Lost in Translation Page 0,37

be.

I don’t have to listen to my father, she thought now in Hong Kong, gazing into the hotel mirror. If he tries to turn me against Jian I’ll just leave, just turn around and walk out and let him go back to America....

She walked into the hotel restaurant, heart quickening. There he was, Horace, rising to his feet in slacks and an open sport jacket. He looked older. She put her arms around him, tentative at first. Then she felt the flash of warmth and gladness —through all the trepidation it was still good to see him—and hugged him a little harder.

He hugged her back. "Thanks for coming, Alice."

"You came the longest way."

"Well, I had to talk to you. This is a very big decision."

They took their chairs and she blinked, trying to adjust to the buzzing brightness of the Hong Kong restaurant. It looked so alien to her, everything from the packets of sugar in the metal holder to the ketchup bottles and the garish yellow light globes overhead. And Horace. He sat in his loafers like an affluent tourist, legs crossed, American. Am I from him? she thought. Am I really? She sighed. "I know marriage is a big decision."

Then the waitress was there, and Alice asked for coffee in passable Cantonese, pinning the tones—so different from those in Mandarin—a little too tightly to sound truly colloquial.

He listened. "That’s Chinese?"

"Cantonese," she said. "A different dialect than the one I speak—"

He waved the concept away with a patronizing smile. "They’re all the same. All sound the same."

She stared. "They’re not, I assure you."

He glanced at the ceiling, pulled his mouth to one side in a so-what expression. "Listen, sweetheart. I came over here because I was so shocked when I got your letter. You’re a grown-up woman. You also happen to be beautiful, intelligent, and worldly—but there’s a lot you don’t know about life. Obviously. So we need to talk about this marriage."

"There’s nothing to talk about," she said, swallowing back the pounding in her throat. "Jian is a wonderful man. He’s the kind of person any father would want his daughter to marry! He’s getting his Ph.D. in history—Chinese history. He comes from a brilliant family. And our children would have dual citizenship, when they grew up they could choose—"

"Children!" Horace’s voice shook. "Children!"

"Of course, children. I’m twenty-seven, Horace."

"That’s still young! Not that I don’t want grandchildren. Of course I do! Nothing would make me happier. But not like this!"

"You mean not Chinese. Right?" She spit her words out, the anger starting. "Is that what you mean?"

"People should stick to their own kind!" he shot back.

"Their own kind?"

"Yes. Race, creed, and color." He slapped his palm on the table. "Their own kind."

Conversations around them halted. People were staring.

Alice narrowed her eyes. "That is the worst kind of shallow, thoughtless prejudice—"

"No! It’s common sense. To marry a fellow like this—it’s like getting a tattoo. It’s exciting. At first it looks great. But you have to live with the damn thing for the rest of your life!"

She lifted her lip in a show of disbelief. "You are comparing Jian to a tattoo?"

"Alice! You know what I’m saying." He leaned forward. "You want me to be blunt? Very well. Don’t marry this man. If you do you’ll ruin your life."

The nerve! As if she had to ruin her own life. He’d already done it for her.

"I mean it, Alice."

"Listen. It’s my life, not yours. Anyway, who says this would be such a mistake? You? Your racist cronies? What about me? Doesn’t it matter at all what I want?"

"And what exactly do you want?"

She marshaled herself. "I want to settle down. I want to marry Jian. He’s a good man. We could be happy together. I could have someone, finally. I could have a family."

"You do have a family! Me."

"Horace—"

"And you’re my little girl, and I love you—why else would I fly all around the world to stop you making a mistake like this? Unless I loved you? Why else, Alice? Come on."

Mad as she was, something about what he said and the way he said it tugged at her. Of course she wanted his approval, of course; she wanted it terribly. She hated the idea of having to choose between a husband and a father. So if not approval, at least neutrality....

He sensed her wavering and pushed on. "We’re a family, Alice. I look out for you. I’m the only person you’ve ever known who’s cared for you, consistently. That’s why