Homesick Read Online Free

that I really wasn’t in one piece after all, so she listened quietly, stroking my hair as I talked, but gradually I could feel her stiffen. I knew she was remembering that she was a Mother.
    â€œYou better go up to your room,” she said, “and think things over. We’ll talk about it after supper.”
    I flung myself on my bed. What was there to think? Either I went to school and got beaten up. Or I quit.
    After supper I explained to my mother and father how simple it was. I could stay at home and my mother could teach me, the way Andrea’s mother taught her. Maybe I could even go to Andrea’s house and study with her.
    My mother shook her head. Yes, it was simple, she agreed. I could go back to the British School, be sensible, and start singing about the king again.
    I clutched the edge of the table. Couldn’t she understand? I couldn’t turn back now. It was too late.
    So far my father had not said a word. He was leaning back, teetering on the two hind legs of his chair, the way he always did after a meal, the way that drove my mother crazy. But he was not the kind of person to keep all four legs of a chair on the floor just because someone wanted him to. He wasn’t a turning-back person so I hoped maybe he would understand. As I watched him, I saw a twinkle start in his eyes and suddenly he brought his chair down slam-bang flat on the floor. He got up and motioned for us to follow him into the living room. He sat down at the piano and began to pick out the tune for “God Save the King.”
    A big help, I thought. Was he going to make me practice?
    Then he began to sing:
    â€œMy country ‘tis of thee,
    Sweet land of liberty, ...”
    Of course! It was the same tune. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Who would know what I was singing as long as I moved my lips? I joined in now, loud and strong.
    â€œOf thee I sing.”
    My mother laughed in spite of herself. “If you sing that loud,” she said, “you’ll start a revolution.”
    â€œTomorrow I’ll sing softly,” I promised. “No one will know.” But for now I really let freedom ring.
    Then all at once I wanted to see Lin Nai-Nai. I ran out back, through the courtyard that separated the house from the servants’ quarters, and upstairs to her room.
    â€œIt’s me,” I called through the door and when she opened up, I threw my arms around her. “Oh, Lin Nai-Nai, I love you,” I said. “You haven’t said it yet, have you?”
    â€œSaid what?”
    â€œSewing machine. You haven’t said it?”
    â€œNo,” she said, “not yet. I’m still practicing.”
    â€œDon’t say it, Lin Nai-Nai. Say ‘Good day.’ It’s shorter and easier. Besides, it’s more polite.”
    â€œGood day?” she repeated.
    â€œYes, that’s right. Good day.” I hugged her and ran back to the house.
    The next day at school when we rose to sing the British national anthem, everyone stared at me, but as soon as I opened my mouth, the class lost interest. All but Ian Forbes. His eyes never left my face, but I sang softly, carefully, proudly. At recess he sauntered over to where I stood against the wall.
    He spat on the ground. “You can be bloody glad you sang today,” he said. Then he strutted off as if he and those square knees of his had won again.
    And, of course, I was bloody glad.

2
    I ALWAYS THOUGHT I WOULD FEEL MORE AMERICAN if I’d been named Marjorie. I could picture a girl named Marjorie roller skating in America (I had never roller-skated). Or sled riding (there was neither snow nor hills in Hankow). Or being wild on Halloween night (I had never celebrated Halloween). The name Jean was so short, there didn’t seem to be enough room in it for all the things I wanted to do, all the ways I wanted to be. Sometimes I wondered if my mother had picked a short name because she had her heart set on my being