The Melting Pot

by Christopher Cheng

  Elizabeth stormed off. She broke a cup and saucer and another plate a short while later. Mother thought that Elizabeth was getting sick. She wasn’t. She was just suffering a serve of truth. I am not sorry that I spoke to her that way.

  Thursday, 17 March

  The teacher is coming to Sydney. All will be well. It will take some days yet but soon George will be with his family.

  Nothing good happening at school. Just some stupid boys saying disgusting things about boys of mixed blood—of course that was me. I ignored them as best I could, as Father, and Mother, would like. I wanted to spit at them. I didn’t. The spitting would be the Chinese side of me that Mother does not like.

  Friday, 18 March

  It happened again. Elizabeth had to talk about Chinese people doing the menial jobs that no-one else would do, like Mr Lee’s laundry and the gardening and the cleaning. I couldn’t stop myself. So I told her about menial gardeners saving lives on the goldfields and Chinese gardeners turning useless land into fields of green, nutritious vegetables and fruit. ‘And what was the secret? It’s fertilizer, poo water, that is what the secret was.’ Elizabeth twisted her nose just like I did when Father told me. ‘Have you not heard anything at the church when you come? Maybe you need some intensive lessons. Is that the Christian way—does not the bible say that all men and women are created equal?’ I yelled at her walking up the hall.

  If Elizabeth was so sure that the jobs that Chinese men and women do are so lowly, such menial tasks, then had she thought who was doing the menial work in our house and why she was working for my father and mother?

  I left her standing in the hallway. Father had been in his office concentrating too hard to hear my outbursts—I thought.

  ‘Are you well Chek Chee?,’ Father asked me when I neared his office.

  ‘Yes Father. Why do you ask?’ I was surprised.

  ‘You were using a rather loud voice?’

  ‘I was. I am sorry for disturbing you.’

  ‘You did disturb me that is true but your apology is not to me … nor to your Mother,’ he added looking up from his desk as he lowered the pen and ink.

  ‘Father?’

  Father heard my outburst. He was not pleased. ‘She might be assisting around our house but she is still your cousin and she is still family and she deserves the respect. This I have told you before.’

  I was about to tell Father why I was so angry. It was time that he knew what she was saying. But Father already knew much of what Elizabeth has been saying.

  ‘What you must remember is that she is not using her words. She is using the words of her father. You know that her mother does not speak like that or think that way. You are our son, and you need to be strong and endure. She will come around and you will help her. She needs your support and encouragement, not your disdain.

  ‘Yes Father. But what if she does not?’

  ‘Then at least our family has tried.’

  I apologised to Elizabeth. Was that a smile on her face?

  Sunday, 20 March

  It’s my lunar birthday. I remember Father telling me and it is written in his book, he even reminded me … but I didn’t receive presents. Father says that next year in China, then I might celebrate my lunar birthday. I don’t want to have to travel to China to celebrate my lunar birthday.

  Monday, 21 March

  Today started at school like any other as we stood in line to say the anthem … I honour my god, I serve my king, I salute the flag (some boys play with the word. They say sar-loot, sir-tute and even pretend to salute with without being seen). After announcements and hand inspection (Peter received a slap across the back of the legs for having dirty hands) we paraded into the class as usual.

  Mr Drury went wild with the broad slapper today. He marched up and down rows, staring over our shoulders as we were copying the work after writing on our slates. He lowered the cane on one boy’s shoulders … and simply uttered the words careful there boy.

  When he came to Charles and Patrick he stopped, tapped his foot up and down on the floor and ranted at the boys about better writing and that it had already been completed on the slates in class and that we did not have paper to waste on careless and messy writing. They received two slaps each.

  He stood over me today. I could feel the slapper resting on my shoulder; his stinking breath was surrounding me. I was relieved when he walked on.

  Tuesday, 22 March

  I have not written yet about other reasons for punishment that have been dispensed at school but they include punishment for falsehood, disobedience, talking during sewing lesson, impudence, refusing to answer, insolence, gross insolence, even refusing to sing. Peter took that one. His doctor told him that he should not strain his voice. Mr Drury yelled that singing is never a strain and then gave him the slapper. Fighting in school happens a lot even though Fort Street boys are told they should never fight … I know that one. Obscene behaviour in the playground, even unlearnt homework and out comes the slapper and no excuse will do. If you don’t learn the homework you get the slapper.

  I don’t think that Mr Drury likes Patrick’s family. Last week William, his brother, received five cuts on the hand and two on the shoulders for falsehood. He implored to Mr Drury that he knew nothing about the damage to the school desk but that was not sufficient.

  I do not like the strap or the cane. I think that they are severe forms of punishment. A boy can be convinced of the right and wrongs of his life simply through talking and discussion. Father and Mother have never hit us. We do wrong things and for that we are punished but never hit.

