The Melting Pot

by Christopher Cheng

  Tuesday, 24 November

  I wondered if there were many other people like Elizabeth’s family who were so prejudiced that they find fault with all Chinese goods. There must be otherwise the government would not create immigration laws. Some boys at school think like Elizabeth’s family, I am certain.

  The family of one of the boys, when they found out that the furniture they bought from Farmers was made by the Asiatics, took it back there and demanded their money back. When that didn’t happen they broke it and left it there. I laughed at the silliness of it. He tripped me when I left school that afternoon.

  ‘But what do you think Chek Chee?’ asked Father when we were together. ‘I think the same as you and Mother,’ I replied. ‘That all the people are equal and that everyone has a valuable contribution to make to the society.’ I wanted to add except maybe my cousin’s family but I know that is not right. But that’s how I feel.

  ‘Yes that is true, Edward.’ Mother was here. ‘You do think like your father and I. And that is the difference. You think like us, and Elizabeth thinks like her parents—well, really her father. I cannot believe that my sister feels as unwarmly as her husband. But do remember that you can make your own decisions too.’

  ‘A child is a reflection of their parents and so we would expect you to be like you are. Otherwise we are not undertaking our responsibilities properly.’ That’s what Father would say—Mother said it instead.

  Sunday, 29 November

  We usually attend St Phillips church or the cathedral, but not today. Today we went to the temple in Glebe. It is very different to church.

  Chinese families from the Sze Zap region have built a temple. The main temple was built last century. Father was with some of the temple men, Mother was with my sisters, I was with Mr Lee. He came too. He told me it will be a wonderful day when the temple is completed and enough land has been purchased. Then people will be able to see out to Rozelle Bay. That is good Feng Shui to be able to see the water from the temple steps.

  I asked Father why we should go to the temple but Mr Lee answered. ‘Temple to worship, give offerings to different gods, not just one Christian God. Too much work for one god alone.’

  It was Mother who continued, ‘We all go Edward because this is part of your Chinese heritage.’

  ‘That is why when the temple opening is celebrated we will all be attending,’ continued Father. All his children must know and understand where they come from—and he added, ‘That is why you are going to China, to understand your heritage.’

  There were lots of Chinese people around like Father and Mr Lee. I did not ask Mother but she must feel uncomfortable there. I do. No-one else looks like her. And only my sisters look like me. I feel as uncomfortable as I did at the Chinese church.

  Monday, 30 November

  We have new customers now thanks to bad road conditions outside the store. The lady, I do not know her name, was crossing the road and tripped on a loosened woodblock. It did not help that the road was slippery. This was most unusual because we have not had rain for over a week now. I saw her slip and she was injured. I knew because she could not stand properly.

  I rushed over, collected her parcels and assisted her to her wobbly feet. She was dizzy, maybe she hit her head, so I led her to Father’s store telling her that we would get some water and she could sit down. She was very pleased until she realised that I was directing her into a Chinese store. She hesitated, holding the door frame, not wanting to go in.

  ‘That is a Chinese store. I cannot go in there.’ She loosened her grip on me.

  ‘I know,’ was my response adding boastfully, ‘it is my father’s store,’ as I pushed her through the doorway.

  Inside Father and Mother quickly attended to her, bathing and bandaging her wounds. The woman was extremely thankful, but she seemed very nervous.

  ‘It is, ummm, quite nice in here. What is it that you sell?’ And of course Father proudly told her nearly everything he had in stock. The woman relaxed and then questioned Father in detail, where does it come from, who buys the goods, how does it get here, and many more. Refreshed, she left, with a pair of slippers (she paid for those) and some food treats (Mother gave her a parcel). ‘I shall be back,’ she added as she left the store. ‘This is extremely nice in here.’

  Father and Mother were very pleased at my response today, not because we have a new customer but because I was able to assist. ‘This is the right thing to do Chek Chee, no matter who the person is. And see, her attitude changed.’

  It is strange how ill-formed opinions are soon corrected with knowledge.

  Tuesday, 1 December

  It is always exciting to receive letters from Elder Brother. His latest news was very, very, very exciting for me, but not very exciting for Mother. He is not coming home right now. He wishes to stay in China longer to work for Mr Ma Ying-Piew at the Sincere Company in Hong Kong. This is amazing news. Mr Ma used to operate a fruit and vegetable company here in the markets. He is a friend of Father’s. They do business together sometimes.

  When Mr Ma left for Hong Kong he told Father that he wanted to change the way that people do business in China. He wants to operate stores just like he has seen here, like the Anthony Hordern’s and the David Jones stores. They have everything in the stores and trade very well. Father says that this is excellent training for Elder Brother. Then he can return home to work here, even if Father does need assistance now.

  ‘Eventually we will establish big trading ties with Mr Ma. This too will help bridge differences.’ He is very pleased that Elder Brother is working for Mr Ma. Father replied immediately without even asking Mother.

