One Bright Moon

by Andrew Kwong

  Mama said in one of her letters that Weng was miserable and could not wait for her monthly three-day leave to arrive; after each break there was another long month of peasant life to endure before the next leave. Weng became sunburned working outdoors. On her days off she spent most of the time in bed sleeping. She seldom talked and did not laugh or smile as she used to do ever so readily.

  Mama wrote about how she had tried to cheer Weng up with a small parcel of food to take on her trip back to the country outpost. ‘Here you are, my dearest,’ she said to Weng, ‘I’ve saved these three sweet potatoes just for you, and an extra bowl of brown rice – see, all cooked and ready for you to take.’

  ‘Why worry?’ Weng had replied. ‘It’ll only last a day or two, and I have nowhere to store it.’ Then she jumped on her rattling bicycle and pedalled away from home without taking the food.

  I couldn’t imagine how heartbroken Mama must have been as she waved Weng goodbye for another month. As I travelled to school on the crowded bus, how I wished that Weng could be there with me. I would show her how to estimate where the bus would stop as the impatient driver tried to dodge the crowds waiting at the bus stop and keep his usually full load of passengers moving along. One day I caught my reflection in the dusty window. I realised I was now frowning just like my parents.

  CHAPTER 29

  ‘This time we must go as far away from China as we can, even if it means the South Pole,’ Baba declared one morning, after a night of bad dreams. Many people we knew had already left Hong Kong. I’d got used to waving goodbye at Kai Tak Airport to classmates who were going to continue their studies overseas. I couldn’t help being envious.

  However, for the many millions of people in Hong Kong like us with little or no wealth or connections, the way out was difficult, if not impossible. International sanctions against China continued, and the Cold War was threatening the world with nuclear war. No one wanted anything to do with a communist state like China that was wretchedly poor, and all Chinese were regarded as possible communists. Our grandparents and uncles in Hawaii didn’t even acknowledge that they still had family in China for fear of arousing suspicion; anti-communist sentiment was entrenched in America and allied countries. For us to apply to emigrate to the United States was definitely out of the question.

  My desire to leave the colony became a constant thought that soon turned into an obsession, so much so that later I felt ashamed of myself for trying to escape my past and lunge ahead to secure my own future. But I needed to break free, to breathe, to shout, to jump. I didn’t care how far away I had to go, and Australia started to seem like the logical destination – partly because it was close to the South Pole.

  One of the brothers at La Salle College was Australian. He often told us fascinating stories of the country’s outback, its Aboriginal people, bushfires, kangaroos, and its many beautiful beaches. He showed us pictures of Sydney Harbour Bridge, Ayers Rock (now Uluru), and sports such as cricket and rugby. We even had a rugby team at La Salle.

  Several classmates had already gone to, or were planning to leave for, Australia. It looked like the ideal country, a place where I could work and study at the same time.

  Encouraged by Ping, I brought up the topic with Baba one evening. He asked many questions and nodded as Ping and I tried our best to answer them. I could see he was deep in thought, his eyes half-shut while he smoked. He wanted to know where I’d stay, what school I would attend, how much it would cost a year, and how we would afford it. Were students even allowed to work part-time? We talked late into the night, identifying and solving many potential problems, and noting down the ones that we didn’t have the answers for. By the time I went to bed, I was starting to feel hopeful. I lay thinking about Australia and imagining all the possibilities, and my excitement kept me awake for many nights that followed.

  ‘You were restless in your sleep again last night,’ Baba said to me at breakfast one morning.

  ‘I’m excited about Australia. I really want to go there to continue my schooling,’ I replied. ‘I can see the Harbour Bridge and kangaroos whenever I close my eyes.’

  ‘I worry about how you will get on without any friends or family.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, I can make friends,’ I replied. My successful passage from Macau, my increased confidence in learning a new language, the wonderful school I was attending, and my good friends – all seemed to have increased my self-assurance. The previous six years living in Hong Kong had opened my eyes to the world, and I was ready to explore it.

