Sitting side by side with her little son, she noticed her elder son’s unusual silence. Alone he sat in the same row across the aisle. He idly played with the tips of his fingers. He stared at a changing blur outside. His head leaned thoughtfully against the window. His face assumed a dreamy expression. Mei couldn’t read his mind. Whatever he was thinking was a question to her.
A middle-aged tough woman, with a small basket of eggs on her lap and an umbrella between her rubber rain boots, was using a sign language Mei noticed. She was talking to an older, tougher man at a corner with higher seats in front. Their hands were moving gracefully. Two young women with a similar type of nice dress, who sat opposite, were also looking at them. Mei turned away. She’d just as soon not have to end this tiring journey.