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proficiency in English in China. Harry had written to explain why he couldn’t sponsor him to come to Canada: Canadian rules specified that only dependent children under the age of eighteen were eligible. Min-hon was twenty-nine.
    Fay-oi answered her mother with an emphatic yes.
    Yee-hing was downcast: “Why would you want to go to a strange country where people eat only potatoes?”
    “For two reasons,” Fay-oi replied. “I have no memory of my father. And I would like a university education in the West.”
    How could Yee-hing object? The word
Baba
had hardly crossed her daughter’s lips. She and Min-hon had been determined that Fay-oi start school at an early age; she’d bribed her daughter by promising her new dresses—they took her Shirley Temple doll to the tailor so that her frocks could be modelled after the doll’s dresses. Even before Fay-oi started school, Min-hon had tutored her in the English alphabet. And for high school, Yee-hing had given her up to boarding school.
    Yee-hing said nothing.
    In responding to her father, Fay-oi addressed his suggestion that she could come later as a wife. She had found it demeaning that her father would make a bargain of marriage for her. Never would she enter into an arranged marriage as her mother had done; nor could she be bought like Second Mother. Fay-oi made herself clear: “
Baba
, I am coming to Canada on one condition: as your daughter. I will never, never, come as someone’s wife.”
    When the day of departure came, only Yee-hing rose to send her off. Fay-oi felt hurt that Min-hon and his wife did not bother to get out of bed to say goodbye; no one knew when, if ever, they might see each other again.
    Fay-oi and her mother stood on the pier waiting for the boat to take her on the first leg of her trip, to Hong Kong. Each remained composed; neither wanted the other to see her cry. “I’m capable of looking after myself,
Mama
,” Fay-oi said. “There’s no need for you to worry.” Once on the boat, Fay-oi watched until her mother, unmoving on the pier, disappeared from view as the boat rounded the bend in the river.

    AFTER A YEAR AND A HALF studying basic English at Seymour School, Marion—as Fay-oi now called herself courtesy of Freda—scored high enough to be placed in ninth grade in public school at Britannia High. At the end of the tenth grade, she asked her father his opinion of what her future course of study should be at university.
    “You’re a girl!” Harry sputtered. “Why would you need a degree to stay in the kitchen? You don’t need to make a living to support the family. Don’t plan on going to university.”
    Her father’s response plunged Marion into despair. She suddenly saw the reality of her life in Canada. Second Mother, who became pregnant soon after their arrival, had delivered a second son; university was an expense to be saved for a boy. And one whose entire schooling would be in Canada, one whose English would always be better than hers. I have no interest in cooking, Marion wanted to say in retort. Something her mother said came back to her: “When you marry, you’ll have many servants; there’s no need for you to learn to cook.”
    At the suggestion of the guidance counsellor at Britannia, Marion transferred to Vancouver Technical School to take secretarial training. But she would not be cowed by her father’s rebuke. She resolved to take her education and her future into her own hands. Learn English, Marion. Learn English.
    Marion insisted that her Chinese school chums speak only English to her. She kept company with them after school, when they routinely headed to one home or another. They’d raid family fridges for pie and ice cream, and then settle into gossip and idle chatter, except for Marion. She asked them to take turns firing English words at her. She would repeat theword, then spell it. She’d sometimes be so focused on incoming words that she wasn’t aware she was repeating their