Teatime for the Firefly Read Online Free Page A

called out to me from the kitchen window. She said Miss Thompson was indeed with a new student, but asked me to wait as the lesson was almost over.
    I sat on the sofa in the drawing room. Through the slatted green shutters a guava tree waved its branch and somewhere a crow cawed mournfully. Nothing changed in Miss Thompson’s house. Everything was exactly where it was the very first day I walked in ten years ago. The small upright piano with a tapestry-cushioned pivot stool, the glass-door walnut curio cabinet with its fine collection of Dresden figurines I knew so well, the scattering of peg tables topped with doilies of tatting lace. On the wall were faded sepia photographs of Reginald Thompson in his dark court robes, his pretty, fragile wife who’d died young and Miss Thompson and her sister as young girls riding ponies.
    Voices trickled in through the closed door of the study. I heard a timid, female voice say something inaudible, followed by Miss Thompson.
    “ Breeze. Lengthen the e please and note the ‘zee’ sound. It is not j . It’s z . Zzzz. Make a buzzing sound with your lips. Like a bee. Breezzzze. Breezzzze.”
    “Bre-eej,” the girl repeated hesitantly.
    I could just see Miss Thompson tapping the wooden ruler softly against her palm, a gesture she made to encourage her students, but it only intimidated her Indian girls, who saw the ruler as a symbol of corporal punishment.
    “Breeze,” Miss Thompson said patiently. “Try it one more time.”
    “Brij,” said the girl.
    “That, dear child, is j like in bridge . You know a bridge, don’t you? The letter d coupled with a g has a j sound. Bridge. Badge. Badger.”
    Badger! My heart went out to the poor girl. How many Indian children were familiar with a badger? A mongoose, yes, but a badger ? I only happened to know what a badger was because, thanks to Miss Thompson, I had read The Wind in the Willows as a child. British pronunciation was completely illogical, I had concluded a long time ago. I remember arguing with Dadamoshai why were schedule and school pronounced differently. If schedule was pronounced shedule should not school be pronounced shoole ? Dadamoshai said I had an intelligent argument there, but there was really no logic—besides, the British were not the most practical-minded people in the world. Americans were much more sensible that way: they said skedule .
    There was silence in the next room, then a rustle of papers. I heard Miss Thompson say, “Never mind, dear. I think we’ve practiced enough for today. Now, no need to fret about this. It will come. Pronunciation is just practice. After all, your mother tongue is very different, isn’t it? I understand the letter z doesn’t even exist in your language, so how are you expected to say it?”
    A chair scraped back. “Thank you, Miss Toomson,” a high girlish voice replied.
    There were footsteps, and Miss Thompson held the door open. “You are most welcome, Konica,” she said. “I’ll see you next Tuesday.”
    I had expected a small child to walk out of the study; instead it was a grown woman dressed in an expensive pink sari with gold bangles on her wrists, her hair oiled and fashioned into a formal bun. She looked strangely out of place in Miss Thompson’s modest English home.
    “Oh, Layla! What a lovely surprise,” cried Miss Thompson, seeing me. The girl looked up and our eyes met. “I will be with you in just a minute, dear. Let me just see Konica to the door.”
    Konica? Kona Sen!
    Kona’s bangles chinked softly as she walked by with mincing steps. Her eyes stayed on the floor the entire time; she did not glance up even once as she passed by me sitting on the sofa.
    I must have looked pale and in need of fortification, because Miss Thompson said, “You look exhausted, dear. Let’s have a cup of tea, shall we? Martha, some tea, please!” she called toward the kitchen then turned to me. “That was Konica Sen. She lives on Rai Bahadur Road, same as you. You must