by Laurence Yep
I have to get out of the house.
Later
As soon as I stepped onto the street, cousins eagerly flocked over to me. All of them wanted some kind of favor.
I walked past them numbly. A dead person doesn’t talk.
I kept telling myself that, but dead people don’t feel hurt inside. Blessing is the strong one. He is the good-looking one. When we play games, he is always the first chosen. I am always the last. All our lives, he has been everyone’s favorite.
Still, I hadn’t thought my parents preferred him to me. Now I know better. They are willing to sacrifice me to save him.
My feet took me through the gates. The fields were waiting to be flooded so the rice seedlings could be transplanted from the tubs. When I got to Tiger Rock, I stared toward the Golden Mountain. The sun was starting to set over the hills, over the ocean, over the world that I am to cross. The world seemed so huge and I felt so tiny.
I am only thirteen, after all. Then I remembered what our teacher had said. Americans count your age only after you’re born. By their standards, I am even younger — only twelve.
Maybe my luck is as small as Uncle’s. Spinning on one foot, I chanted, “Spin around, turn around, luck changes.”
Then I stroked the tiger’s head.
I wonder if I’ll ever see the sun set over these hills again.
Second Month,
Year Two of the Era, Prosperity for All
April 10
Somewhere in Southern China
I have not been able to make ink until now because I have been so busy traveling.
Two days ago Blessing walked with father and me as far as Tiger Rock. He still believes he should be the one leaving. I wish he were, too.
I was so scared, I was shaking a little. I tried hard not to, but I couldn’t help it.
An odd thing happened then. Blessing stopped scowling and asked me why I always have my nose in a book. I thought it was a funny thing to ask at a time like this, but I told him I like going to faraway places and times.
Then he slapped me on the back and told me that I am getting what I want after all. It didn’t make me feel any better. I appreciated his trying, though.
My legs felt as soft as bean curd when I stepped out of the valley with Father. I thought the sky was going to come crashing down and crush me.
Father and I didn’t talk much on the way to the riverboat. I think he was too ashamed. I didn’t know what to say either. What do you tell someone who wants to get rid of you?
On the riverboat I fell asleep. When I woke, my head was pillowed on his leg. He had slept sitting up, his head against the side of the boat.
How could he be so kind and yet send me away? His thoughtfulness only made me ache inside more.
April 11
Hong Kong
I don’t know if I have enough pages to write about all the new things I’ve seen.
The city of Hong Kong is so much bigger than my village. So many tall buildings. And so many people! They seem to come from all over the province.
I saw my first British man, too. He didn’t have horns like I expected. The British have done so many terrible things. About ten years ago, they invaded China and forced us to let them sell their drugs. They also made China give them land to build this city.
Besides his pale skin, the British man had hair the color of dirt and eyes like the sky. Other than his big nose, he looked human enough. Then I noticed the wiry curls on the backs of his hands, just like fur.
I clung to Father’s coat until he found the address. It was a long, high-roofed warehouse. There was a desk right by the front door. Behind the desk was a clerk with a big, squat nose. He took one look at me and demanded my age.
When Father told him that I am just twelve, this man shook his head. He said I look a lot younger than twelve. If I were his son, he’d keep me at home until I put on a little more bone and meat. However, it was our business. He just sold the tickets.
Father and I looked at each other for a long time. Then he whispered, “Do your best. Watch over Uncle.” And then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Impatiently, the man told me to follow him. When I didn’t move fast enough, he grabbed my collar and dragged me past the desk and into an office.
Clerks were busy writing in ledgers. Others clacked the beads of abacuses and did calculations.
After taking down my name, the clerk told me that I will board ship in three days. Someone will call for me. After I get on the ship, Manchu and British inspectors will ask me some questions. It is to make sure I am going of my own choice. He said it all in a bored way, as if he had repeated the same speech thousands of times.
Then he asked me if I speak either English or Mandarin. I had to shake my head because all I know is my own local dialect. It was all right because an interpreter will be present to translate.
After some more paperwork, he asked if I could write my own name. I told him I could and signed it. Then he pointed me to a door and said to find a bunk. The huge room is filled with bunk beds, three beds high. They stretch as far away as I can see with enough men and boys to fill a village. I feel even more like a runt.
And my head buzzes with all the dialects.
I had to walk halfway through the building before I found a bunk. I’m surrounded by all these people and yet I’ve never felt more alone.
I’ve always been in Tiger Rock surrounded by the clan. Now I’m all by myself. When someone has a hand cut off, what does that hand think? Does it miss belonging to the body? That’s how I feel. Like I’ve been cut off from something bigger. And now I’ve been tossed on the trash heap.
