Helping You Home | 帮你提回家
Written by: Rebekah Zhao | 赵潇
Translated by: Seth O’Farrell
Editor’s Note:
This article is excerpted from Haha! Britain — a charitable bilingual publication co-produced by The Mothers’ Bridge of Love (MBL) and River Cam Breeze. The book is a lively collaboration between 42 Chinese authors living in the UK and 36 university-based volunteer translators. With wit and warmth, the stories capture the everyday realities of Chinese communities in Britain, offering an honest look at the cultural clashes, humour, and adaptation that arise in the space between Chinese and British ways of life. Haha! Britain has been warmly endorsed by several well-known figures in UK-China relations, including Stephen Perry (former Chairman of the 48 Group Club), Luise Schäfer OBE (former British diplomat and Chamber of Commerce chair), Professor Hugo De Burgh (former BBC editor and academic), and British scholar Martin Jacques. The book’s title was handwritten by celebrated British-Chinese artist Qu Leilei, its cover illustrated by bestselling Chinese author and poet Feng Tang, and the postscript contributed by Xue Mo, a prominent voice in contemporary Chinese literature.
Illustrated by Tian Tian
In December, the weather in the south of England shifts between warmth and cold. What had once been mist and fog had now given way to clear, blue skies.
I hurried out the door, stretching my sore back.
The sun shone brightly on the silent streets, yet there wasn’t a single pedestrian in sight. We’ve lived on this street for over ten years. Normally, at this time of day, passersby would be heading to school, work, the train station or the bus stop. But with the pandemic putting everything under lockdown, the streets were deserted. I used to exchange smiles and greetings with my neighbours as we passed on the pavement. Now, whenever we spotted someone approaching from a distance, we’d quickly cross to the other side of the street, pretending not to notice each other.
Since I no longer work, my days have taken on a peaceful rhythm. I turn off my mobile phone, immerse myself in books, and enjoy the quiet, free from the distractions of conversation. Ever since last year, Kai has been working from home, shouting at his computer daily. I teased him, saying he made as much noise as a flock of pigeons, but I had no way of avoiding him. So, I would roll my eyes and eagerly await those rare moments when the clouds cleared and the fog lifted. “I’m off to get some oxygen!” I’d shout, then dash out the door.
Luckily, while the lockdown policies in the UK shut down towns and cities, the roads and streets remained open. I began spending more time exercising outdoors than I had before.
As I rounded the corner, I came across an elderly English lady. I was about to avoid her when I heard her say, “Can you help me?”
Her expression was earnest. British ladies of her generation often wear heavy makeup when they go out, and I noticed she was wearing not only lipstick but rouge as well. Despite walking with a slight stagger, her face was fresh, her complexion rosy under her thick coat on this chilly day. She wasn’t coughing and showed no signs of illness.
“Could you help me carry my shopping bags?” she asked, holding several in her hands.
“Of course, no problem,” I said, bending down to take two of the bags from her. She insisted on carrying the other two herself.
She explained that she usually stayed at home but had decided to walk to the nearby Tesco to see what was available and ended up buying more than she’d planned. Halfway back, the bags had become too heavy. In this residential area, there were no taxis to be found.
“I live a few streets away, and I can pay you for the help,” she added.
I found her offer charmingly old-fashioned. I wondered if she had family nearby or if she lived alone. It’s hard to ask personal questions to a stranger, so instead, I asked her how she had been coping with the pandemic.
“I take good care of myself,” she said. “Boris said we should sing Happy Birthday three times every time we wash our hands. I sing God Save the Queen three times every time I wash my hands.”
We both laughed. She went on to say that she has not had a birthday party since her husband’s death. But every year she receives a birthday card from her daughter that reads “Happy Birthday”.
I asked her if she had ever experienced a pandemic or epidemic before?
How did the elderly take precautions in the past?
Oh, she said, there had been one in the 1930s, when she was a teenager living in the countryside. They hung a lot of garlic on the door of their house and sprinkled salt on the ground. Her mother gave the children camomile tea and tonic water.
I said that my hometown sits on the longest river in China and my grandmother would give us chrysanthemum tea, honeysuckle tea and isatis root tea.
She happily listened and asked me what grade I was in.
I was taken aback but also a little delighted. I softly replied that my children have already graduated. That day I wore a bright yellow hooded down jacket and the white hair on the top of my head was hidden under the brim of my hat.
She didn’t seem to hear me and continued to talk to herself, unperturbed by anything else, praising me as a good girl.
