One Bright Moon

by Andrew Kwong

  Then I went to be with Mama in the kitchen, watching her quietly cook my breakfast. Her face glowed with each burst of flame as the rice husks crackled and burned, a handful at a time, keeping the fire going. Her undernourished figure was unyielding and determined, cherishing every bit of hope as mothers do for their children. The struggle to survive in a ruthless revolution had exhausted her, but not the dreams she had been nurturing for me all these years. Yet my rare opportunity hadn’t elated her to the point of excitement, as there were still so many uncertainties and worries ahead. She and the rest of our family had to live in fear and hunger as the famine savaged them with no end in sight. And now our separation.

  ‘The journey is going to be long, and you must take good care of yourself,’ she said to me, fighting back tears. ‘Write home regularly and don’t keep me waiting for your news.’

  Images of Mama waiting outside the gate for the postman to come with our living allowance from Hong Kong, her longing for Baba’s mail when he was away in Heilongjiang, and her anxious waits at the bus station for Ping or Grandmother to arrive, all passed in slow motion through my mind. Every one of her words etched itself in my heart that morning.

  ‘Study hard if you have a chance to go to school,’ she said. ‘Work hard if you have to work for a living. You must promise me that you’ll attend evening school. You must learn English well – it is your passport to the world beyond Shiqi, the Wonder River and even the South China Sea. When you can read and write it well, it becomes your foundation for success in life beyond China. Education is our only hope to change our destiny. So work hard, my son. My blessings will be with you always. My thoughts will be with you every minute of your life until my last breath. Forever.’ She kept her eyes on the fire as I felt her heart being shredded into pieces. ‘I’ll pray to the ancestors and the gods to protect you on your life’s journey. It has now begun.’

  Mama then turned to face me and held me closely to her bosom for the last time, trembling but firm. Teardrops hit the large terracotta tiles of the kitchen floor. I hung on to my mother and wouldn’t let go. All of a sudden, I dreaded the inevitable and imminent severing of our togetherness, as much as the unknown world ahead.

  The steamy hot rice was a luxury. I couldn’t eat it – I wanted to save it for my starving family. I was already missing them. I tried to give the bowl of rice to Ying, but she started to sob, eyes red and blurry. Weng cried too as I made her take it. ‘There’s a lot of food in Macau, and I’m saving my tummy for a big feast when I get there,’ I said to her, with the courage of a big brother. She looked at me with her large trusting eyes and took the food.

  *

  As we made the fifteen-minute walk to the bus station, the reddening sky changed to a mixture of orange and pale-pink. Shiqi was waking up to another hot and humid day. Some dogs barked as we navigated through the backstreets and little alleyways that led to the west side of town. The soothing cool of early morning reflected from the large, rough slabs of grey granite, which were as ancient as the town itself, was welcoming. My parents talked softly as they walked on each side of me, holding my hands, reminding me once more of all the things to do and not to do, and to be nice to Third Aunt in Macau, as I might have to stay with her for a while, and to my grandmother if and when I got to Hong Kong. There wasn’t much of a plan, as my parents didn’t know what would happen after I left. My exit visa allowed me to travel only to Macau.

  The gentle sound of our footsteps on those centuries-old stones did little to disturb the peace of Shiqi, just as had been the case for the past thousand years of pedestrians before us. Only an occasional bicycle interrupted the calm of the dim and narrow streets. By the time we reached the Wonder River Bridge, the sky had overcome the fast-fading glow. A few more pedestrians hurried by on their way to their production units. The People’s Militia officers at the bridge had gone off duty and were heading home.

  As I looked at the rising tide, it reminded me that I would miss the coming dragon boat race. But I had no time to brood over this now. And I had no real regret in leaving Shiqi, where my family and I weren’t wanted.

  It was time for me to go.