As soon as I found my bunk, I just had to write in my diary. I needed water to make ink, though. So I asked my neighbor where it was.
He had been sleeping with his hat over his face and his head on his small basket.
When he rolled on his side, I saw he was a man of about thirty years old. He had only one eye. A jagged scar ran across his left cheek. He pointed out where it was and then ordered me to leave him alone because he wasn’t any nursemaid.
So I got the cup from my basket. When I started to leave, One-Eye stuck out his leg and told me to take my basket with me. I wasn’t in bumpkin land anymore where people didn’t know how to steal.
With my basket under my arm, I found the big jars of water. When I got back, I took out my inkwell and rubbed the ink stick in water.
I hear the dinner call. Time to line up. I don’t want all the food to be gone by the time I get there.
Later
The meal was plain food like at home — vegetables and rice. But there was plenty of it.
Back to writing.
One-Eye is teasing me about being a scholar and keeps asking what I am doing with peasants like him.
But I keep my eyes on my diary. One-Eye scares me. I wonder if I’ll live long enough to write in here again.
April 12
I never thought I’d see you again, dear diary.
This morning when I woke up, you were gone. So was the string of a hundred cash Mother had given me for luck money. That was more money than I’d ever had in my life. But I missed you the most.
I’d lost more than my notes. I’d lost my link to home. And I had lost my family again.
I was going to complain to the clerks. However, One-Eye just told me to save my breath. We are just so much meat to the clerks. They ship us here. They ship us there.
Though I did my best to wipe the tears away, One-Eye looked disgusted. Then he got out of bed and stomped away.
All I wanted to do was die. I curled up in a little ball and shut my eyes and wished that would happen. When I woke up, it was much darker in the warehouse. I must have slept for hours.
The next thing I knew, One-Eye was shaking my shoulder. There was a bruise on his cheek. He had my brush, my ink sticks, and my diary. But the money was gone. He said I should write it off as a fee for a lesson.
I asked him what lesso
n.
“Not to trust anyone,” he told me. “Back in your village, the clan takes care of one another. Here it’s every man for himself. And it’s cheap at the price. Some pay with their lives.”
If I am upset over a little thing like this, he said, wait till I get to the land of the Golden Mountain. There are thieves there who would steal my teeth. I still have my shoes and clothes because I am so small. At night he takes the precaution of sleeping on his shoes, and he keeps his head on his basket. I should do the same from now on.
How could any place be worse than this?
In this huge building, I feel smaller than a runt, smaller than a bug. And I am only at the start of my trip to the Golden Mountain. What have my parents gotten me into?
When I tried to thank him, he warned me not to get the wrong idea. He had helped me because he didn’t want me to cry all night. The noise might keep him up.
Only two things matter to One-Eye, his family and his clan. And that is it. He doesn’t care a willow leaf about me.
He reminds me of a dog Uncle once had. The dog growled and barked a lot because he wanted you to stay away. If you were brave enough to get close, though, he would lick your face. I think One-Eye is that way. He likes to talk gruff and tough, but inside he is all soft.
As soon as I finish writing this, I will take One-Eye’s advice and store everything in my basket. Then I’ll sleep with my head on top of it.
I just hope no one cuts my throat.
April 13
Obviously no one did.
I found out One-Eye’s name. It’s Sunny — which is the last name I’d pick for him. He comes from Two Streams village, which is four valleys over from Tiger Rock.
That makes us neighbors back at home. I am glad that my clan has not had any feuds with his. Otherwise we might be enemies.
I felt guilty over the things I had written about him. Nervously, I asked him if he had read my diary.
One-Eye said I couldn’t possibly write anything of interest to him. And anyway, book learning is for cheats and scoundrels. An honest man does an honest day’s work in the fields. He told me he doesn’t have time for that nonsense.
I think it’s his way of saying he can’t read.
He asked me why I am keeping a diary anyway. So I explained about Uncle and my intentions to write the chronicle. I thought that was all he needed to know. I didn’t think he’d understand how special you’ve become to me. He doesn’t seem like the type.
April 14
I’m not a whiner. Even you, diary, must be getting tired of hearing me complain.
If I’m scared to be alone, I should do something about it. I’ll find something or someone to belong to.
I’m going to try to find some more people from my district.
Later
Success!
I went through the aisles calling for anyone from our district.
A dozen others answered me. They’re already as homesick as me. Though we don’t come from the same village, there were some things we could talk about.
Of that dozen, three are also going on our boat. It has the American name of Excalibur.
My new friends’ names are Gem, Squash-Nose, and Melon. They’re feeling as alone and helpless as I am. We’ve decided to band together. We can watch one another’s things and help one another in general. It’ll be like our own little clan.
