by Ian Hamilton
As the raft began to move again, it occurred to Chow that they were now so far into the bay that there was no turning back. When he’d considered the swim, even up to the moment they got into the water in the village near Shekou, he hadn’t discounted the possibility that they might have to. Now there was only one direction they could go, and that was towards the lights of Yuen Long. The thought was liberating, and he felt a rush of adrenalin surge through his tired limbs.
Chow wasn’t a natural swimmer. His strokes were rather mechanical but he could repeat them, and as long as he didn’t think too much about what he was doing, he was confident he could keep up with the raft. He tried thinking about a host of other things, but it was his thoughts about Gui-San that were the most distracting — specifically Gui-San and him in bed, his hands on her breasts and hers on his groin. It might be misery that had brought them to Shenzhen, he thought, but they were going to make something wonderful from it.
“Ahh!” The scream came from the other side of the raft.
“What happened?” Chow shouted.
“I just swam into a dead body,” Bai yelled.
The group stopped swimming. They gathered around the raft, holding on to the sides as they bobbed in the water. Ai and Mai began to cry. Bai was by himself on the right, except for the corpse floating next to him. Jin Hai and Wei swam over to him. A minute later, the three men rejoined the raft.
“It’s the body of a young man,” Wei said. “It’s not bloated and it hasn’t been chewed or gnawed, so I’d guess he died very recently. He might even have tried to make the crossing earlier tonight.”
“He may have been alone,” Jin Hai said. “There is strength in our numbers.”
“And we have the door,” Tam said.
As Tam spoke, the door suddenly rose higher than their heads.
“The wind is getting stronger, and that means rougher water,” Jin said. “I figure we’re about halfway there. I’m still feeling strong and you all look good, so rough water or not, we’re going to make it if we keep working together.”
Chow had moved next to Gui-San while Jin Hai was talking. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“Okay. As good as can be expected under the circum-
stances.”
“Jin is right about our strength lying in numbers.”
“I really want to believe that.”
Chow looked towards Yuen Long. “Those lights keep getting bigger and brighter. Soon they’ll be right on top of us.”
“I wish we hadn’t found that body. It’s one thing to imagine not making it to Hong Kong, but it’s another to see the naked reality of what will happen if we don’t,” Gui-San said.
Leaving the floating body behind, they swam for the next fifteen minutes with an intensity that Chow knew was spurred by their collective fear and a desire to get as far away from it as possible. Regardless of their motives, they made good progress. The lights from Yuen Long seemed to grow ever brighter, pulling them like a magnet.
Then they began to slow. Their efforts didn’t lag, but the wind continued to increase and was blowing directly against them. As it moved across the bay it churned the water, and they soon found themselves confronting waves that washed over them, knocking them back.
“We aren’t getting anywhere,” Tam shouted.
“The wind is up and we seem to have run into a current. We have to fight through it. If we don’t, we’ll be stuck in the same place until the conditions change, and who knows how long that will take,” Chow said.
“Maybe we should rotate positions,” Jin Hai said.
“I’m tired,” Mai said. “Can I take a turn on the raft?”
“Sure,” Chow replied. “It’s time for a change anyway.”
It took several minutes to get everyone rearranged. While they were repositioning, wave after wave slammed into the raft and seemed to push them back towards Shekou. Chow knew they were probably just staying in place, but the perception was different. He moved next to Gui-San, who was gripping one of the side handholds. “We need to make a big push,” he said.
“I’ll do what I can.”
Chow nodded, lowered his head, and began to swim. He’d been reluctant to put his face in the filthy water when they’d started, but it was tiring holding his head high, so he’d given in, although he tried to keep his mouth clear of the water when he breathed. He wasn’t always successful, and several times he found himself gagging and spitting.
