You don’t know? she says.
I steady myself on the stall, shake my head.
I swear you spoke Mandarin when we first met, she says.
I shake my head again.
He’s worried about you, she says, checking you’re okay.
And I say, I am not okay. My insides and throat feel like they are on fire.
The guy disappears and comes back with a glass of water and a towel. I drink, and the ice cubes make a nice clinking sound and the cold water makes me feel better.
Shit, I’m sorry about your stall, I say, looking at the mess I made.
He repeats a phrase twice and waves his hand – Don’t worry about it.
For real, I say, I’ll pay for all this stuff, just tell me how much.
The phrase comes out again and he hands me a T-shirt from the back wall of the stall – a spot I managed to miss. I look down at my fishy, pukey clothes.
Cheers, I say.
Another food stall, another plastic table. Akemi is smiling at me.
You look like a real tourist now, she says, admiring the pink T-shirt that says I <3 TP on the chest.
It’s two sizes too small for me, so my belly pops out from the bottom like a little piggy.
Please, I say. No more seafood.
She hands me a hot, steaming golden bar wrapped in a paper towel.
I look over her shoulder at the kitchen she got it from, and there’s a long queue of people snaking down the street, waiting to get their orders in.
Try it, she says. You’ll like it.
I sniff it, and it seems harmless enough, so I bite, and I crunch, and I burn my tongue, but then I get to smooth, sweet ice cream on the inside.
It’s nice, I say.
See? she says.
I’m not getting any of that Antarctic chill that usually comes off this girl back in the hotel. She’s more smiley, for one. And without the hotel uniform she almost looks relaxed.
You know, making me sick is a funny way of saying sorry.
You were acting like you loved fish eyes, she says. Maybe you should have just been honest.
No lie, the girl is right.
This ice cream definitely makes up for it, I say. You are forgiven.
How come you don’t speak Chinese? Or Taiwanese?
I swallow the last of the deep-fried ice cream. Any chance of another one of these?
F
IFTEEN
The second Ed bent down to pick up this nice fat conker he’d found on the muddy floor, I heard this shhhhhhhhrk sound.
Yeah, he’d split his trousers right where his crack was, bright red pants showing through the ragged, gaping hole.
And this voice, from the top of the Dell, it says, Oh shit. Look at what Ed Wet The Bed just did!
Ed and me look up, and it’s Lawrence, pointing down at us. Hillard comes out from behind a tree and sniggers his little rat snigger through his little rat teeth.
Dude, says Ed, clamping both hands onto his arse and straightening up. Can you pick up my glasses?
He sniffs a goopy string of snot back into his nostril.
He says, Seriously, I wish my mum could just buy me a uniform that fit for once.
I go and pick up the glasses, half-buried in a pile of orange leaves, and wipe the muddy lenses on my sleeve. I put them back on his face, careful to make sure the arms hook around behind his ears.
I say, Sorry dude, that’s the cleanest I could get them.
