Rebecca Lim - Tiger Daughter

First published by Allen & Unwin in 2021

Copyright Text, Rebecca Lim 2021

Copyright Illustrations, Leni Liu, Yvette Liu & Rebecca Lim 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

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ISBN 978 1 76087 764 4

eISBN 978 1 760106 113 4

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Quotations from Confucius, The Analects, translated by D. C. Lau, published by Penguin Books Ltd.

Copyright D. C. Lau, 1979. Reprinted by permission of Penguin Books Limited.

Quotations from Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching, translated by D. C. Lau, published by Penguin Books Ltd.

Copyright D. C. Lau, 1963. Reprinted by permission of Penguin Books Limited.

Cover and text design by Romina Edwards

Cover illustrations by Maria Voronovich (schoolgirl with backpack) and Svetlana Apukhtina (tiger stripes), iStockphoto

Set by Romina Edwards

To my son and daughters,

each of whom Im raising in their

own image, and no one elses.

In this novel, references to the Chinese language are to Mandarin Chinese unless otherwise indicated. Hundreds of dialects or languages are spoken today in modern China, and people whose families emigrated from there often speak more than one of them.

As we take our places in the classroom, Mr Cornish writes with a flourish on the whiteboard, What is the essence of being Australian?

At least a hundred words! he says brightly, turning to face us. In complete sentences. No shopping lists. Kon, Im looking at you.

Kons mouth turns down at the corners.

Cant I just write Whatever? Henry hisses in Chinese out of the side of his mouth.

Henry Xiao and I are sitting at the back of the before-school, extra English catch-up class that our school runs for refugee and migrant kids. I dont need to be here even though I might look like I do but my best friend Henry does. Im only here to provide him with moral support and general translation services.

Mr Cornish has just set another inspirational writing task in a long line of perky questions about Australian customs and sayings, and Henrys right. Whatever, summed up by the Chinese words su bin meaning casual, random, whatevs would be a completely appropriate answer to the question on the whiteboard. But I know it wouldnt be enough for Mr Cornish, whos got so much bushranger beard going on that when he says things like, More, Henry, I need more! just about no one in the room can understand him. Especially not Henry. Which is exactly why Im here.

A one-word answer isnt going to improve anyones language skills, or mood, this morning, so I shake my head at Henry now. Wont cut it, I murmur, pointedly, in English, which Henry knows he should be speaking the minute he sets foot on school grounds.

And that is the whole problem with this language, Wen, Henry mutters back in defiant Chinese. What am I cutting? For whom am I cutting it?

Henrys classified as straight off the reffo boat by horrible Billy Raum. Billy believes that anyone who does their homework is a danger to society, and that people who cant play football are genetically abnormal and shouldve been left, like weak Spartan babies, to die of exposure on a lonely hillside. I know this because hes said so to my face. Right after he called me slant eyes. Not that they do, actually. Not that it should matter, if they did.

Is there a problem, Wen? Mr Cornish says to me now.

I shrug in apology. Both he and I know that hes doing me and Henry a favour by letting me even attend this class.

How is he able to produce those noises without moving his lips? Henry whispers in Chinese, with fascination.

And, if you have something to say, Henry Xiao, Mr Cornish swivels his abundant facial hair back in Henrys direction, you can say it to the whole class, please.

Henry screws up his face, and replies laboriously in his painfully literal English, With sincerest apologies, I am bringing you inconvenience.

Theres a short pause in the room, like a held breath, and then everyone bursts out laughing, even Mr Cornish. The room rings with it. Henry flushes red whoosh from his ratty T-shirt collar right up to his hairline. Hes like a glowing stop sign.

You sound like my father! Josip Kovaevi laughs, not in a mean way. But Henry rises from his chair, grabbing all his books and pens with shaking hands.

I stop laughing. I get the feeling that people have laughed at Henry for most of his life and that one of his dearest wishes, when he grows up, is for that never to happen again.

I dont think Henry is looked after much, at home. He hardly ever has any lunch. I give him some of mine when I can spare it, and Miss Spencer and the other teachers arrange for him and the other kids whose parents cant afford lunch, or dont remember to feed them to have a sneaky sandwich from the school tuckshop at least three times a week. Henrys this pale, skinny kid with a bad haircut, terrible plastic-framed spectacles, and trousers so short his ankles are always showing.

Mr Cornish sees my steadying hand on the frayed cuff of Henrys sleeve and stops laughing as well. Its my turn to offer sincerest apologies, Henry, Mr Cornish says gently, but you need to find a happy medium between what you just said Im sorry would have been enough in that context and the one-word answers you usually like to give.

Henry sits back down abruptly, something clearly having piqued his interest. He mutters to me in Chinese as Mr Cornish turns towards the whiteboard, I understand the meaning of happy, but medium can mean many things, Wen a person who speaks with the dead, an art form, an average, a substance what is he talking about with this use of the word medium?

Average, balance, I murmur out of the side of my mouth. As in happy balance. He wants you to find a happy balance when you speak in class.

When you speak at all, I almost say, but dont.

Wanting to add, You just need to speak, Hen. It does get easier.

Ah, Henry says brightly. I will use this term in our forthcoming entrance exam. Happy medium, this is good.

Uh, I begin. About that exam were supposed to be taking

Do not jinx us! Henry says sharply, for once in word-perfect English, and I close my mouth with a snap at the expression on his face. Mr Cornish looks around at us, frowning, before turning back to the whiteboard.

Henry has this crazy idea that if we both sit the entrance exam to this amazing, government-funded selective school next month, well get everything we ever wanted, and our lives will change for the better. Our form teacher, Miss Spencer, told our whole class about the exam, and the school, but were the only two kids who can be bothered doing it because the place sounds like an impossible mirage. Its on the other side of town, but it might as well be on the other side of the world.