Melange vol.5 June 2002

Editorial
May the reader use discerment

Poems
The Giants and the Dwarfs
heart of darkness
The Wanderer
A chocolate room

Relay Writing
Cafe Evergreen (3) 1 2 3

Multilingual Page
German: origin of English

Novel
Adonis Blue (4)

Guest Writers' Corner
Wondering

Notes on Group Writers

Relay Writing

Café Evergreen
By The 8th Continent

Chapter 3

Glen stood before the door for a moment, took a breath, and opened the door vigorously.
‘Hello Varden, long time no see!’
‘Hey Glen, welcome back! It’s been yonks since I saw you in here last. I fancy you look more of a hunk than before. How was the South Island?’
Looking at master Varden, who was moving his hands busily, Glen shrugged his shoulders. Varden’s words reminded him that dear feeling – a mix of embarrassment and delight.
‘Not so bad. But it’s been chilly as usual though summer. Palmy’s better cos we have no snow.’

‘Every familiar face has come back this week and keep this shop busy. By and large you uni students are running my café actually’
‘Oh yeah? I’ve just come back here too, but I’ve got so many classes today, and tomorrow and the day after tomorrow…’
‘Oh yes, Glen – your girl’s waiting for you. There, in the seat over there as always. Here’s your usual’
Irene – the thought of her made his body stiffened for a second.
‘Thanks Varden’
Glen got the espresso from Varden, who gave him a wink, and he placed the coins on the corner and left.

Upon walking with an espresso cup in his hand, Glen was narrating a story in his mind:

This is a haunt for students after class. Not only Kiwis like me, but a lot of international students come to this university from all over the world, and this café is a mixed bag too. The café owner Varden is in fact a migrant from Ireland. So is Irene, from Shanghai, China.

Like many couples seen at the university, we met at a lecture, and here at Café Evergreen we got to know each other more and became attached to. Here we discuss unclear points in lectures, do the spade work for exams, and, talk about topics other than study.

She is a very bright girl; she has lived here in New Zealand since she was very small, so she speaks perfect English. I’m often taught by her. And, above all, I like her smile the most – the smile which appears when discussions move to other stuffs than study. During the break, I never forget her smile for an instant.

However, a sad incident during the break clouded her invaluable smile and cast a shadow upon the relation between the two of us. I haven’t met her since then. Now how’s she feeling, and what expression does she have…? And what look should I take to meet her…?

With a cup of espresso, Glen walked towards a seat deep in the corner of the space, where they always sit down. It’s a place for a bunch of lingerers to sit down for an endless chat.

As approaching the seat, he heard her laugh.

Irene.
Why, what should I say to break the ice… saying that must have had a hard time will be no use, just bringing back the nightmare, then better pretend nothing happened. Yet it’s a bit insensitive…

As soon as he turned the corner, what came into his sight is – Irene, cheerfully chatting in a cosy way, with an unfamiliar Asian man.

I can’t catch what they’re saying.
It’s Mandarin – the language Irene has been teaching me little by little. They are speaking so fast that I can’t understand at all.

Vanished how much he had languished for her till this moment, and a blankness came over Glen.

I’ve never seen such a smile. To me she’s never shown it.
He’s tall for Chinese, willowy, gentle, and pale-looking. He’s got very tender eyes. Calm is his manner and sincere is his look.
A frat boy.

The word he came up with disgusted himself.

It sounds creepy to me who barely passed papers with the help of Irene last year.

The next word popped to his mind: jealousy.

Am I jealous? Darn me! We go together, no match for a tenderfoot, ever before and than ever, we talk a lot, laugh a lot, more than this bloke, and make a promise for the future…

At that moment recurred that raid of the fish and chips shop, and her tearful voice telling about it over the phone. ‘Because we are Asian’ ‘the racists saying “go home”’…Glen realised the barrier unable to break by his small and weak power, and went black.

Are we fundamentally different? Can’t we understand each other – like the two guys right in front…?

(Continued to the Next Page >>)