The wind fluctuated, so there were moments when the waves subsided. Whenever that happened, the group seemed to sense the opportunity and their swimming picked up in intensity. It was the opposite when the wind whistled and the waves battered them: they would back off until the water became calmer. Chow wasn’t sure that was the most efficient use of their energy, but he wasn’t about to stop and discuss it. He guessed they’d been swimming for about an hour in those conditions when Tam shouted, “I need to rest.”
Chow stopped, raised his head, and looked towards Yuen Long. The lights seemed closer — they’d made progress. He smiled.
As they gathered around the raft, Chow saw Jin Hai twisting his head from side to side. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“I can’t see Wei.”
Chow did a quick head count. There were ten people holding on to the raft. He looked back in the direction of Shekou. He could see maybe twenty or thirty metres before everything became completely black. There was no sign of Wei.
“He was just behind me and off to the side, but I can’t remember the last time I saw him,” Jin said.
“We’ll wait for a while. He’ll show up,” said Chow.
Fifteen minutes later they restarted their slow journey to Yuen Long, their group smaller by one.
As if in recognition of their increased vulnerability, the wind grew even stronger, creating waves big enough to lift the front end of the raft out of the water. The first time it happened, Ai, clinging to the door like mad, screamed. Somehow she held on and managed to prevent their bundles from sliding into the bay. They swam on, fighting their way through the cascading water.
Chow could now see shapes framing the lights from Yuen Long, and he knew they were getting close. He was exhausted. His legs felt as if they were pulling up cement boots, and his arms were stroking at half the pace they had been generating an hour before. When he glanced around him, he saw that most of the others were also struggling. He thought about calling for another rest period, but Yuen Long seemed so near, and he didn’t know if he could start up again if he stopped.
Gui-San was still on his left, holding on to the raft. He eased towards her. Her face was pale and gaunt and her lips were unnaturally red. “Are you okay?” he shouted, and then regretted it immediately as a wave hit him. His mouth filled with water and, without thinking, he swallowed it.
“How much longer?” she asked.
“I really don’t know. Maybe half an hour.”
“I can last longer than that,” she said.
Chow swam as close to her as he could without bumping her. Every minute now seemed like five as they continued to fight the waves and inch closer to shore. After another ten or fifteen minutes, however, the lights didn’t seem to be that much closer. For the first time since he’d left Shekou, Chow felt real despair and began to doubt they would make it.
“A break — I need a break,” someone yelled.
Nui appeared to be struggling to stay in contact with the raft.
“Let’s stop,” Chow shouted.
The raft came to a halt. Like bees drawn to nectar, they all quickly gathered at its sides, holding on and resting their foreheads on their hands.
“We’re almost there. All we need is one more strong effort,” Jin Hai said.
Chow started to say something, but a pain in his stomach made him catch his breath. He closed his eyes and tried to will it away, but what had
started low in this gut was climbing higher, and contracting as it went. He groaned.
“What’s the matter?” Gui-San asked.
“My stomach. At the last stop I swallowed a ton of that shitty water.”
“Throw it up.”
His body convulsed and he gagged. “I’m trying,” he said.
Chow drew a deep breath and immediately felt lightheaded. Then he convulsed again and almost let go of the door. His arms felt sapped of all the strength left in them. The discomfort was so disorienting that he hardly knew where he was. He gagged again but found no relief.
The others watched him, their interest blunted by their own exhaustion and sense of self-preservation. “We need to get moving,” Jin Hai said.
“I can’t swim in this condition,” Chow said.
“Then climb onto the raft.”
“Yes, get on,” Ai said. “I’ll manage on one of the sides.”
“That’s fine, but I’d like to put our two strongest swimmers at the end of the raft for the final push. We need to get through these waves as quickly as we can,” Jin said. “Is everyone okay with that?”
No one objected, and their watery game of musical chairs began again. When it was finished, Bai and Mei-Lin were at the end of the raft while Tam and Ai hung on to the sides. The others swam in open water, Gui-San and Mai side by side.
