Queenie I thought I had been to Africa, so I told the class I had been.Our teacher, Miss Zaoqi, asked me to stand in front of the British flag (she forbids everyone to use the common name of Union Jack), and said: This is the flag of the British Empire, not some ghost symbol.And I stood there and said boldly: When Africa came to Wembley, I went there.That's when Miss Morning told me that Africa is a country.She continued: Queenie.Baston, you are not usually stupid!But you have not been to Africa, you have only been to the British Empire Exhibition, like thousands of others. That's butcher union tourism.Once a year, let the butchers, wives and children, and even their favorite employees participate.day trip.Mom likes to go.She told her dad: It's like a vacation.

The worst waste of time.Dad always issued a prison sentence, so he still did it. For several years, almost everyone on our farm went.A back office girl who helps her mother make pies.An outfield girl who feeds pigs and poultry.Even the dumb boys who helped daddy in the slaughter shed traded out their blood-splattered aprons for tours in the best of their ill-fitting off-the-line suits.We used to wear our best clothes to go boating along the coast in Blackpool, or ride the red bus around Piccadilly Circus, or make fun of the monkeys at the zoo.Then it's time to go home again.The men were all drowsy from too much beer, and the kids were being mended and cried because they stained their clothes or got stones in their hair.Often the farm girl disappeared with the farm boy, only to reappear later, embarrassed and disheveled.

The year we went to the British Empire exhibition was not long after the end of the First World War, but it was almost forgotten.Even Dad agrees that the British Empire exhibition sounds worth visiting.The king described the exhibition as a microcosm of the British Empire.Mom thought it meant miniature buildings, like a toy railway or a model village, until someone told her that she had seen a full-scale Stevenson steam car on display.I said it must be as big as the whole world, which made everyone laugh. We had to leave our brothers Billy, Harry, and Jim at home.They were too young, and when Dad and the whining boys said they would be swallowed by the crowd, everyone agreed.Billy muttered: I'm not afraid of being eaten.They whimpered and tugged at Mom's coat, and Mom had to make sure everyone got back with something nice like a model engine or a toy soldier.She handed the brothers over to Molly, the office girl, who stood sullenly by the window, staring at us with eyes that curdled milk.

I was wearing a tulle white dress with blue satin ribbons hanging down the front, and my hair was tied in a braid with a big white bow.Along the way on the train, Mom and Dad chatted with other butcher couples about nothing but painstaking humane slaughter with the axe.So I could just sit between the two farm helpers, Emily and Graham, and watch them smirk and flirt over my head. Emily has been helping us outfield for two months.She had a well-meaning foster mother in Kent who loved to make patterns out of spring flowers, and her father and two uncles in London who drank too much and didn't get sober enough for them to go to war.Graham was helping Dad in the slaughterhouse.He tends the fire under the pig's rotten pot, takes the pork pies to the bakery, and usually runs errands for Dad, doing whatever Dad wants, just not fast enough.Dad's name is Graham Jim.When Graham told his father his name on his first day at work, his father looked him up and down and said, "That fancy name is too troublesome, so I'll call you Jim."So some called him Jim, others Graham, and he had learned to respond to both names.But as far as I know, Graham's only ambition is to touch Emily's breasts.

Thousands of people stomped through the gates of the exhibition hall, walked through gardens and lakes, chatted and wandered.The adults dragged the children to walk faster; the women pointed to the east and west; the old man wanted to sit down and rest.here!No, here it is better.The epitome of the British Empire.Engineering theme park.Industrial theme park.Building after building, inside is every country we British own.Some are as big as castles, some have ridiculous pointed roofs, and one, I'm sure has half an onion on top.From there, the entire world is almost unobstructed. Graham said to his father: It is an honor to make people feel.

When Dad heard this, he looked the little butcher up and down for a while, and said, "Listen to your nonsense." There's been a lot of discussion just about what we should watch. The whole world is right in front of us, but we only have one day to watch it.Mom had no interest in the woods of Burma or the big game trophies of the Malay Peninsula.She said to Jamaican Coffee: Let's talk about it later.Say to Barbados sucrose: Oh!Never.Say to Granada Chocolate: What are you looking at?He also said to Sarawak: Where is that?There is a life-sized model of the Prince of Wales made of yellow cream in the Canadian area, and I had to squeeze to the front to see it clearly.I was about to put my face on the glass when my mother came and pulled me back and said to me: Take Emily's hand.I don't want to lose you.Then complain to Emily in front of a group.The eyes of the crowd tried their best to pass over the mother and the blushing outfield girl, and everyone muttered: Is it really cream?cream?No way.Mom told Emily she was here to take care of me, and if I lost her she would be miserable, and really miserable.So Emily clings to me like soot clings to a miner.Wherever Emily went, Graham followed.

