by P J Tierney
‘Can you imagine Low See at a desk?’ The fisherman beside him laughed. ‘He’d break the chair.’
‘Or eating lunch out of one of those little boxes Leung takes in?’ Old Man Kwok cut in, clearly amused as he mimed the delicate unwrapping of imaginary sandwiches.
‘Or saying “yes, sir” to any idiot in a tie!’ someone else shouted.
‘Or wearing a tie,’ added another.
They were making fun of Mr Leung now and Bohai turned red on his father’s behalf. But Mr Leung was laughing along with them, seemingly amused by their imitations. Jamie shot him a grateful smile, which earned him another ferocious glare from Low See.
Old Mama Chow resumed her pouring and the fishermen all tapped their thanks as she passed. Jamie watched carefully as she poured for Bohai. Bohai tapped his two fingers twice on the tabletop, drawing an encouraging nod of approval from his father.
Twelve must be some kind of turning point, Jamie thought. He had never seen Bohai make this gesture before.
Old Mama Chow was getting close now. Jamie wondered if saying thank you would mark him as different, or would using the tapping gesture be making a claim that wasn’t his to make? He wished he had a father beside him, like Bohai did: a real father who could guide him.
Jamie’s stomach swirled as the teapot loomed. He decided the better course would be to throw his lot in with the men around the table. To make a claim to his Chinese side, not to the gweilo who had refused to lend the trawler’s captain his spare pump.
Old Mama Chow poured Feng’s tea and plucked the cigarette from his mouth.
‘Hey,’ Feng whined, breaking his double tap as he saw his cigarette fizzle out in a puddle.
‘Filthy habit,’ Old Mama Chow scolded as if Feng was still a child.
The teapot hovered over Jamie’s cup. When the steaming liquid reached the rim, Jamie gently tapped the table.
Low See Fut snorted. He reached over and slammed his hand over Jamie’s. ‘That is not for you.’
A yelp lodged in Jamie’s throat. He stared at Low See, helpless as the big man ground his hand into the table, squashing the fragile bones together. The flesh on his palm throbbed and burned as the embarrassment inside him flared. Jamie refused to let the tears come or to turn away from Low See’s glare.
It was Old Mama Chow who broke the deadlock. She reached up to her full yet tiny height and slapped Low See in the middle of his back. Because she was ancient and small and because she was Old Mama Chow, Low See relented. Jamie’s fingers stung as the blood made its way back into the squashed veins.
Low See had made his point clearly enough, yet he reinforced it by making a deliberate show of tapping his thanks when Old Mama Chow’s teapot came his way again.
Jamie wanted to scurry back to The Swift where he could let the tears come, but he was twelve now. He had to stay put and drink his tea. He drained the cup in two scalding gulps, then stood and wished the men Happy New Year, his traitorous voice cracking as he spoke.
As he turned from the table, his eyes were drawn to the place on the tablecloth where Low See had pushed his hand down. Melted into the clear plastic was the scorched imprint of his hand. Jamie looked from it to his reddened palm; he could still feel the heat radiating from his flesh. He pushed his hand deep into his pocket, hiding it and his embarrassment.
Feng Chow saw the fused plastic and a look of surprise flashed across his face. He looked from the tabletop to Jamie’s palm and back again, then opened his mouth as if he was about to speak. But he seemed to think better of it and instead surreptitiously slipped a newspaper over the damage. Nevertheless, Jamie felt Feng Chow’s stare and Low See Fut’s glare follow him all the way back to The Swift.
Chapter 4
School started back after the New Year break. Jamie watched the village children walk by in their crisp uniforms. The words and numbers that the kids practised were becoming more of a mystery to him. Jamie knew he was being left behind. With each passing year of being Hector’s boat boy, his chances of becoming anything else grew more and more remote.
‘Maybe this year?’ he asked his father.
Hector scoffed. ‘What do you need school for? You’ve already got a job,’ and he handed Jamie two filthy hosepipes. ‘Clean these and see if you can find that leak.’ Then he flicked a thick instruction manual at Jamie. It had a diagram of an engine on the front. ‘If you want to learn something, you can start here. The air-intake valves need to be replaced too.’
