Back The Phoenix Pencil Company
Chapters (40)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Chapter 1
  4. Chapter 2
  5. Chapter 3
  6. Chapter 4
  7. Chapter 5
  8. Chapter 6
  9. Chapter 7
  10. Chapter 8
  11. Chapter 9
  12. Chapter 10
  13. Chapter 11
  14. Chapter 12
  15. Chapter 13
  16. Chapter 14
  17. Chapter 15
  18. Chapter 16
  19. Chapter 17
  20. Chapter 18
  21. Chapter 19
  22. Chapter 20
  23. Chapter 21
  24. Chapter 22
  25. Chapter 23
  26. Chapter 24
  27. Chapter 25
  28. Chapter 26
  29. Chapter 27
  30. Chapter 28
  31. Chapter 29
  32. Chapter 30
  33. Chapter 31
  34. Chapter 32
  35. Chapter 33
  36. Chapter 34
  37. Chapter 35
  38. Notes and Acknowledgments
  39. About the Author
  40. About the Publisher

I wished I had thought to record the call, so I could play it back, slow it down, and see what I had missed. Maybe I would have been able to send the audio recording to grandmother and have her translate it for me.

Then my phone vibrated.

我们在铅笔厂旁边的公园见面

Even as I scrambled to copy the text into my translating app, she sent another message.

👵🏽↔️👩🏻 ✏️🏢🌳

🕐? I sent back.

👍

I had not even realized the emoji of the clock I sent had a time on it. Her eyes were sharp. I prepared my backpack, tucked grandmother’s pencil into the side pocket, then ran out the door to ensure I would catch the train and make it there by the emoji time.

She was already at the park near the old pencil company when I arrived, sitting on a bench. She held a cane in front of her that appeared less to support her weight than to hold her posture upright. Her expression was far sterner than grandmother’s.

“Hi,” I said, instinctively in English, running over.

“Monica?”

She said my name carefully, like porcelain on her lips.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” I said in Chinese. Meng smiled. Her teeth were small and crooked. So she did understand me.

She gestured to the open space beside her, and I sat down.

She said something I only partially understood. It was a question, asking if I did something. Then she pulled out a pencil. She pointed first to herself, then to the pencil, then to my wrist. She spoke her words again.

“Yes,” I said. I startled her with my excitement, understanding what she was trying to say. “I Reforged your pencil. Grandmother asked me to.”

She asked something else. This time, I could recognize the word for “grandmother.”

I took out grandmother’s pencil and handed it to her. She looked at it for a long time before taking it.

“She spent a lot of time writing with that,” I said. “She really wanted to find you again.”

She held the pencil in both hands, cradled in her lap.

“Her memory is fading now.” I had looked up how to explain her disease, practiced saying it. “And she had surgery on her hip.”

Meng did not say anything, so I kept talking.