Home Sickness by Chih-Ying Lay

Author:Chih-Ying Lay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Linda Leith Publishing
Published: 2020-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Silent Cicada

The mornings were all different, but afternoons it was always the same din. Each afternoon could have been a twin. And the days dragged on.

And Quiet Flows the Don, vol. 3 — Mikhail Sholokhov

On the first day of winter in 2002, first-time passengers on the 521 bus that passed the girls’ high school at about 5 p.m. would have been taken aback if they had stayed on until the bus went up the hill, into the suburbs. At the first stop up the hill, the driver watched the passengers get off in single file, then leaped up and hurried to the second seat from the back on the right, in which a student was sleeping—a girl, thin and small, with bangs that covered her eyes. He called softly to her, then tapped the back of her seat. Hanging from the thread of a dream, she suddenly awoke, grabbed her bag, apologized, and shuffled off. After watching her leave, the driver went back to his seat and continued on to the end of the line.

The regular passengers were used to it. It had happened every week or two since high school had started. As for what year the girl was in, none of the passengers really thought to care.

But the driver Wang Chung-ming knew. She’d started high school this past September, he was positive. He’d driven this route for five years, but only this fall had he had the irresistible impulse to clean the bus up, spic and span, inside and out. In the past he’d always let things slide.

He remembered the first day he’d felt the urge to rush back to the station to clean the bus. It was the middle of September. That day, he’d raced past several stops, past two buses that plied the same route. It had all started with a sweet, “Thank you.”

The autumn tiger never missed a chance to give Taiwan a bite. That day, it was as hot going on dusk as high summer at noon. With the sun hanging towards the west, there weren’t many passengers on his side of the bus, which gave him the sense that the bus would keel over every time he swerved left. His route mostly went north. He was used to it, the late afternoon sun. He wore short sleeves, exposing arms that were a swarthy red. His face wasn’t red, though, because he wore a cap. Alas, nothing he wore was breathable. Even with the air conditioner turned all the way up, he used to sweat like a pig.

A lot of passengers got on at the high school, and those girls sure could make a racket when school let out. A new term had just begun, and there were a lot of new faces on the bus. Many colleagues who drove other routes were envious of the drivers on this route, who got see the young girls every day. But Wang Chung-ming just wanted to finish his shift as quickly as he could because, first,

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