Australia smells like apples.Ripe, green, crispy apples.Such a sweet and distinct taste made my teeth itch.We can eat it later.Dad said, queuing up with the crowd to buy a small paper bag of fruit.Mom's own portion is saved for later. I took the core to Emily when I was done eating.Graham told all of us at that time that he would live in Australia in the future.Dad laughed: Australia?With you stupid guy? They assured me New Zealand could see shearing, but when we arrived there were shaved animals scrawny and bony, scurrying around in pens with their wool lying on the sidelines.Hong Kong smells of drainpipes, India is full of glossy women in strange colorful gowns.These women all have a red spot in the middle of their foreheads.No one can tell me what those red dots are for.Go find one and ask.Emily said to me.But my mother said I can't ask, lest those red dots mean they are sick and lest they spread the disease.

The smell of Ceylon tea made my mother's throat dry, and she said: I really want to sit down and have a drink.My feet are so sore!As soon as Dad heard this, he started to complain, saying that he hadn't seen a machine for making biscuits and wrapping cigarettes yet.I cried because I wanted to see more countries.Emily said I was the eldest, and my mother told her not to talk nonsense.So Dad gave Graham an order (and repeated it twice to make sure he understood) to meet him and Mom later in the gas show lounge.Then Mom and Dad went looking for modern machinery and refrigeration, while Emily and I, and of course the sentimental Graham, continued to travel the world alone.

That's when we got lost in Africa.We wandered in, following the smell of sticky brown chocolate.Emily followed Graham, looking back at me occasionally, and shouting: Come here, hurry up!Everyone was smoking cocoa, and I wanted one too, but Emily pulled me by a braid to follow, and then we found ourselves in some African village, and Graham looked around, scratching his head at Emily said he wanted to go to the bathroom. We are in the jungle.All around are thatched huts made of mud and pointed roofs made of branches.In the hut sat a woman on the dirt floor, her skin as black as the ink in the inkwell on the school desk.The fuzzy shapes came to life.With her legs crossed, she weaves brightly patterned cloth with her hands on the loom.We all use machines to make those cloths now.Graham said Emily nudged him to be quiet.Graham explained: She couldn't understand what I was saying.They are not yet civilized, they only understand the sound of drums.The woman just kept knitting, as if she hadn't heard a word, pushing the pole into the tangle of threads.

Did you see the toilet?Graham asked her, but she couldn't understand either. I said I wanted to go because there wasn't much fun to see.But then a man appeared out of the blue.Is African.It looked like a black man carved out of melted chocolate.I clung to Emily, but she shooed me away.The black man was standing right next to me, close enough for me to see him breathing.A man whose sweat smelled like mothballs and who looked like a monkey, blacker than a face painted with coal.The sweat on his brow shone like jewels, his lips were brown (should be pink but weren't) and inflated like a bicycle tire, his hair was shaved like a shaved black sheep, and his nose was pressed Flattened, with nostrils as big as train tunnels.He looked down at me.

Graham said: Would you like to kiss him?He nudged me, teased, and pushed me forward, bringing me closer to the black person. Emily chuckled.Go, Queenie, kiss him, give him a kiss. The man was still looking down at me.I felt the blood rushing to my face, and I turned red.He smiled, showing a mouth full of perfect white teeth, and the inside of his mouth was pink.His face was getting closer and closer to mine.He can suck me down, big nigga.But instead he said in perfect English: Maybe we can just shake hands? The smile on Graham's face collapsed.I shake hands with Africans.His hands were as warm as anyone else's, slightly damp with sweat.I shook his hand up and down for a few seconds.He nodded and bowed to me and said: Nice to meet you.Then he let go of my hand and stepped aside to let us pass.Emily, still giggling, looked at Graham and rolled her eyes.She grabs my arm and pulls me away, and Graham starts thinking about going to the toilet again.The African man must have understood, because he pointed and said: There is a toilet next to that tree, I think there are things you need there. But Graham never found a toilet.He had to go to the bathroom behind some big boxes, and Emily and I would watch over it. Dad later said that the African who was going to shake my hand could be an African chief or a prince.Apparently you know they've been educated in civilization as long as they speak English; English was taught by white people, missionaries maybe.So Dad said don't worry I shook his hand because this African guy is probably rich and powerful. In order to make me stop thinking about this chance encounter, my father promised to take me to take the scenic train.He persuaded his mother: Come on, we can see miles away from the top.She was reluctant, worried that I might spit on everyone on the ground.Dad called her stupid, then assured her she had never seen such a beautiful view.I waved to Emily and Graham, who stayed behind, as our little car pushed all the way up.Emily chews taffy and Graham smokes, but then disappears.Mom sighed: They'll show up later. We go up to the sky until the people below are little black dots.The twinkling electric lights below mingled with the stars as we hung from the apex.Dad said something that I will never forget.He said: Look here, Queenie.You look around.The whole world is at your feet, little girl.