It took an enormous effort and a final shove from Bai to get Chow onto the raft. He crawled to the far end, tucked the bundles under his body, and held on. The door rocked back and forth on the waves and his nausea intensified. He tried to ignore it, but he was dry-heaving every fifteen seconds, and he knew it wouldn’t end until he vomited.
The group began kicking and the raft lurched forward. Chow tried looking straight ahead at the lights of Yuen Long, only to have them disappear as waves continued to crash over the raft. He retched, leaned over the edge, and threw up. A long stream of bile spewed from his mouth and he felt some relief as the pressure on his stomach eased. Then he thought about the people behind the raft who might have to swim through his vomit. “Sorry,” he said, and then threw up again.
This continued for the next few minutes, the pressure easing and then building until more bile was released. When that finally stopped, and after a few minutes more of dry heaving, Chow dropped his head onto the raft. He was completely drained, devoid of all energy. This wasn’t how he had envisioned arriving in Hong Kong. He hoped everyone would understand his predicament. Even if they did, it didn’t lessen his sense of shame for letting them down.
Chow buried his face in the bundles and extended his arms so he could grip the edge of the door as it pitched wildly in the water. The nausea and stomach cramps had subsided, but his head continued to pound, his mouth felt like sandpaper, and he barely had the strength to hang on.
“Fifteen minutes more — I swear that’s all it will take,” Jin Hai shouted.
Chow heard him but the words barely registered. He couldn’t lift his head and he seemed to have lost his sense of time and place. All he could think about was holding on and not letting the bundles slip into the water.
A few minutes later the water was suddenly calm. Chow turned his head and stared directly into the sun as it edged over the horizon. He thought he could feel someone standing next to him, and he wondered if he was hallucinating. He saw hands pushing the raft towards shore, and looked up. The upper halves of Tam and Jin Hai’s bodies were visible, rising above him as they walked along the bottom of the bay.
He stayed on the raft as it was dragged onto the beach. Voices that had been lost in the waves and wind began to penetrate his consciousness.
Tam knelt down beside him. “We made it,” he said.
Ai was behind Tam, her arms wrapped around him. She was crying into his back, her shoulders heaving.
“I didn’t think I was ever going to see land again. It terrified me,” Chow said.
“You were sick. You weren’t thinking straight.”
“I kept thinking that I hadn’t done enough with my life, and how could it end like this. Then I thought about Gui-San and all of you, and I thought, ‘No, this can’t be our last night. We deserve a future.’”
Ai’s crying grew louder. Chow noticed that Tam wouldn’t look directly at him.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
Tam paused before answering. “There’s no sign of Gui-San or Mai.”
( 1 )
June 1969
Fanling, New Territories, Hong Kong
Chow Tung stared at himself in the mirror. It was four-thirty p.m. on a Tuesday, and it was almost time for him to leave his apartment and walk to a restaurant near central Fanling. There he was to attend an initiation ceremony that would secure the futures of two young men as full-fledged members of the Heaven and Earth Society — triads, as they were more commonly known.
He was dressed, as usual, in a black suit and a white shirt buttoned to the collar. Chow had several black suits and many white shirts in his closet. Not having to decide what to wear every day made his life easier, and the garments conveyed to others that he was not a frivolous man. The last thing anyone would call Chow — the White Paper Fan of the Fanling triads — was frivolous.
His phone rang. Chow had been so absorbed in his thoughts about what lay ahead that it startled him. He hesitated before answering but gave in to its persistence.
“Wei,” he said.
“Uncle, it’s Xu. When are you leaving?”
“Ten minutes,” he said to his assistant. “Why?”
“Fong just called after speaking with Yu. He seems prepared to support your idea of opening a night market, if you are prepared to give him assurance that you will keep the massage parlours running as they are now.” Fong was the assistant to Yu, the Straw Sandal, and he, Xu, and Chow were the youngest and most progressive officials in the gang.
“I haven’t proposed changing anything that relates to the operation of Yu’s massage parlours.”
