The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(89)
Zoe listened, but what echoed in her mind were the words this week.
He’s home. That’s why she’s here. Avoiding the fate of domestic subjugation.
“I’m so sorry. I must apologize,” Mrs. Bidwell said, flustered with emotions bordering on despair. “Please forgive me. I shouldn’t be discussing these things, burdening you with my problems. It serves no useful purpose. I need to try again, to spend more time loving who my husband is instead of hating who he isn’t.”
“You never need to apologize,” Zoe said. “I feel gifted whenever you share anything with me, especially the books.”
Zoe danced around her own truthful moment. She offered consolation to her young teacher when what she wanted to do was ask, Who do you wish he was?
“I wish,” Mrs. Bidwell said. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you, but it’s getting late. I told Stanley I had work to do, but I can’t be gone so long or he’ll have a fit.”
They regarded each other, and for a moment Zoe felt as though they were trying to read each other’s minds as easily as they could read each other’s hearts.
Mrs. Bidwell interrupted their brief reverie to kiss Zoe on the cheek. “Good night, Zou yi.” She hastened away, leaving the oil lamp behind.
Zoe sat lingering in the moment as the lamp flickered. “Good night, Alyce.” She sighed, then watched as her teacher became one with the shadows.
* * *
After a full week of Zoe and the rest of the Extraneis laboring in the garden, Guto showed up midmorning with a wooden folding chair. He claimed he was there to supervise their progress and offer suggestions. Instead, he sat with his feet on a stump and read Zoe’s book. “Hey, you know what? This is really good,” he taunted.
Zoe tried her best to ignore him, to focus on the work.
She and Theo led the younger ones to a cabbage patch on the far side of the garden, framed by two rows of lavender. The woody, balsamic fragrance was soothing, and reminded her of Alyce, whom she hadn’t seen the rest of the week. There had been no more floral surprises, no readings in the glade. Zoe was left counting the days, not only until this Sunday when they’d be free from this odious assignment, but because at their all-school meeting she’d finally be able to see her teacher again. The thought made her feel lighter, made the birds’ melodic chirping in her ears sound filled with hopeful purpose, a gentle reminder that this place could be a paradise at times.
But every time Zoe felt a fractional moment of peace, a tiny respite, Guto would pipe up. “Who knew poetry could be so interesting?” He slowly licked his finger and turned the page. “Would you like me to read some to you?”
Zoe knelt in the dirt, pulling weeds, wiping the sweat from her brow.
Only a few more days of this.
She squinted back and saw Zofia as the younger girl dropped her rake and stomped barefoot toward Guto, muttering more loudly with each step.
Theo saw her too and leaned on his shovel. “Zofia, come back…”
Guto looked up from his book and smiled.
“I’m not playing your stupid game anymore,” Zofia shouted, venting her anger and frustration to Guto and anyone else who was listening. “You can’t make me!”
Zoe stood, stretching her back. She sighed and walked toward them as Zofia was yelling at the larger boy, who closed the book. He looked annoyed, as though she were interrupting a moment of deep thought. Then he stood, sneered, and shoved the girl, who stumbled and fell to the ground, stunned for a moment, mouth open.
She began crying.
“Hey!” Zoe shouted. “That’s enough.”
She walked toward Guto, removing the scarf she wore around her neck to prevent sunburn and wrapping it around her fist, as the other kids looked on.
“You’re not wearing your ribbon?” Guto said. “There will be consequences. Put it on now or I’ll tell the kitchen to serve you nothing but bread and water.”
Zoe kept coming.
“Fine,” Guto said, nervously tossing the book at the ground near Zoe’s feet. “Take it. But now I’m going to starve all of you.”
He looked at her with shark eyes as she bent down and picked up the book. She tried to flatten the cover, which was now bent. She brushed off the dirt, flipping through the pages. No pages had been torn out, but something was missing. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“Give it back.”
“Give what back?”
“I mean it.”
“Or what…”
Guto barely got the words out as Zoe ran headlong and tackled him.
She landed heavily upon him as they tumbled to the dirt. She heard the wind knocked out of him as he hit the ground with a heavy thud. Her heart raced, anger in her veins, her knees skinned, bloody. He felt soft and doughy, struggling against her, reeking of boy sweat and cigarette smoke. He fought back and grabbed her wrist, digging in his fingernails. The other hand pushed frantically against her face, scratching her, pulling her hair. She heard yelling, cheering from the other students. Theo’s voice floated above the din, pleading for calm. She remembered how Guto’s lips felt, his hand on the back of her head, gripping her hair, how he tried to shove his tongue down her throat, how he tasted, how sick it made her feel, how weak and helpless. She knocked his hand away and punched him hard in the face until he let go. Then she hit him, again and again and again, until her knuckles were bloody. Still he squirmed beneath her, laughing hysterically.