  ‘I am happy for you to try to get there, my son.’ Baba put his arms on my shoulders and looked at me closely. ‘Perhaps it’s the final proof that you are now a man who is able to fend for himself away from home.

  ‘Here’s the deal then,’ Baba continued. He told me he would agree to me leaving for Australia, provided I took full responsibility for arranging all the necessary paperwork, including my applications for a passport and an Australian student visa, passing the English test, organising accommodation, finding a school to accept me, and even purchasing the airfare.

  Through my classmates I found out how to apply for a visa to Australia. I then visited the Australian High Commission in Victoria to seek further information and obtained all the necessary documents, including forms to be signed by a financial guarantor, an Australian guarantor and a guardian.

  Baba’s meagre bank account did not allow him to guarantee my expenses in Australia, but a cousin of his was happy to help us out on that front and sign the paperwork; he trusted my father to take care of the costs. A friend of a friend of Ping’s in Sydney, Dr Mabel Lee, gladly accepted the job as my guardian.

  Ping was delighted. ‘Now you only need to find a school and pass the English test.’ Ping was still working for Cathay Pacific and had got to know many people there. Based on a suggestion from one of her colleagues, I applied to Holy Cross College in Ryde to be a boarder. I’d read up on the school and had even worked out on the map how far it was from Sydney. St Joseph’s College in Hunters Hill was far too expensive for us.

  In the autumn of 1968, I successfully passed the English test and was accepted into Holy Cross College. Other necessary travel documents were approved by the Colonial Hong Kong Government for the journey, and the Australian High Commission then issued my student visa without any hitch.

  I wrote to my uncles and grandfather in Hawaii, explaining how I planned to further my studies in Australia, and asking them for financial assistance. They promptly sent my airfare, along with their encouragement, and Ping found a great deal with Pan American Airways.

  I was ready to go.

  CHAPTER 30

  The District Head in Shiqi continued to deny permission for Mama and my sisters to join us, while the Hong Kong newspapers and radio stations kept up their reports on the upheavals on the mainland, including stories of atrocities inflicted on many. Mama’s letters told us they were safe for the time being, but never offered much hope for the future. She could not tell us anything about the chaos at home for fear of repercussions. I missed them all so much, especially now that I was heading overseas. All we could do was keep our optimism and hope alive and try not to give in to anger and hatred for China, which was commonly expressed in the news at the time. We made sure there was nothing in our letters that could jeopardise Mama’s and my sisters’ safety.

  When they heard I was applying to go overseas for further education, they wrote more often. Mama’s repeated message to me was, ‘Don’t look back.’

  Don’t look back. Mama finished every letter with the same words. I sensed that she was cutting the strings and letting me fly. I absorbed her letters with sorrow, feeling her pain as I read between the lines, treasuring the unspoken meaning behind each word. With so much encouragement and support from Mama, I could not let myself be afraid or let anything hold me back.

  On the eve of my departure from Hong Kong, Mama, Ying and Weng wrote to offer their best wishes. Their hope and excitement seemed to jump off t
he paper and envelop me in a warm hug. But I also sensed their intense disappointment at not being able to see me off, and their sad acceptance of the fact that we could not be together as one family. It was now nearly seven years since I had last seen them.

  On 29 January 1969, Baba, Ping and I thanked our ancestors in our small living quarters in Diamond Hill before heading to the airport. Ping and I prayed to God for a safe journey as we remembered all the good people in our lives, and asked for blessings from them all. Without their generosity, we would not have been able to get to where we were at the time.

  My flight was due to take off at midnight. Our landlady insisted that I must leave the house by the front door for good luck. The afternoon rush had long died down. The air was chilly up where we were. A few pedestrians were still about, huddling in their bulky overcoats to keep warm against the north wind that howled across the sky.

