Sleeping Embers of an Ordinary Mind Read Online Free Page B

“How do they manage that?” says Toni.
    They share the menu across the table and flip through the pages: two large pictures and four smaller pictures on each spread, with lists of the main ingredients alongside. They select four dishes that seem comparable to the dishes from Toni’s favourite takeaway in East Dulwich.
    “I think we’ll be fine with that. No hens’ feet,” says her dad.
    The waitress returns, and he places their order by pointing at the menu, then trots out his one and only sentence of Mandarin. Is it a man thing, Toni wonders, that her dad feels no embarrassment, at all , about his crap Mandarin? Or is it just him?
    “So, how’s your coursework coming along?” he asks.
    “I did some easy stuff. I still feel weird with the jet lag.”
    “What about your history project?”
    “I’m saving that. It’s the one interesting thing I’ve to do this holiday.”
    “You’ll find it easier when you start dropping some subjects.”
    “Can’t wait to drop French. It’s absolutely pointless.”
    “It’s useful on holiday. Remember . . .” He has second thoughts about dredging up memories, even good ones.
    “Anyway, I’ve got an app for French.”
    “That’s no use for a conversation.”
    “There’ll be an app for conversation before I finish school. You’ll see.”
    The waitress delivers one dish of sweet cucumber—cut into sticks and coated in a clear sauce—with two sets of chopsticks and two bowls. She stands to attention and, without making eye contact, announces the dish. She makes a tick on the order list and departs. Toni and her dad wait for half a minute, but there’s no sign of any other food. “I think we’d better start,” says Toni.
    “Tell me about this history project. Wars of the Roses?”
    “No. Wrong one. Hundred Years’ War. Joan of Arc, et cetera. Anyway, we’ve finished all that. We’re doing, like, everyday history now. How the Black Death changed everybody’s life for the better.”
    “If they survived?”
    “Exactly.” She worries a piece of cucumber with her chopsticks. “I asked Mrs. O’Brien about that.”
    “What?”
    “Why some people survived and others didn’t.”
    “And?”
    “Some people were immune. She said there’s some research being done about the Spanish flu epidemic after World War I, to find out why so many young adults died—it was unusual. She said it might help our understanding of the Black Death and how it lasted for centuries.”
    “More people died of Spanish flu than died fighting in the trenches.”
    “But it looked worse, didn’t it? The trenches, I mean. All those dead soldiers in the mud.”
    He looks blankly at her, as if she’s said something he can’t assimilate. But then, “Remember that Paul Nash exhibition I took you to? His war paintings?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You’ve reminded me—he was sent to Ypres, and he brought back a bunch of work he called ‘fifty drawings of muddy places.’”
    She pulls a face. “Is that some sick joke?”
    “Classic British understatement.”
    Another dish. Beef in a thick sauce. Toni pokes it with a chopstick.
    “Anyway, Mrs. O’Brien said this thing that freaked us out. She said that everyone alive today is a survivor of the Black Death. Of plague. Our ancestors were immune, so we are. I keep thinking about it, so I’m going to do a project about that.”
    The waitress returns to their table, and three male customers try to squeeze past. They laugh when they see the mountain of rice the waitress is carrying.
    Toni’s eyes are saucers. “Did we order all that?”
    “I have no idea.”

    They return to the Bund, now that it’s dark, to see the full impact of Pudong reflected in the Huangpu. “It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?” says her dad. “Can you see the tall black building with the gap at the top? They call that the Bottle Opener.”
    “It’s . . . okay. But it’s all adverts for stuff, isn’t it? It’s nowhere near as good as the view of London