Interlude - "Six Flights Up"

(For Chen Zhaoxia / Audrey)

It is 7 pm
and it is Film Night
and we are about to show
"Terminal",
the story of a man
without a country.

And you come running up
six flights of stairs
to the ceremonial room
where we turn darkness into
cinema magic.

I noticed the circle of perspiration
on your forehead
today in class,
the way fever seemed to have
grabbed hold of your body,
wrestling you to weariness.

But you still came to class.
And you still clamoured up
those six long sets
of double stairs
just to tell me,
"I have something for you, Ms Marianna",
in a voice that shelters surprises
and secrets.
And you take my hand,
guiding me into the corridor
to share your secret
in solitude.

And then you hold a box
two handed
to me, saying,
"For you.
For when you have tea
at home
in America".
You lift the lid
and a bluegreen porcelain tea set is revealed.
There is grace and elegant simplicity
in this box,
and I watch your hands shake
as you pass the tea set
from your hands to mine.

Your fever is spiking
and your skin is pale
in the dusk of the evening.
Your gums, too, are bleeding.
I want to drag a chair over,
offer a place for you to rest.
"I have to go to hospital," you tell me,
"for an injection".

And I remember Chen Jing's story in class,
how she honored her grandfather's life
in her writing and her drawing.
Long ago and faraway,
when her grandfather was just twenty-six years old,
a traffic accident
collided with his legs
and he lost
both his feet.
From then on, his walking
depended on sticks.
But he was never giving up.
He said that he has no feet,
but he has hands that can do anything.
He still lived happily, says Chen Jing.

I watch you
separate yourself from the tea set,
from this present
which is the offspring
of generous thought,
and across-oceans kindness.
I embrace you and the fever in your eyes,
saying "Xie Xie, Xie Xie",
words that seem to express more
than a simple thank you in English.

You wobble down the hallway,
disappearing down the steps.
I hear your high heels
negotiating each drop,
far removed from your usual
rhythmic, confident stride.

And I hold this tea set
in grateful arms,
knowing when I am home
and these cups are floating with
tea leaves from the mountains of Bijie,
I will remember
you and your peaceful tenacity
to place these serenity cups
into my hands
on this most feverish of nights...

- Marianne Forman