Hector strode off, leaving behind a dirty fuel line to clean, a set of instructions and a twelve-year-old boy who couldn’t read.
Jamie was concentrating on the diagrams when he heard a pounding from the escarpment. It was a rhythmic thud, not unlike a heartbeat. He began to hear voices too, muffled at first but getting closer.
‘Come on, boys, this way,’ a voice called. A line of boys in shiny, bright navy and white colour-coordinated running singlets came into view. They slowed as they approached Sai Chun, and the leader pulled up to survey the tiny village. ‘Whoa,’ he said as he looked at the fishermen’s starboard-leaning houses, Feng Chow’s hand-painted signs, the tarpaulin over the Leungs’ unfinished house, The Swift with engine parts on the deck, and Jamie.
‘Didn’t think anyone lived down here,’ the boy said.
‘Or would want to,’ another added as he spat on the ground.
They were teenagers, probably somewhere between twelve and sixteen. If Jamie could have read the words on their singlets, he would have learned that they were the cross-country running team from Xavier Elite Private, the international school on the other side of the headland.
The boys strutted to the well in the village square and laughed at the tap that had been crudely plumbed through a hole in the side of the ancient stone.
‘Can you believe this place?’ one of them said, turning on the tap and pouring handfuls of the precious water over his head.
The boys were having a water fight when Jamie heard a high-pitched, desperate shriek ringing from the escarpment. None of the private-school boys took any notice. Jamie ran towards the scream; it was getting more and more frantic. He was almost at the brush line when a girl broke through, thrashing her arms about.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jamie asked as the girl twisted and contorted, slapping at her sides and head.
She stopped when she heard his voice. ‘It’s … um …’ Her cheeks turned a brilliant red and she shuffled her feet. ‘It’s spider webs.’ Then she smiled at Jamie and her whole face shone. ‘I hate spiders.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ Jamie said.
‘Hey, Luce,’ called the boy who had sneered at Jamie, ‘we’re waiting.’
Jamie looked over to where the group stood with folded arms. Some boys looked at their watches, one started tapping his foot. Jamie noticed that none of them turned the water off.
‘Yeah, well, you can wait a minute longer,’ the girl said, then quietly to Jamie: ‘If I turn around, would you please check there aren’t any spiders on me? I don’t trust any of them to do it.’
She turned slowly and Jamie checked for spiders, but also did some other checking out. She was lovely: Chinese, with long black shiny hair, and probably his age. Her cheeks glowed from the running and she wore an oversized Hello Kitty watch on her wrist. Although she had a pink cardigan over her colour-coordinated running outfit, it didn’t look silly. Jamie was suddenly embarrassed to be covered in engine grease.
Lucy turned back and caught Jamie mid-stare. ‘All clear,’ he said as he quickly looked away.
‘Thanks.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Lucy.’
Jamie wiped his greasy hand on his shorts before taking hers. ‘Jamie,’ he said. From the corner of his eye, he saw the running boys wiping their hands in an exaggerated imitation of him. He hoped Lucy didn’t think he was an idiot.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ she said, straightening her cardigan, taking a deep breath and preparing to run again. ‘They think they’re important because their fathe
rs have money.’
She jutted out her chin and started off in a motion that might have been called running if she had landed on her heels and not the tips of her toes.
‘They don’t seem to bother you,’ Jamie called after her, impressed by her attitude if not her running style.
‘No, they don’t,’ she said confidently, loud enough for the boys to hear. ‘My father is richer than all of theirs.’ She waited until she was level with the boys before adding, ‘Richer than all of them put together.’
By the way the boys suddenly became interested in their shoes, Jamie knew it had to be true.
The boys gave Jamie a final glare, then followed Lucy out of the village. Jamie was admiring the back of the pink cardigan when one of the boys turned around.
‘Hey, Morris,’ he called to the leader, ‘looks like the boat boy’s got a thing for Lucy.’
Morris stopped, saw Jamie quickly avert his eyes and strutted back. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said, grinding his finger into Jamie’s chest. ‘You keep your dirty hands off her.’
