Fu Bao looks up at me from deep brown eyes. They are just as beautiful as the day we met, years ago. Now the whole world will see them, and know Fu Bao, my friend, the giant panda. There will be a crowd of hundreds waiting at the London train station to welcome her. She is, after all, making history. But I’ll gladly let her have the spotlight. I was reluctant to accept this job, given I hate being on display. But I couldn’t let Fu Bao travel so far with someone who didn’t understand her.
Fu Bao is in the back of the compartment, contentedly munching on some bamboo while we wait for the train to depart. We were photographed together after the agreement with the London Zoo was signed, and I hold a copy of the photograph in my hand. My neat signature is in one corner, barely there, so Fu Bao’s fingerprint could fit in another corner, slightly covering my skirt. I had worn the same skirt on the day the train departed and would again on the day we arrived. So the crowd could recognize me, just as the journalist insisted.
The sudden jolt of the train startles me, and I laugh at Fu Bao’s disgruntled noise. She’d dropped her bamboo. I walk unsteadily toward her and smile, “Both of us have to get used to this steel contraption delivering us to our future, eh?” I like to practice my English with Fu Bao, using words I would never use in conversation with a native speaker. I give her back the bamboo and stumble to my seat in the corner of our compartment.
I’d been reading Charlotte’s Web, a heartwarming book about a spider and pig becoming unlikely friends. It is a lovely story, and I feel the urge to share it with Fu Bao. I rise once more and order some green tea from the train’s kitchen. I walk slowly back to Fu Bao, holding the book.
I smile. She is in quite an amusing position, on her stomach, legs dangling, looking out at the last bits of China. Next, we will travel through India, switch trains twice, sail the English Channel, and then arrive at last in London. I sit on the bench opposite and murmur, “Last glimpse of China, lucky treasure. Would you like me to read to you?” Fu Bao turns her head and looks at me with those deep brown eyes, almost as though she is smiling. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I open Charlotte’s Web and begin to read. An attendant brings the tea, and I sip the warm taste of home while reading. The next night, I do the same.
This becomes our tradition. My new home in London, close to the zoo, is lovely. I brew my green tea in a thermos, bring our newest read, and we are happy. I miss China, but with Fu Bao here, I will always feel at home.
Written by Penelope Wohl from Raleigh, NC