  The bus stood ready to receive passengers for the slow trip to the border. The town’s buses ran on diesel now and were slightly faster than the old ones, but my parents had told me it was still a six-hour trip with many stops along the way. Clouds gathered, and it started to drizzle. My family lined up at the door of the bus, so I walked past each of them to say goodbye. My sisters wept. Mama had no more tears to shed, but I knew she was crying inside, her joy and sadness intertwined.

  Baba held my hands in his. I could feel his hardened skin and healing wounds. His white Model Worker T-shirt gleamed in the morning light, making me proud of my father, the so-called high intellectual who’d become an assistant pot repairer.

  He said to me, ‘Son, see these hands? Make the best use of them. For no matter where you go from now on, you will have no more fear of hunger. Your hands will make a living for you. Work hard. For the energy in you is endless. Be fearless. The world is yours to enjoy and experience. Also, don’t forget that you have two eyes to see, a mouth to ask questions and two ears to listen, so make good use of them. Learn from others. Things are going to be tough ahead but they can’t be worse than they are now. Always remember, challenges are there to test our strength and to bring out our best qualities. They are not there to stop us from fulfilling our dreams,’ he reassured me as our eyes met.

  I had seen Baba suffer. I had witnessed him being denounced in public, convicted and imprisoned by the authorities for doubting the revolution. I felt his courage surge inside me as his eyes glimmered with hope in the morning glow. I nodded, holding back my tears. The knot in my chest tightened. I couldn’t speak.

  I stepped onto the small bus and took the single seat behind the folding door. My family, still standing in a line, waved goodbye to me. I waved back as the bus slowly pulled away from the station, heading east. I took one more look at my weeping family before turning in the direction of my journey. I couldn’t feel, I couldn’t hear, and I couldn’t see. For a moment I didn’t even care what was happening to my family and home; I just wanted the bus to take me away, far away from it all. Only when the bus started to make a left turn towards the bridge over the Wonder River did I begin to feel uneasy, and I couldn’t resist turning to look at my family again. They huddled together, crying, as Sixth Aunt, Baba and my tall uncle tried to console them.

  ‘Big brother, I want to come with you,’ Yiu-hoi called out, wiping his tears as he ran alongside the sluggish bus. Leaning out of the small window, I promised to come home and help him escape too.

  In the brightening light, I could already feel the day’s heat. I began to perspire. A warm swell gathered around my eyes; my vision blurred. Dark diesel smoke and the red dust kicked up by the bus soon engulfed Yiu-hoi and our family. A thick lump rose to my throat, and it exploded as the bus hit a pothole.

  I wept.

  The bus drove past Kwong Street to reach the road that led east towards the South China Sea. I wiped away my tears and stared at the neat street where I’d spent my childhood with my gang of friends. The grey-brick houses with the smart levee wall perched squarely behind the orderly jade-green young rice plants – how they glowed in the morning radiance.

  Ah-dong, Ah-bil, Hui, Big Eye, Earring and my other friends were waking up to face another day, another bridge challenge. When they found out I had gone, they would miss me, as I already missed them. By the side of the road, the gum trees we’d planted in answer to Chairman Mao’s call to make sleepers for railway tracks rustled as the bus picked up speed. Before long, Shiqi, the town where I was born, disappeared behind a haze of red dust. There was no turning back.

  PART II

  Snake Business

  CHAPTER 20

  The slow bus was full to capacity, with more people standing than sitting. All the windows were open to ease the heat generated by the passengers. The sky was
clear but steely pale, and I knew the glow from the east would soon make it worse. Country air wafted through my small window as the bus struggled along the gravel road. Although polluted by burnt diesel, the breeze was refreshing. It cleared my head but not the heavy dread that I might not see my family and friends for a long time – maybe never again. I tried to concentrate on the whiffs of sweet air from the peaceful landscape to lessen the sadness of leaving home, a little at a time.

  I started to perspire. I knew I had to grow quickly from a child to a man. I could feel the plight of my family, their anguish and pain. There was no room for failure.

  The bus continued to chew up the distance.