“I know.”
“How much clearer can I make it that we would eliminate protection payments only from the merchants who rent space from us in the night market?”
“You have made it very clear, but there is concern that you secretly want to get rid of all the old ways of doing business.”
“Just because I want to expand into some new areas doesn’t mean I don’t value the old ways.”
“Fong and I understand where you want to go, and why you want to go there, but not everyone does.”
Chow sighed. “Please thank Fong for the advice about Yu, and my thanks to you for passing it along.”
“Uncle, you know we are both with you.”
“I know, and I’m grateful for your support.”
“But I have to say we’re disappointed with how Gao is handling things. He has the authority to make the decision about the night market on his own. Putting it to a vote at the executive meeting tomorrow feels like he’s offloading his responsibility.”
“What I’m proposing is not a minor change. It will have a broad impact on our business. He wants to make sure that everyone understands the full picture,” Chow said. “He thinks that having a discussion will spread around the accountability. If it goes badly, he wants everyone to share in the blame. But I’m realistic enough to know that won’t happen. These are my ideas we’re discussing, and if we adopt them and they don’t work as planned, I’m the one who’ll pay the price.”
“And Gao knows that. He’s being cowardly. He should act like a proper Mountain Master and make the decision himself.”
“Having the meeting is the smart thing to do, so I can’t fault him.”
Xu hesitated, sensing that he’d already said enough on the subject. “I won’t be at the initiation ceremony but I’ll be at the dinner that follows it. Maybe we can talk more then.”
“I’ll see you at the dinner,�
�� Chow said, and ended the call.
If an outsider had overheard the conversation between Chow and Xu, they might have found it odd that Xu referred to Chow as “Uncle,” since the two men were not related. Xu was using the word as a sign of respect, something common in Chinese culture when a younger person speaks to an older man. In this case, however, the oddity was that both men were in their thirties. Odder still was that gang members much older than Chow also called him Uncle.
It had started five years before, when, after five years of working on the streets, Chow was promoted to the position of assistant White Paper Fan. The White Paper Fan was responsible for keeping the books, managing the gang’s money, and devising legal and business strategies. In keeping with the new position, Chow had got rid of his jeans and casual shirts and started wearing a black suit and white dress shirt. It became his signature look, and the clothes reflected his persona as a dependable, serious, perhaps even sombre man. It didn’t take long for his former street colleagues to notice his new style. They teased him that he was dressing like an old man and jokingly began referring to him as Uncle. It stuck as a nickname, and when the old White Paper Fan died and Chow was promoted, his peers started to call him that as well. Now it was even how he thought of himself.
His reputation, though, wasn’t limited to being thought of as dependable and serious. He had proven while working on the streets that he could be thoughtful and calm in almost any situation, but if circumstances demanded it, he wasn’t afraid of confrontation. Even though he stood only five foot five and weighed 130 pounds, Uncle wouldn’t back down from anyone if he thought he was right. It was a reputation he valued and guarded, but he never let it go to his head. He knew that the truth about himself was different from the image, and he wasn’t a man who embraced illusion.
Chow looked at his watch. It was time to go. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. He lit one as he left his one-bedroom apartment and made his way down three flights of stairs to the street. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the restaurant, which was two doors down from the gang’s offices, above a women’s clothing store on Luen Wo Road. Fanling was in the northeastern part of the New Territories, closer to mainland China than to Hong Kong Island, which was thirty-five kilometres away. Although the gang was identified with Fanling, its actual turf extended beyond the town to the traditional marketplaces of Luen Wo Hui and Shek Wu Hui. Another gang controlled Fanling’s sister town, Sheung Shui, with about 150 members, but both groups paled in comparison to the other territorial gangs in places like Tai Po, Sha Tin, Tai Wai, Yuen Long, Tuen Mun, Sai Kung, and Kam Tin, and they were like minnows compared to the gangs in Hong Kong and Kowloon.