  I saw Patrick this afternoon. I told him that his writing was even better than mine.

  ‘Yeah but that don’t do no good. Drury hates us anyways.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean he should use it.’

  ‘S’all right. I lost count of the number I’ve had ripped into me.’ We walked on to the edge of the school gates and were about to separate. ‘You the one watchin’ a lot of cricket aren’t you?’ I told him that I have, and where Mr Noble was born.

  ‘Corr. You should join us. Don’t stand around next time. Come’n play.’ I mentioned what happened at the beginning of the year. ‘Ah ya don’t have to worry ‘bout them boys. They listen to me … or they don’t play.’

  I tipped out my drawers in my bedroom, checked in the office, looked under the camphor box. Finally I found the ball and after a short time with Father this afternoon I was out the back with the ball onto the fading stumps on the wall.

  Father has been asked to attend the government offices tomorrow. Mother hopes that it is approval for Fourth Uncle to come.

  Wednesday, 23 March

  It has been a long time since I have seen Father return from the customs office smiling. ‘Finally,’ he says ‘the government are listening to what we are saying.’ He was there most of the afternoon.

  It wasn’t to find out about his sponsorship application for Fourth Uncle. That is still being processed. Mother was not pleased. Could it be that the government was abandoning the discriminatory domicile certificates or the dictation tests? But it wasn’t that either. It was simply a change to the forms, which I didn’t think was very exciting at all.

  Father had some of the new forms. They look much like the last ones, maybe a little smaller. They still require two photographs of the person and they still require the handprint but now at least the traveller does not have to provide all the personal details like when they arrived in Australia, their occupation and the property that they hold.

  It is an insult that Chinese people have to give all these details and the other people who leave Australia do not. Father agrees but he says that this changed form is better than the old forms. It is better I agree but Chinese people should not have to even do this. Chinese people should not be made to feel different to all the other people. This county is a melting pot and the ingredients come from all over the world. There are the Aboriginal peoples and the English and the Germans and the Fren
ch and all those other nationalities and then there are the wonderful Chinese. All the ingredients are thrown in the pot, mixed around and out comes the final result … people like me.

  ‘And what a tasty morsel you are!’ exclaimed Mother ruffling my hair. ‘So delicious.’ I wish she wouldn’t do that.

  ‘True, very true Chek Chee. It is diversity and respect for each person’s difference that we should be encouraging. I know it will come. But not yet. These things take time and governments are slow to reverse their incorrect decisions and acknowledge mistakes.’

  That is because they don’t want to look like they made a mistake. Why don’t they just acknowledge their mistakes like ordinary people have to and rectify them? In time what Father tells me may happen. Then all Chinese residents, those born here and those naturalised, will be free to leave and complete only the forms that every other naturalised person has to complete. That is when the Chinese people will be on equal footing with every person here.

  I remember Mr Quong Tart and how he was such a well-respected Chinese man but also a man of this country, pushing for equality, integration and acceptance of all people. He never lived to see that dream happen. Maybe his and Father’s letters to the government have caused this change and maybe that is why Father continues his work.

  Thursday, 24 March

  I could not believe what my eyes were seeing while I was waiting for Father at the wharf. While inspectors were walking up one plank at the wharf to board a steamer, down the other plank came Chinese men. I could see their faces. I could see them clearly. And they ran. They ran really quickly, as quickly as their sea legs would carry them. They really did look funny. And in the front they were being led by an impatient seaman from the steamer. He hurried them along. He surely wanted them away very quickly. They ran behind one of the large stores and out of sight. I could hear some yelling and those words that I hear when I am too slow for Father fie-de-lah, fie-de-lah. I quietly cheered. There were Chinese people being smuggled in.

  Father says that there have been many occasions when some of the men have tried to enter the country illegally. Sometimes they have travelled all the way from China smuggled in the holds of ships. He has even heard that some of the men die while travelling because they receive so little attention and their bodies are thrown overboard. There is no guarantee that when a person pays for passage here they will even arrive. That is horrible. And if they arrive they still have to pay their debts before they can earn their own money. And they come knowing that they might be subjected to the torments and trials that are being served to Chinese people all over the country.

  Last century some of the merchants like Father provided lodging for the new arrivals, like they do in Haymarket. Then the Chinese men travelled throughout the country to work for other people, mostly Chinese men and very early on the gold miners. When Father arrived there were many hundreds of Chinese men landing on these shores all bound for the goldfields.

  I am so very glad that Elizabeth was not here to see this.

