Kartika_Issue15

ISSUE 15 | SPRING 2013
Chenxi jogged happily to her mother’s side, seemingly unaware of Li-
Ming’s bare legs and feet. “Did you see what Lao K did? She brought your
camera! She’s going to take my photograph from under water!” Lao K
walked over and stood beside Li-Ming.
“Amazing,” Li-Ming said. From her seat, she gripped Lao K’s sculpted shin,
rubbing her fingers along the stubbly blonde hairs as if to calm or subdue
her—but who needed calming most? Either way, Lao K didn’t mind.
Women’s intimacies were always lost on me, how they could rub one
another’s legs, hold hands, and sleep beside one another on trains without
one hint of sexual attraction. Now my wife and Lao K shared this physical
relationship and although the American was supposed to be our ‘daughter,’
the nature of this disturbed me. Was I jealous? I dismissed the thought in
time for Lao K to explain how she found a contraption capable of filming
underwater scenes.
“Mr. Wang’s shop has everything you could imagine,” Lao K said, winking
at Li-Ming. “I said I needed to take photographs in a pool and he found this
on his shelves.”
While my wife and Lao K discussed the inventory at Wang’s, Chenxi
examined Lao K’s rounded breasts rising with each breath, the girl’s hips,
then looked to her own breasts and hips, clearly comparing sizes. Her gaze
descended to Lao K’s thighs, how much more toned and muscular the
American’s were than Chenxi’s, as if Lao K spent a life working in the fields,
which we all knew wasn’t the case. Finally, Chenxi admired the differences
between their ankles and feet. Chenxi had Li-Ming’s thick ankles, her flat,
wide feet. The American’s were narrow, bony. When Lao K asked Chenxi
what kind of photographs she should take, my daughter shuttered into
awareness, shaking off whatever comparisons were built in the minutes
before.
“Whatever you want,” she said. “I trust you.” And with this, Lao K smiled,
happy to receive Chenxi’s wholehearted approval.
Mr. Peng summoned Lili and Chenxi to the base of the platform with the
other competitors. There, they stretched and bended and jumped and hopped
like soldiers readying for battle. How silly that the battleground was a diving
board and the innocent bystanders were parents who wanted more happiness
for their children than they’d experienced in their collective youth. But for
what? Generation after generation played at this game: more and more
opportunities spoilt upon their progeny when, in the end, each generation
only craved more, and, despite the money, the jobs, the education, the homes,
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