‘Maybe you should tell her that,’ Jamie said, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. ‘She was doing most of the talking.’
Morris scoffed. ‘You have no idea who she is, do you?’
He spoke in a way that implied Jamie was an idiot for not knowing. Jamie held Morris’s glare while he racked his brain, trying to figure out what he should obviously know. He felt more stupid by the minute just standing there with nothing to say and no way out.
Morris saw through the delay. ‘Stupid boat boy,’ he said, loud enough to raise a chuckle from his colour-coordinated friends. ‘She,’ he added with great importance, pointing towards the path the pink cardigan had vanished along, ‘is Lucy Wang.’
Lucy Wang, Jamie thought, and gradually it dawned on him. A Wang … one of those Wangs.
The Wangs were more than a family, they were a dynasty. DeiWei Wang, Lucy’s father, owned three newspapers, one cable and satellite network, most of the real estate in the territory, a film studio and distribution company, a brokerage firm, two big auction houses, an electricity supply company and both of the territory’s telecommunications networks. He’d built all this from just one newspaper, which Lucy’s grandfather had inherited sixty-two years ago. Everyone in the territory knew the story.
‘That’s right,’ Morris said, seeing the recognition in Jamie’s face, ‘one of those Wangs. So, boat boy, back off.’
He spat the last words, spraying Jamie in saliva. Jamie grasped the front of Morris’s singlet and wiped his face with it. Morris pushed him away, revolted. But Jamie was no pushover; he’d seen every Master Wu movie ever made. He took a defensive stance just like in the films, both fists high, his feet apart.
Morris jumped into his own stance and screamed, ‘Hiya!’ He turned his palm upwards and beckoned Jamie with a wave.
Jamie’s heart sank; he already knew how this would play out. He squared up and stood his ground though. He was too angry to step back or step down; angry enough to take whatever was coming if it meant he might hurt Morris even just a little bit.
‘Give it your best shot,’ he taunted.
Morris did, straight in Jamie’s face. Jamie’s head snapped back and his nose started to bleed. The pain was excruciating, but he held his hands in place and squared up to Morris again.
‘Oww,’ said one of the other boys with a laugh, seeing the sharp angle of Jamie’s nose. ‘That’s got to hurt.’
Morris hit Jamie in the face again and the broken part of Jamie’s nose stabbed into the bruised flesh. The searing pain ran all the way to his stomach and bile rose in his throat. Morris followed with a kick to the side of the head.
Enough, Jamie thought as he reeled. If there is a God out there, please, enough! His whole body was screaming with pain and frustration. He clenched his fists and his palms burned. He closed his eyes to draw on every bit of energy. He wanted to land just one punch, to hurt someone else for a change.
The boys suddenly stopped laughing. Jamie heard a murmur among them that quickly turned to alarm.
‘Morris …’ The voice was panicked. ‘Over there. Man, what is that?’
Jamie’s eyes were still closed, waiting for the blow, but nothing came. He dared a peek. The boys were all pointing into the jungle, and now Jamie heard a rumbling that sounded like a train hurtling towards them. There was a smell too, like the burning oxy-acetylene smell from his welder. Then, through the trees, he saw them: brilliant balls of shimmering light, thirty, maybe forty of them, bouncing off trees and rocks, correcting their course, flying directly at them.
Morris stammered, ‘Wh-what the …?’ He’d gone very pale.
Jamie seized the advantage. He quickly squared up and landed two punches, left then right onto Morris’s face. Morris was stunned but didn’t fall.
The orbs were getting closer. Morris’s teammates were backing away, stumbling and staring.
Morris returned his focus to Jamie and put a side kick up under his ribs. It knocked the wind out of Jamie and he felt his lungs jam up under his shoulder somewhere.
Morris jumped into position again and as his foot started its trajectory towards Jamie’s head in a swinging roundhouse kick, a blur of pink came flying through the group of boys. It was Lucy, in full flight and magnificent. Her front leg was straight and braced by the other, her foot squared ready for impact. Her torso was upright and her eyes were locked onto Morris. Jamie recognised the move from the Master Wu films. The breath caught in his throat and it had nothing to do with being winded.