  In front of the bungalow in Diamond Hill, the old banyan trees on Grand View Road rustled in the cold wind and the sparrows were subdued, offering only occasional dull twitters. I would miss the concerto they so eagerly performed every evening in the warmer months. I looked out from the gate, past the undulating landscape of huts and makeshift shelters dotted with occasional bungalows like ours, to the main road that led towards Kowloon Bay and on to Kai Tak Airport where a jet plane was waiting to take me far away to another country. I was fearful. I braced myself and tried not to think about what might happen out there in the unknown world. I had to trust my guardian angels, and the blessings of home, and remember my enlightenment credit points, which would surely offer me some protection.

  I thought about Lei-yue-mun, the Carp Gate, at the northern end of Hong Kong Harbour, the mythical exit to the ocean and beyond, and I remembered my favourite legend about the carp that kept trying to jump over the gate in order to transform themselves into dragons – supreme beings among all. Now I, too, had to fly over the Carp Gate.

  Feeling better, more eager for the adventure ahead, I quickened my pace to catch up with Baba and Ping. I was wearing my navy blue tailor-made suit, with a contrasting light blue shirt. The good Shanghai tailor in Diamond Hill had assured Baba that it would look smart on me, as well as keeping me warm without being bulky and cumbersome. Baba had bargained hard, so much so that the tailor was begging and almost crying at the end, saying what a privilege it was to sew a suit for someone from Diamond Hill going overseas to study. As he ran his well-worn tape over me, he promised to make me look like a millionaire’s son. I think that broke Baba’s fortitude in the bargaining tussle. Unable to resist such flattery, Baba parted happily with his hard-earned money for my first suit. He was proud as I slipped into my suit with a tie to match, and the tailor was right: I felt warm and comfortable in the cosy pure wool. I straightened my back and looked taller. My frown disappeared. My eyes opened wide and twinkled a lot that day.

  The unpleasant odour of the narrow streets in Diamond Hill didn’t dampen our excitement as we marched towards the main road to catch the bus to the airport. I dropped by our favourite noodle stall to say goodbye to the owners and their children. They wished me well, and then turned to their children who were helping in the family business and said, ‘You all have to work hard like Ah-mun, and one day you’ll study overseas and be successful.’ The children nodded, and stared at me with envy.

  I smiled back and felt very grown up. Under the streetlight, the Pan Am logo on my cabin bag on my shoulder stood out: a bold white globe, a rare sight in Diamond Hill. With the brand-new Olympia typewriter Ping had bought me as a farewell gift in the other hand, I felt like a real scholar. Now I had the world within my reach. Customers turned to offer their best wishes to their lucky neighbour. A few were jealous, but all were happy that one of theirs was breaking out of the slum. The battle was worth fighting. There were opportunities in the colony for everyone.

  Baba carried my suitcase and Ping walked beside me. We said little to each other as we walked down Grand View Road, but I could feel a spring in my feet as we approached the bus stop.

  Below Diamond Hill, near the main road, several restaurants offered northern-style cuisines. The rich array of dishes, with their exotic aromas and spices, was a stark contrast to the plain noodles we’d eaten before I departed from Shiqi. I was able to laugh at the contradiction, and Baba read my thoughts, as he often did without even trying.

  ‘Let’s have some delicious Shanghai noodles,’ he said with the air of a rich man wanting to celebrate. ‘It’s a lot cheaper here than at the airport.’

  The waiter brought us a thick menu, and Baba laughed. It was a laugh of triumph and pride. His face glowed under the gaudy chandeliers of the cheap restaurant and his eyes shone with confidence.

  I ordered a bowl of plain noodles, conscious of the price and our meagre financial state. In my mind, every dollar not spent was a dollar saved for my education.

  ‘We can afford more than that today, son,’ Baba said to me with a broad smile, looking younger than ever.

  ‘Yes, we should celebrate!’ Ping was elated, and also very proud of me. Her job as a receptionist at the Cathay Pacific Airways Head Office had boosted her poise, and she was as beautiful as any movie star gracing the front cover of a magazine. No wonder so many people looked her way wherever she went.

  The heater in the restaurant hummed as it warmed the cold air coming through the swinging doors. My steaming hot noodles arrived, along with a plate of smoked fish and hot tofu. The waiter brought us hot jasmine tea.