“You are close to your parents, right?” I told her that we were close.
“They’ll be proud of you for being a good child.” I said they would. She went on to say:
“Children are very well-behaved when they’re of school age, just like little angels.”
Then she suddenly fell silent and stopped talking.
I realised her memory was a little hazy. She might feel embarrassed if she knew that the person carrying her bags was not a schoolgirl.
We walked forward slowly and in silence. When she arrived at a small roundabout, she looked back and forth for a while before moving forward. The bags in my hand became heavy.
After crossing a large street and turning into a street of terraced houses, she suddenly said, “We’re here.” She stopped in her tracks. I couldn’t tell which door was her house, so I asked:
“Would you like me to take the bags in the door for you?”
“No, thank you, I can take them in myself,” she said, without expression.
I stopped insisting. Watching her turn around and look for something on her clothes, I patiently waited, thinking that she might have something else to say.
Instead, she took out her wallet, handed me a £10 note and said: “This is for you.”
Without even thinking, I reached out my hand and took the note. Ever since the pandemic, we had all been paying electronically and had not touched banknotes for two years. Touching it with my hand, my fingertips made a slight rustling noise, both familiar and real.
When I attended my daughter’s school Christmas concert in the UK, several students with cherry lips and pearly white teeth stood at the entrance door to greet the guests. A boy came up to me and asked, “Can I take your coat for you, madam?” I took off my coat and gave it to him. Following the instructions whispered to me by an English friend standing behind me, I gave the boy a coin. He happily thanked me and hung my coat in the cloakroom for me.
I put the note into my pocket, only to take it out and hand it back to her, saying:
“Thank you for the tip. I was going to the gym today but walking with you, I feel that I’ve saved myself the journey as I’ve done more exercise than I would have done on the stepper.”
She collected the money, put it in her wallet, and said pensively:
“Catherine didn’t think I would be able to go shopping. Now she’ll be surprised to see how much I’ve bought.”
“Next time you go shopping, call me in advance and I will drive to pick you up,” I said, taking out my phone.
She didn’t reply but continued, “Catherine comes to delliver items to me every Tuesday. This week she was on holiday, not working. She called to say she would not come until next Tuesday.”
I wasn’t sure if Catherine was a social worker or a friend. I waved and said goodbye. I told her my street and house number twice before leaving, adding that if she wanted to go shopping by herself next time, she could knock on the door and call me any time. She nodded and looked at me with a dull look in her eyes but a clear smile on her face.