Lucy’s flying kick threw Morris off balance and he crashed heavily to the ground. But the damage had already been done: Jamie was losing blood and losing consciousness. The shimmering orbs dissipated. Jamie’s last thought before slumping onto the ground and into blissful painlessness was: Can everyone do kung fu except me?
Chapter 5
The following day, Jamie stayed away from mirrors and from the villagers. It wasn’t the first time that he’d been black and blue from a beating and he didn’t want them thinking Hector had done it this time. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to protect his father’s reputation, more that he couldn’t bear the villagers’ silent pity.
He returned to the escarpment path and stood where Morris had confronted him. Except for the pool of dried blood, there was nothing to indicate that anything strange had happened there. No sign of the shimmering orbs. He searched the trees and rocks nearby for singe marks, he trudged through the thick jungle to see where they might have come from, he sniffed the air for the smell of the oxy welder, but there was nothing. It was like the orbs had appeared from nowhere. If it wasn’t for the reactions of the private-school boys, he might have thought he’d imagined the whole thing.
Jamie was some way off the path, turning over the thick leaves on the ground, when he heard a soft rustle. He froze. It was a very still morning without so much as a breeze, so something — or worse, someone — had created the disturbance. Jamie strained his ears for the slightest sound, his eyes for the smallest movement. After an eternity of burning eyes and strained ears, he risked moving himself. He took a step towards the path. The leaves crunched under his foot and the branches brushed against his body. He stopped again and listened; still nothing.
He raised his foot and took another step, listened for the crunch and rustle, then lifted his foot again. This time he stopped mid-stride to catch out anyone mimicking him. He heard it: a footstep in the undergrowth. He whipped around and raised his fists, but saw nothing. Everything was still and silent, except the pounding of his heart.
Jamie put one foot behind him and eased his weight back. He heard the movement echoed inside the tangle of lush plants and dark shadows. He was being stalked.
His mind raced. Did it have something to do with the orbs? Or had Morris come back to finish him off? Or was it Low See Fut, still holding a grudge about the salvaged trawler?
Jamie was too far from the path to make a dash for it and t
oo vulnerable to take a stand. Still, he clenched his fists and tried to be prepared. He didn’t have to wait long. He heard the rustle of branches again. He adjusted his stance so he was facing the source, crouched low and peered into the foliage. There was movement — a scurrying shadow.
Jamie fought the urge to run away. It would be stupid to expose his back. Instead, he stood firm and said in a shaky voice, ‘I can see you.’
There was no reply.
Jamie kept his focus wide, watching the plants for any movement that would tell of someone approaching. The leaves and fronds were trembling a foot off the ground. Whatever was stalking him was only knee-high.
Jamie bent down and looked into the shadows. He let out a little cry of surprise. A pair of dark glossy eyes was staring back at him.
Jamie recoiled and stumbled. The owner of the eyes darted behind a thick stalk. It was a small rhesus monkey, pitch black in colour. Jamie had never seen a monkey that colour before.
He took a second to calm his breathing and smiled his relief. ‘Hey, little fella,’ he said gently and held his hand towards the monkey in an inviting way. The monkey retreated further. Jamie made soft clicking sounds with his tongue and tried to coax him out, but the monkey was having none of it.
‘You gave me a bit of a fright,’ Jamie said.
The monkey cocked his head to one side in a way that made Jamie think he was trying to make sense of his words.
He made a final attempt, reaching out to the monkey and rubbing his fingers together like he was holding food, but the little creature stayed put. So Jamie said goodbye and turned back towards the escarpment path. He could hear the monkey following him, yet every time he whipped around to catch it, it darted behind a tree.
‘You can’t come with me,’ Jamie told the black eyes that peeked out at him. ‘Dad’ll kill you.’ He thought for a second and added, ‘Probably me too.’
Monkeys didn’t have a good reputation in Sai Chun. They were known for stealing food, upending rubbish bins and squealing loudly. Jamie knew that this little monkey would have no chance if Hector found him aboard The Swift. He’d be overboard in an instant, and it wouldn’t matter to Hector how far out to sea they might be at the time.