  Mother was hoping that Elder Brother would be home soon. Does she know that soon her two sons will be in China? She will be very sad. Maybe she will let me stay here. How can I ask her? Maybe if I do the tasks that eldest sons should do then she will see that I should stay here. I will just tell her again that I would like to stay here. Surely they know I am worried that I may never be allowed to return, that my bridge building could be done here?

  Wednesday, 2 December

  Mother was not pleased with yesterday’s news. She is not grumpy but I can tell by her quiet ways that she really is.

  Thursday, 3 December

  Elder Brother’s news is a cause for celebration. I am not going to China, at least not yet. Father and Mother have decided that I can stay with the family until Elder Brother is home, or until another relative arrives to work in our store. Father wants to expand. Maybe he wants emporiums like Mr Ma.

  Friday, 4 December

  Father is working so very fast. Today he went to the government offices to obtain papers for his brother to come to Australia with his family. I hope it takes a long time for the paperwork to be processed. I hope that the relatives hear of the troubles here and do not come.

  Saturday, 5 December

  After lessons with Father I was out in the lane again throwing the ball. I found another crate. I smashed it so it is no good any more—except for firewood.

  Sunday, 6 December

  Thankfully, and I am very thankful today, Elizabeth met us on the way to church. Then she went with Mother and my sisters to a woman’s function. Father and I walked home. He could have spent some time in his office doing his work but not today. Today we had a men’s function, just the two of us. We sipped cha, we read books, and we played Chinese chess. I like men’s function days.

  Tuesday, 8 December

  The streets outside our store stink worse than uncleaned outhouses today. The council has been repairing the woodblocks in the road, maybe the woman who tripped last week has complained. There are boys doing the work, some even look my age. They have pulled up the sinking blocks and replaced them. Then they have filled the small gaps between the woodblocks with the smelly tar. I stood outside and watched them doing the hard and dirty work until the smell was too much for me. I tried to talk to one of them but they could not even hear me. I closed the door to the store. I place
d more incense in the urn. ‘This is good, very good,’ Father said when he realised what I had done.

  Wednesday, 9 December

  ‘Come Edward. Run your bags inside quickly and then come with me. We are going for a walk. Fie de lah. Fie de lah.’ This is what Father called when I entered the store after school. I was surprised and a little anxious. I had not even had my cha nor completed my homework and yet Father wanted to go for a walk. ‘We shall walk and then have cha at one of Quong Tart’s tea rooms.’ Was something wrong? Was it bad news?

  We were barely out the door when he told me. It was bad news, at least for me. Sometime soon I will travel to China. I sighed when he said those words. ‘There you will learn what I cannot teach. Your history on your Mother’s side has only been a little over 100 years in this land but your Chinese heritage goes a long, long, long way back,’ he said stretching his arms.

  ‘You walk so slow for someone so young,’ he said pushing me from behind. ‘We walk and talk.’ We did.

  We walked past Uncle’s store next to ours. It still remains vacant. When I told him that we were walking the wrong way to the tea rooms we spun on our heels and walked back down George Street, past our store (the closed sign was on the door!) and Nock and Kirby’s and across Bridge Street. ‘Enough fast walking,’ Father puffed. ‘We shall walk easily now.’

  We talked about the city buildings and how they keep changing quickly—we were walking down the side of the street I was once forbidden to walk on. Father pointed to the new stores and the respectable traders that were there.

  We talked again about Chinese people and the Europeans and how many people do not like the Chinese being here in this country, and because I look part Chinese, especially with my queue, many people could feel the same way towards me. ‘You can cut your queue if you like,’ Father said.

  I stopped walking and looked at him with an open mouth. ‘I don’t like,’ I replied. ‘I like my queue.’

  Father was pleased. ‘It was not so long ago when the Chinese were very successful at mining for the gold … too successful for many others. And they were also very good at producing crops that the miners and other town people needed to eat.’

  Father giggled as he was recalling how the gardens were fertilised on the goldfields. I did not giggle when he told me though. I twisted my face; the thought of the vegetables drinking the poo water. Father says that had it not been for the Chinese gardeners in the gold rush there would have been very few vegetables to keep the people healthy. And I twisted my face even more when he told me about the vegetables now being grown in the market gardens at Alexandria and at Marrickville.

  ‘I wonder what they use to fertilise those gardens. And at the Belmore markets, who are the gardeners? Chinese people. And who do all those people buy their vegetables from,’ Father proudly announced pointing to the Europeans walking ahead of us, ‘the Chinese market gardener.’ I may never eat vegetables again.

  We crossed more corners. I couldn’t stop staring at the new lights on the street. I would love to see those at night. A quick nudge and we were rapidly pacing our way down George Street once again. Father now was slowing. I kept peering in store windows. I had not seen some of these stores before. They were dark and smelling not of incense but tobacco and something very peculiar. They didn’t feel welcoming or pleasant. Suddenly Father’s hand gripped my shoulder tightly and we crossed to the other side of the road.

