Fiction Fix Sixteen

Jayshiro Tashiro
Sally is my primary
Christopher Stephen, Three Pears
teacher. She is very focused
and attentive this afternoon.
Almost as tall as I am, unusual
among Hong Kong women,
long black hair pulled back in
a scrunchy, bright eyes teasing
out a smile that fills up
the space between us. We
have worked together for two
months, Sally valiantly helping
me study basic language
skills for Mainland China
while I become increasingly
dedicated to learning at least
enough to get more smiles
than pursed-lip frowns. Today,
I notice she has taken off her
glasses as we talk. She leans in
and out of our conversation,
and I can see she has delicate
touches of makeup, her blouse
open two buttons at the neck.
Her hand comes to
rest lightly on my arm, pulls
me into a tale about the Bird
Market and how five years ago her father asked her to come to the Bird Market with him
each weekend. “This went on for several months,” she says. “He would speak to the keepers
every Saturday morning, switching to their dialect. He is a linguist,” she tells me. “He
studies variations in language.”
I jump in: “There was a man with a Hakka accent there, at least I think Hakka.” I only
know the hint of Hakka because she has sounded me through the differences in tones
between Mandarin, Cantonese, and a Hakka dialect.
“Oh yes, there would be Hakka people at the Bird Market, even though they are a
small percentage of the Hong Kong population. Still, quite a few live in Tai Po, where you
used to live. Right?”
“Yes, yes, I can pick out Hakka dialect whenever I go to the Tai Po Center Market.” I
smile; she smiles. “But, please, go on with your story about the Bird Market.”
Fiction Fix 11