  Friday, 25 March

  Father told me about another horrible incident. Last century a customs officer looking for contraband cigars searched an ice room of a ship only to have eight Chinese men, almost frozen to death, rush past to what they hoped would be freedom. They have been hidden under beds, in closets; even officers have been bribed by some unscrupulous merchants to allow the Chinese immigrants to enter the country. Imagine if there were Chinese people being smuggled in and getting caught in the cargo hold as ships were fumigated. They would be asphyxiated. During the gold rush many men were smuggled in by bribing ships’ crews and the customs officers. Then the merchant would on-sell the workers to other people. This is trading in human flesh.

  Even Chinese men did this. It must be very bad in China for men to go to such lengths to come to here. I am to go to China … but Father has not heard about Fourth Uncle yet.

  Oh yes … forgot to mention ten runs, two wickets, I am a star.

  Saturday, 26 March

  Patrick knows where our store is. He arrived there this morning while I was hauling bundles for Father from the shelves. I didn’t see him at first until he called.

  ‘Hey you, watchya doin’ there China?’ I turned around.

  ‘Patrick? What are you doing here?’ I questioned.

  ‘Ah just in the area walking and saw the name on the store. Figured this is where ya live.’ And that was it for working with Father for an hour or so. He shooed us into the kitchen and we ate a few snacks, Patrick likes Chinese sweets, and then we were into the lane. I showed him the painted stumps and then for a short while we kept bowling and hitting the stumps.

  ‘Gotta go. Just passin’. See ya at school. Big match Monday. So don’t strain yaself lifting all your dad’s stuff.’

  That was fun!

  Monday, 28 March

  I was right. There were Chinese men on that steamer and they did escape, well some of them did. The government men rounded up a group of Asiatics on the weekend in one of the lodging houses. There was lots of noise and crashing and thumping, like a show. They are now in jail and will get sent back to China. But they all weren’t caught. One man was able to sneak his way out of Sydney. Mr Lee said so. He won’t say any more, but I am sure he knows more.

  As for our cricket game—all I will say is 12 runs not out, one wicket blisteringly bowled. One catch. We won. Mr Noble would be pleased.

  Tuesday, 29 March

  Today the annual Sydney show begins. I remember attending the show last year and seeing the bush animals and the food displays. They are impressive but this year Father has not said a word about attending. We probably will not go.

  Ah Lilly has been charged for hawking without a licence. Mr Lee came to tell us after the charging. We will have to wait to see if he is convicted. Father is not sure but said that he should have obtained a licence. Do other men have to obtain a licence to sell their goods from baskets?

  Wednesday, 30 March

  Father is suffering. The official processing the application for Fourth Uncle has sent Father a letter saying that there is insufficient detail. It requires further information on Father’s business. He wants to know how a Chinese man is necessary and why the work can not be done by an Australian already here.

  Father cannot believe that this is happening. The officials know Father, but he does not know this man. Father will go to the offices after Easter.

  Thursday, 31 March

  It must be an uninteresting day if all that I can write is that my cousin called me Edward and prepared afternoon tea with cakes that she baked with Mother today. The cakes didn’t even make us sick like they did last time. She will not be here during the Easter time.

  Friday, 1 April

  It is appropriate that on this Good Friday it is drizzling.

  Today we went to church, we don’t go every weekend and never on Friday but this weekend is important and Mother says that we will go again on Sunday. Twice in one weekend and I don’t even go to a church school.

  Saturday, 2 April

  More rain today, so it was more reading of the paper and more assistance in the store. Nothing unusual. I am much more relaxed when I know that Elizabeth is not here and that she won’t be jumping out from another room to cause me anxiety. I do enjoy quiet weekends.

  No lessons with Father.

  Sunday, 3 April

  Today is Easter Sunday. We attended the cathedral rather than our usual church. It was a splendid service and was packed with people. They were standing out the door. I could understand everything that was said although the songs were very, very strange.

  It was different than at the Chinese temple where I did not understand anything. That is why I am going to go to China, Father says. Then I will know the Chinese language. I still do not want to go.

  On the way home I was thinking about our attendance today; I was dawdling. Less people stared at us today than when we attend the Chinese church. But still people look at us closely and maybe the
y are wishing we were not there (which would be a very un-Christian thing to do—especially on the risen day).

  I do not mind being half Chinese. I do not mind being half English/Australian. I do mind that people cannot accept me for what I am. I do not like the Chinese people saying I am not Chinese because I do not look like them and the English people saying that I am not English because I do not look like them. I am both and I am still Australian.

  Tuesday, 5 April

  Today is Ching Ming festival, tomb sweeping day. It is very good that Elizabeth has been with her family for the Easter break because I do not think that she would have appreciated all the Chinese celebrations, especially after all the cleaning she had to do for New Year. This is an important time for all Chinese people, honouring ancestors. It must always be continued. She just wouldn’t understand.

  Father does not demand that we attend our ancestors with incense and offerings every day like Mr Lee and some of the others but he does ask that we respect and remember our ancestors, especially today.