  I thought of my little gang of friends back home and wondered if they knew I was leaving for a foreign land. I thought Ah-dong would die with envy if he knew I was going abroad to study, rather than as a sojourner.

  ‘Please ask Mama to tell Ah-dong that I have gone to Sydney, and I hope one day he’ll come to visit me.’

  Baba nodded, but said nothing.

  I knew it was impossible. There was not a chance, not a hope, that Ah-dong would ever make it out of China. Sadness struck. I turned to my bowl of noodles.

  The eight o’clock bus was quiet. Even with all the windows shut, it was cold sitting on the plastic seats. Neon billboards trembled outside. It was only a few stops to the airport. I didn’t know what to think as we got off. In a way, I was just as ready to leave as I had been on that May morning in Shiqi. But then I had left without any desire to return – even though it was my home and birthplace, and the home of Baba, his father and our ancestors – whereas I was leaving Hong Kong with a plan to return one day, after successfully completing my academic studies.

  Many classmates and friends came to the airport to see me off. I lingered on to say goodbye to each one of them. We took many photographs. Both Baba and Ping were as proud as could be.

  ‘Your opportunity has arrived,’ Baba said to me. ‘Grasp it. Take great care when making friends. True friends are hard to come by, so treasure them. Don’t fall into bad company. It rubs off on you as a person.’

  I didn’t enter the gate until the final call. I had already made up my mind not to look back – just as I’d done when leaving Shiqi. It was not a time for sadness and tears.

  As I stepped into the cabin, a poem that had been Ying’s farewell gift in her last letter to me rang in my ears:

  Fly my young eagle, fly.

  Let the sky be the limit,

  Far away you must roam.

  With no fear but much courage,

  Far away you must go.

  Fly my young eagle, fly!

  With the assistance of an air steward, I fastened my seatbelt and sat back. Clutching the armrests in anticipation, I looked around from my lonely seat at the very rear of the Pan Am 707 jet plane as it began to taxi towards the runway. It was my first-ever plane trip and I couldn’t help but feel uneasy, even though it was a lot more comfortable than my frightening journey inside the crawl space at the pointy end of the fishing junk that had smuggled me into Hong Kong a mere seven years earlier.

  The ‘Seven-O-Seven’, as this model of Boeing jet
was known, took off from Kai Tak Airport with a thunderous roar, like ten thousand dragon boats fervently beating their drums. It was like travelling in a perpetual thunderbolt, booming and shaking the entire continent and my whole universe.

  I stretched my shoulders to feel the strength of my wings. Everything smelled fresh inside the plane, thanks to a constant stream of cool air coming from the roof of the giant roaring eagle. I didn’t mind in the least that immediately behind me were the plane’s toilet and small working area for the staff. Leaning forward hard, I peeped through a small round window. The glimpse of Hong Kong Harbour with its million lights was reassuring, and reminded me of the relief I’d felt when I saw those same lights as my fishing junk successfully reached the island.

  Already exhausted by everything I’d experienced in my young life, I didn’t care. I slumped deep into my seat, seeking to relieve my fatigued mind and body, and before long I lapsed into sleep. I felt liberated, ready to move on, roam and explore.

  Fly, young eagle, fly!

  CHAPTER 31

  A very deep sleep it was. I don’t recall taking any of the refreshments offered to me, nor did I dream. The constant roar of the powerful engines and the incessant rocking and vibrations at the tail end of the jet are all I remember. But then a bump and sudden change of engine noise shook me from my slumber. There was hardly any light inside the cabin and the passengers stirred, mumbling to their companions. A few shrieked in alarm. Suddenly we were on the ground, taxiing.

  Didn’t we just take off from Hong Kong? Where are the harbour lights? What’s going on? Ah, maybe we have arrived in Australia! But why is it so dark? A flood of different thoughts rushed at me.

  The captain’s voice came over the speaker: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just arrived in Manila to refuel as scheduled. It shouldn’t take too long . . .’