Soon enough, lockdown was lifted. People passed by my door as usual, but I never saw her again.
As I crossed that corner, I would occasionally think of the strange old woman who made me feel like a secondary school student.
About the author
Rebekah Zhao moved to the UK in 1994. She is a PhD in Chinese History. She taught at university and secondary school, and was a freelance writer. She has published The Reading Experience at UK Primary Schools and The Interaction of Eastern and Western Art.
12 月份的英国南方，天气时暖时寒。刚刚还阴霾笼罩，此刻却风和日丽。
我开门一溜疾走，同时伸展一下酸痛的脊背。
明亮的阳光洒在寂静的街道上。路上没有一个行人。我们在这条街上住了十多年，平常这个时间，上学的上班的赶火车赶汽车的都从这条街走过。现在疫情封控，街道突然空空荡荡。以前在人行道上碰到邻居，大家笑笑打个招呼。现在远远看见对面过来一个人影，便赶紧跨到街的另一侧，彼此都装作没有看见。
我已不再工作，心安理得躺平，关了手机，看看闲书，倒也省去了许多口舌的打扰。凯从去年起就一直在家里上班，天天对着计算机狂吼乱喊。我嫌他聒噪，却又无处躲避，只好天天眼珠上翻，每每趁有云开雾散的瞬间，便大喝一声：吸氧去也！随后夺门而逃。
幸而英国的政策封城不封门，我每天外出锻炼的时间反而比以前多了。
走至拐弯处，迎面碰到一个英国老太太，我正要避开，却听她说：“你能帮我一下吗？”她看着我，脸上露出很恳切的神态。英国老太太出门，好多人要画浓妆。我注意到她除了涂口红，还搽了胭脂。虽然脚步有些蹒跚，气色却是白白红红的鲜明。大冷的天，厚厚的外套底下穿一条裙子。她没有咳嗽，也没有咳嗽的迹象。
“你能帮我提一下购物包吗？”她继续说，手里拎着几个购物袋。
“当然没问题，交给我来提。”我二话不说，转过身，弯腰接过她手里的两个袋子。她坚持要自己提另外两个袋子。
她说，平时一直呆在家里，今天想走路去附近 Tesco 小超市看看，买买东西。不曾想装了好几个袋子，走到半路越提越重，这一段居民区又找不到出租车。
“我就住在前面几条街，我会付你钱的。”老太太说。
我觉得这位老太太很老派。她家里有人吗？还是独居？和陌生人不好谈个人情况，便问她防疫情况好不好。
“我把自己照顾得很好，”她说，“鲍里斯（时任英国首相）说每次洗手唱三遍《祝你生日快乐》，我每次洗手唱三遍《天佑女王》（英国国歌）。”
我俩笑起来。她接着说， 自从丈夫去世后她不再举办 Birthday Party。不过她女儿每年寄来写着“祝你生日快乐”的生日卡。
我问她以前经历过疫情吗？过去是如何防范的？
哦，她说上世纪 30 年代的时候有过，她那时还是十几岁的孩子，住在乡村。家门口挂了很多大蒜，地上还撒了盐。她妈给孩子们喝菊花茶和奎宁水。
我说我老家住在中国最长的河边，老祖母也给我们喝菊花茶，还有金银花茶和板蓝根茶。
她听了很高兴的样子，问我读几年级。
我有点发愣，又有点开心，轻轻回答道我的孩子们都毕业了。那天我穿了一件焦黄鲜艳的戴帽羽绒服，头顶的白发都藏进帽沿里了。
她似乎没有听见我的嘀咕，继续夸我是个好姑娘，自顾自地说：“你和你父母亲很亲近吧？”
我说：“是的，我们很亲近。”
她说：“他们一定会为你是个好孩子而感到骄傲。”
我说他们会的。她接着又说：“上学的时候都很乖，像个小天使。”
然后她就突然沉默，不再做声。
我意识到她的记忆有些模糊。如果她知道现在给她提包的不是一个女学生，她或许会感到尴尬。
我们默默地慢慢往前走。到了一个小转盘，她前看后看，好一阵才举步向前走。我手上的包变得沉重起来。
又走过一条大街，拐进一条排房街，她突然说：“到了。”停住了脚步。我看不出哪间是她家门口，便问：“要不要我帮你把袋子放进门？”
“不用了，谢谢，我可以自己拿进去。”她面无表情地说。
我便不再坚持。看见她转身在衣服上找东西，我耐心地等在那里，心想她或许还有什么事要说，却见她摸出一只钱包，拿出一张 10 英镑的钞票递给我说：“这是给你的。”
我没有多想，伸手接过她递过来的这张纸钞。自从疫情以来，我们全部用电子付款，已经有两年没有接触过纸币。用手摸摸，指尖发出轻微的沙沙声，熟悉又实在。
第一次在英国参加女儿的学校圣诞音乐会。入口处，几个唇红齿白的少年站在门口迎宾，一个男孩子迎上来问：“夫人，我可不可以帮你拿大衣？”我把大衣脱下来交给他，按照站在我背后的英国朋友的悄声指点，给了他一个硬币。他高兴地道了谢，替我把大衣挂进更衣室。
我把这张纸币揣进口袋，又拿出来递还给她，说：“谢谢你的小费。今天我本来要去健身房的，陪你走了这一程，我感觉运动效果比踏步机还好，省得我去健身房了。”
她收起钱，放进钱包，若有所思地说：“凯瑟琳以为我自己不会去购物。这下她看见我买了这么多东西，该吃惊了吧。”
“你下次再去买东西的时候，提前给我打电话，我开车来接你。”我拿出手机说。
她并没有接我的话，又说：“凯瑟琳每个星期二都来给我送一趟物品。这个星期她休假没有上班，她打电话说下个星期二才来。”
我不清楚凯瑟琳是社工还是她的朋友。我挥手说了Bye-bye，走前对她念了两遍我家的街道门牌，说，如果她下次再想自己去买东西，随时可以敲门叫我。她点点头，看着我，眼神有些呆板，而脸上又分明露出笑容。
不久，封禁令解除。经过我门口的行人一如往常，但是我再也没有见到过她。
走过那个拐弯处，偶尔我还会想起，那个让我当了一回中学生的陌生老人。
作者介绍
赵潇，1994 年移居英国。中国史学博士。曾任大学和中学教师，自由撰稿人。出版有《英国小学阅读体验》及翻译作品《东西方艺术的交会》等。
Both the Chinese and English editions of Haha! Britain can be purchased at the following platforms:
· BOOK FAN