to get it, though.
“It’s strange,” he adds, his gaze drifting to the certificates on his wall. “There was once a time when no one really noticed me at all. When I was invisible to the world...” He smiles faintly, as if sharing a private joke with himself. As if recalling some distant memory that makes sense to him alone.
My heart stutters. Stops. Could it be...?
“So what changed?” My voice is hardly more than a whisper. “Getting into a good uni? Getting recognized?”
He shakes his head. “No. No, on the contrary, after I got into Harvard and started winning all these awards... I felt more invisible than ever. People were complimenting me, congratulating me left and right, saying my name over and over again, but none of that really mattered. It was only when I left to teach English—to do something I genuinely cared about, that made me feel like myself—that everything started getting better.” He looks over at me, his eyes crinkling. “Descartes was wrong, you know, when he said, ‘To live well, you must live unseen.’ To live well, you must learn to see yourself first. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
And I do. I do.
* * *
Henry and I meet by the koi ponds before dawn.
I study him as he makes his way over in quick, purposeful strides. His hair is still slightly damp from the shower, hanging in dark waves over his forehead. His cheeks are pink from the early morning chill. He looks good. Familiar. Vulnerable, in the best way.