Read The First Excellence: Fa-Ling's Map for Free Online Page B

down.
    Fa-líng stood under the water for a long time, knowing it would be awhile before the air-conditioning kicked in. When she finally emerged she was reluctant to get dressed.
    She ran a brush through her hair, pulling it back into a heavy ponytail. Then she rummaged in her bag for a clean pair of underwear. She found the only thing she had kept of Michael’s, a white cotton oxford shirt which she used as a nightshirt. She put it on, rolling the sleeves above her wrists. She did not button the front, hoping the air would cool down enough to soothe her tired body.
    With the twelve-hour difference, it would be morning in Toronto. She picked up the room phone and dialled Canada.
    Her mother answered immediately.
    “ Hi. It’s me,” Fa-ling said.
    “ You made it! How was the trip?”
    “ It was OK. Long.”
    “ Have you gotten to know anyone in the group?”
    “ Yeah. We had a stopover in Vancouver, so we met for a bite. They seem like nice people.”
    “ Have the babies arrived yet?” her mother asked.
    “ No. Our guide said it’s too late today. They are going to bring them tomorrow afternoon by bus.”
    “ That’s exciting.”
    “ I guess so,” Fa-líng said. She had trouble imagining what the couples must be thinking, what must be going through their minds as they waited for their new daughters to arrive.
    “ Where are the others now?” her mother asked.
    “ They’re filling out forms.”
    “ So you’ve got the evening to yourself. What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”
    “ The parents have to stick around until the baby girls get here,” Fa-ling said. “I’m going to line up a private guide for the morning and try to get back to the hotel before dinner. I want to be here when the babies arrive.”
    “ Be careful travelling on your own. Your group’s guide can probably recommend someone trustworthy.”
    “ I’ll ask Cynthia.”
    “ We missed you at dinner last night,” her mother said. “Your father sends his love, and Daphne says to call her when you wake up tomorrow.”
    “ What’s up with her?”
    “’ Your father and I would like to know. She’s been sulking around here ever since you left. When you talk to her, tell her to smarten up.”
    “ OK, I’ll call her first thing,” Fa-ling said.
    “ Good. You must be tired now after your trip. Try to get some rest. Jet lag can really come back to bite you. I love you.”
    “ I love you, too, Mom. Tell Dad I’ll email him some pictures before we leave Nanning.”
    Fa-líng set the receiver down, her desire to remain connected to her mother’s voice competing with the joy of being young and free. Her duty done, she reached for her backpack and pulled out her clarinet case.
    She set her music up on the dressing table and closed her mouth over the reed to moisten it while she assembled her instrument. The heat had swollen the cork, so she touched each joint with grease to make the pieces fit more easily. It was somewhat disconcerting facing herself in the large wall mirror, the crisp white of Michael’s shirt falling open over her skin. Once she started to play, though, she was carried away by the easy syncopation of a jazz piece and soon forgot to notice her own half-dressed image in the glass, only partially hidden by the standing sheet music.
    She hit her stride with A Little Night ‘Mozart’ , but the sweat started to trickle down her nose. She took a break to rummage in the tiny refrigerator, settling at last on a bottle of domestically purified water. Of course the room was equipped with a hot water dispenser to provide usable water for drinking, making coffee or tea, or brushing teeth. Growing up in Canada, Fa-líng had become accustomed to the refreshing feeling of knocking back ice cold water, and she no longer had a taste for the Chinese custom of sipping it hot.
    Her left arm ached as it always did when she was fatigued. Fortunately, her right hand took most of the instrument’s weight, but the dull pain lingered.