  ‘Never, while those stores are there,’ puffed Father, ‘are you to walk this part of the street.’ We stopped on the other side and Father pointed out the stores. Those stores are not traders or merchants like us. They don’t even own the store like we do. The men and their clans lease their store but they have brought much dishonour.’ And those smells. It was not only sweet tobacco but the awful disgusting opium smells too. That was the evil part. These people Father says have been the cause of some of the hatred towards Chinese people. ‘Opium is a destructive drug when it is not used for medicine, and when it is being abused. The people in those stores, they are abusing it,’ says Father.

  We kept walking but didn’t move very far. Nearby was another store selling tobacco, at least that is what the signs said. There were a lot of men walking in and out of the doors. ‘That’s not a tobacco store,’ added Father. ‘Inside there is much gambling. Many men have lost all that they own because they frequented that store.’ And I looked at the men. They weren’t just Chinese men. There were European men and some women too. They do not mind what colour the person is who spends money in their store. They will take it from anyone. I wondered why the authorities do not close these stores but then Father pointed to one of the stores. It used to be near the wharfs. It was closed. The owners moved here and if they are closed then they will move further down town. Father knows a lot about these stores. They even have warning systems so they can never be surprised, with escape-routes and passages down alleyways so they are rarely captured.

  We walked all the way from our store at the top of George Street to the Queen Victoria markets. We were at Mr Quong Tart’s Tea Rooms. I saw his offices, where he was attacked. Still people are celebrating his life, paying their respects, burning incense and presenting offerings. There are wreaths and tributes still on display and I looked at the names. They are not all Chinese names. There were English names as well. All over Sydney he has tea rooms where all sorts of people gather. ‘This is very good,’ said Father. ‘This shows that the Chinese man can be very successful in business and in community life.’

  Many people could not see past his Chineseness. ‘But you, and your brothers and sisters, and other children from the marriages of two cultures, you will be the bridge that spans the cultures. People will have to start to see the wonderful mix that you are … you are part of the Chinese culture but you are also part of their culture as well.’

  Talking, walking and cha were done. We purchased some goods and home we walked. I still had homework to complete and … I still have to go to China.

  Thursday, 10 December

  Father is a very astute businessman. He has already made enough money to move our family to the suburbs like many of the wealthy Chinese merchants but he prefers living above the store, close to the Chinese community.

  Mr Lee needed my assistance again this afternoon. I have not seen him for quite a while and I haven’t been to help him for many weeks now. I thought his brother was helping him. I wasn’t helping him with the laundry. I was minding his store while he delivered the cleaned laundry parcels. I had to write tickets when the customers left their cleaning. That was easy.

  ‘Maybe move down near markets, soon. Many customers move there. I might too,’ Mr Lee said when he walked in. ‘Too many deliveries. But then have to sell this store. Too hard. I stay like your BaBa.’

  I asked him about his brother who was here.

  ‘Gone.’ Mr Lee hung his head. I think he cried. He might have been sent back to China or he might have simply vanished. Some have done that.

  ‘Dortza, dortza, Chek Chee,’ Mr Lee said as he gave me a package for Father and guided me out the door. Father would know what happened to Mr Lee’s brother but I forgot to ask him tonight.

  Many stores operated by Chinese men, like Mr Lee, Father, and Mei Quong Tart were held in the highest of esteem. I know that it has taken hard work to attract Chinese customers to buy goods or to deposit their money. They entrust Father to send things back to their families in villages in China, or to arrange travel back to China. But it has taken more work to have people who aren’t Chinese to use the stores.

  Monday, 14 December

  Suddenly at school I am a star. Never before have the boys wanted me to play on their cricket team. I have watched but never been invited to play. Today I picked up a ball that landed at my feet and threw it back. I threw it so well that the ball hit the stumps. That boy was out.

  ‘He’s not on your team that one,’ snarled the batter and then all their boys ran onto the field.

  John, a senior
boy I never knew before, told them that I was on his team but that I had not played much. He winked at me and smiled. I stood still, not sure what was happening.

  ‘But you didn’t choose him when we were choosing teams,’ said the boy who was given out.

  ‘Fine. My team will just take our bat and stumps and ball and start another game,’ he replied. After that there was no more discussion. All the boys returned to their positions and suddenly I was being grabbed around the waist and was standing in the sun learning the game of cricket.

  John fired questions at me; do you always throw like that; can you bowl a ball like Morris there; are you a quick runner; and a whole lot more. ‘Throw a bit,’ is all I said.

  ‘Throw a bit? No one on our team who has been playing cricket all their lives can throw like you. See if you can do it again next time the ball comes to you. Just stand where I tell you.’ And I did. Again the boy was out.

  ‘Run out by a Chinaman,’ is what I think I heard but I am not sure. All the boys on the field were cheering. And then I learnt that I can bowl too … really fast.

  I knew that I could throw a ball better than a bit—the crates in the lane told me that, and because I am tall my bowling is really good. When we finished the game all the boys were around and I was told that I had to play next time. They said there would be no discussion. John wanted to know where I lived and would I like some extra coaching with him. Suddenly we are best friends. It is a strange game this cricket.