  From the conversations the other passengers shouted at each other, and their blue or khaki tunics, I could tell that most of them were reporting to their production units. Others were returning to their towns or villages along the coast. A lucky few of us were heading out of China for a new life. From our more presentable clothes and proper shoes, it was obvious to the others that we were leaving for Macau. The envy from those not leaving was hard to bear. Any eye contact would surely make them feel worse.

  The road to the border hadn’t changed since the last time I’d travelled on it with Flea and the good Mrs Ng. And it was the same kind of warm, humid day. The main difference this time was that this bus didn’t have a big boiler hanging behind it, so the driver didn’t have to keep making stops to shovel coal. However, his face was still red from the abundant dust that came through the window, and he wore a faded PLA cap and exuded an air of progressiveness. He seemed communistic and revolutionary, and proud of his plum job. Baba had told me that there were very few bus driver jobs in our town, and that we were fifty years behind Hong Kong and Macau in transportation, and in many other industries and technologies.

  For some reason I began humming my favourite revolutionary song, etched in my brain since my first days at kindergarten:

  Eighteen-year-old girls go get married soon,

  Bring up your sons, and quickly will they grow

  To be men and liberation heroes,

  Defend our Motherland bravely will they go . . .

  Was I a coward for running away to the capitalist world? Was I a deserter from communism? Such questions ran through my mind and I wondered why things were so sad; why did my family have to split up to survive?

  *

  It was mid-afternoon when we finally arrived at the border. A large Chinese national emblem in red and gold with five golden stars adorned the main entry to a plain two-storey building. Solemn guards in green PLA uniforms were everywhere, separating men, women and children into closely watched waiting areas. They then began to body-search every one of us in dim and humid rooms. They asked many questions, the same kind as they had when I’d entered Macau all those years ago.

  The first question: ‘Why are you leaving our Motherland?’

  I stared at the guard and didn’t attempt to answer.

  He didn’t even bother to look at me and went on to ask more questions. ‘Have you got any money with you?’

  ‘Twenty fen.’

  ‘Have you got more than that? You know you are not allowed to take more than one yuan out of China.’

  I showed him the two ten-fen notes my father had given me for an emergency.

  ‘Did anyone ask you to take anything out of China, like newspapers or revolutionary books?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Any antiques?’

  I didn’t know what he meant.

  At different times other guards asked the same questions, then they went off to confer with each other. They repeated them a few more times, exactly as my parents had predicted. I wondered how Mama and Baba knew all these things – probably from Ping and Grandmother Young.

  The guards eventually went away for a final discussion, just to be sure about me, before subjecting a few people to further interrogations as I was kept waiting.

  After I’d passed many hours in that border building they finally gave my papers back and allowed me to cross over to Macau. Hastily I strode through with the lucky ones, on what seemed to be an endless walkway, under the stares of more sombre guards. I wasted no time in sympathising with those detained behind me.

  The building on the Macau side of the border was equally plain, a large hall opening out into several rooms. No one was around apart from my fellow travellers and a few customs officers. The big difference was the Macau guards were relaxed, even friendly. They checked my papers and asked a couple of questions. I must have looked weary, if not pitiful and spent.

  A khaki-uniformed officer with a high-bridged nose, tanned skin, wavy brown hair and large deep-set eyes, a gweilo – foreign devil – offered me a drink of cool Sunkist Orange. I couldn’t remember ever being so close to a gweilo before, but I was distracted by the drink, delicious and much needed, my first refreshment for the day. My chest had been aching when I thought of the family I had left behind, but the chilled drink numbed my pain in one big gulp. It was magical. The exhaustion from the long trip left me, and I was ready to move on.

  I followed the others into the streets of Macau.

  *

  As soon as we stepped out of the border building, dozens of men pulling rickshaws swarmed around us, offering to take us to our destinations. But now everything seemed hazy and uncertain and I just stood there, looking around in some confusion.

  Then I noticed a man approaching me with a big smile on his face. He was a distant cousin who’d once lived a few houses away from us on Kwong Street and had come to Macau months earlier. He explained that he’d spotted me as soon as I stepped out of the building. ‘Must have been a tiring trip,’ he said as he took my little leather case. ‘Lucky I got your Baba’s letter this morning about your arrival.’

  ‘So glad to see you cousin. You look so much stronger than before,’ I said.

  ‘Must be the good food here,’ he said, grinning and patting his stomach.

  My cousin and I walked through many shop-lined streets in order to get to Third Aunt’s house. We went past stores laden with big colourful fruits – lychees, bananas and apples, and golden oranges I had never seen before. How I wanted to linger at the many cake shops and bakeries to take in the abundant mouth-watering smells of those freshly baked cookies, biscuits and cakes of all kinds. I also marvelled at the many stores filled with thousands and thousands of items for sale, from watches and cameras to a host of fashionable clothes, to shiny leather shoes and a seemingly endless variety of toys. The goods spilled over onto the footpaths where many little stands and carts competed under numerous signs and billboards drawing attention to their merchandise and produce.

  My eyes popped wide open as my cousin navigated us through the razzamatazz. How quickly my world had changed.

  As we approached the gentle incline that led to a small hill on the southern side of the Macau peninsula, the shops petered out. Soon there were no stores and very few pedestrians along a taxing slope lined with tall banyan trees, and I started to droop with fatigue.

  ‘Just a little further to go.’ My cousin coaxed me on.

  We finally stopped outside a single-level, flat-roofed bungalow on a road that led to Macau’s Guia Hill district. The sunset cast a welcoming flush onto the front courtyard of the whitewashed building. My cousin checked the address on a small piece of paper and nodded. I opened the gate and stepped in.

  Third Aunt appeared on the front porch, cooling herself with a small hand-fan that gave off a sweet, soothing sandalwood scent. Her well-combed hair was fashioned into a big bun behind her head like Grandmother Young’s, and a few streaks of grey seemed to emphasise her seniority in the family. Her fine aqua-blue satin cheongsam made her look very dignified as she welcomed me into her home.

  ‘Do come on in,’ she said to my cousin. ‘You must need a good drink now.’

  She then turned to me and said, ‘I’d begun to worry about you, my dear boy, and wondered if they had detained you at the border.’ Her loud clear voice ra
ng through the courtyard. ‘How’s your father? Poor man, I’m sure he’s had enough of the revolution. Lucky he survived the Great Northern Wilderness – not many did. Oh, Buddha please have mercy. Goddess of Mercy, please have mercy.’ She made half a bow towards a corner of the courtyard, where three big incense sticks were burning in front of a statue of General Guan Gong, the Goddess of Mercy and the other deities. Then Third Aunt patted me on the shoulder and looked closely at me with her large eyes that gleamed with intelligence. ‘My poor boy, just skin and bones . . . I’ll fatten you up and make you strong again. The blessings of the ancestors are with you. Oh, Buddha please have mercy,’ she repeated, holding back her tears and counting the traditional Buddhist mala beads she wore on a small chain and thanking the gods for my safe arrival.

  I took off my dirty shoes and dusty socks, and walked on the polished floor that glowed in the twilight, as cool as the water under Come Happiness Bridge. The sun had lost its heat, and a refreshing sea breeze streamed through Third Aunt’s wide-open windows. I undid the top buttons on my shirt to make the most of it.

  What immediately captured my attention out the window was the Guia Lighthouse, not far from Third Aunt’s home on top of the small hill, majestic and upright in brilliant white. Clustered around it were tough but short pine trees. Aha, I have my first exploration target, I thought. From the other windows I could see down the hill to the Macau metropolis, now blinking in the evening glow. I hastened to savour all the blessings that had been granted to me so far.

  ‘Now have some food, you must be starving,’ said Third Aunt.

  Eagerly I sank my teeth into a baguette with butter, while she looked on with a gentle smile and murmured her thanks to Buddha. I chewed the crisp crust and sucked the soft bread as it melted in my mouth, relishing it exactly as I’d wanted to do when dreaming of food while sitting on the levee wall.