I invited Sunny to join our group. He told me I am living a fool’s dream.
But I feel better. My group might be as ignorant as me, but I feel a little hope for the first time.
Second to Fourth Months,
Second Year of the Era, Prosperity for All
April 15
On Board the Excalibur
I was nervous during the inspections. I thought if I failed and they didn’t let me get on the ship, I would stay in Hong Kong. I just couldn’t face my clan.
However, they just repeated their questions impatiently. I answered their questions as the clerk had told me to do, and they let me leave. A hen at a poultry shop would have gotten more attention.
Our group had lined up together, so we went as a group into the dark hold of the ship. It is like a cave filled with bunk beds, but these are even narrower and smaller than the ones on shore. A grown man’s nose almost brushes the bunk above.
Despite his words the other day, Sunny tagged along with us.
Men kept flowing past us to the other bunks. There were so many I thought the boat would sink. But my friends and I found berths together. To my surprise, Sunny wound up my neighbor. He claimed it was just chance. The last place he wanted to be was near a crybaby like me.
I think I know otherwise.
Later
When the parade of men finally stopped, I heard a rumble. A heavy grate had been put over the hold. The grate’s bars made the hold seem like a prison.
Gem had heard a story. On another ship some pirates pretended to be coolies and got on board. When the ship set sail, they took it over and killed everyone.
But Sunny said the sailors are just afraid of us making a fuss.
When I asked him what kind of fuss, he told me I’d find out all too soon.
Melon asked him how he knows so much. It seems that Sunny has had three cousins who have made it overseas. Their letters have described the voyage.
April 25
Somewhere on the Pacific Ocean
Too seasick to write until today. Almost all of us have been ill.
It’s also as hot as a stove inside the locked-up hold. And it’s not even the warm season yet.
The smells only make me sicker. At first, some men who could move tried to go up on deck for relief, but the grate was locked.
So the healthier men sit on the stairs to get a draft of fresh air.
Once a day the sailors lower buckets to use for night soil. Then they haul up the used ones.
Sunny was the first to recover. He claimed his wife’s cooking would toughen anyone’s stomach. He brought us all bowls of rice in tea.
When I tried to thank him again, he growled at me in his usual way. He wasn’t doing this because he liked any of us. He just didn’t want us dying and stinking up the place any worse.
Melon was suffering the most from the seasickness. He was sure that if he died here, he was going straight to heaven after all this torture.
Sunny said there are worse ships. On those, one out of every three Chinese never reach the Golden Mountain. And there are better ships where everyone makes it.
I thought I knew what type of ship my uncle and cousins were on. But what kind of ship is this one? Maybe this will be my last entry. I wish I’d written better. My teacher would sniff at my penmanship and style.
May 4
Somewhere on the Pacific Ocean
I can barely write about this. I have never felt more humiliated. However, when I first began to keep you, diary, I decided I would tell you everything that happened. So that is what I must do.
At first I was glad when the sailors led a group of us up on deck. It was a little scary to be surrounded by that much water without any land in sight. But the fresh air felt good.
Then one of them said in broken Chinese that we had to take off our clothes. The sailors ripped the clothes off the ones who were slow. They wiped their hands afterward as if they had touched filth.
If they would let us out of the hold to wash, we wouldn’t stink. I tried to tell them that. But they
ignored me.
Then another group of sailors began bobbing up and down as they worked a pump. A third group picked up a hose and aimed it at us. I had barely taken a deep breath before the blast of cold salt water hit us.
The rest of the crew gathered around and made fun of us, pointing and laughing.
I’m not a human being to them.
I felt so angry. So did the others. Sunny was right. The sailors don’t keep us locked up because they’re afraid we’re pirates. They knew we would be angry at our treatment and are scared of us.
<
br /> But if they treated us like humans, they wouldn’t have to keep us in jail.
May 24
Somewhere on the Pacific Ocean
I have been too busy to write. Illness has swept through the hold. Every day we put corpses on the stairs and the sailors take them away. The bodies are dumped into the ocean. There will be no rest for their souls. You have to be buried in your home soil for that.
Strangely, except for the seasickness at first, I’ve felt well. So I’ve been trying to take care of our little group.
The others have recovered, but Sunny grows weaker and weaker. I don’t know what to do for my friend. I feel so helpless I could cry. But tears would just make him mad. And so I hold them in.
May 29
Somewhere on the Pacific Ocean
Three more dead. Will any of us live?
June 3
Somewhere on the Pacific Ocean
Sunny asked me if I could write a letter. He was so embarrassed about it.
I was embarrassed, too. After all, I’m just a student. I’ve got no business writing letters as if I were a scholar. If I’d put on those airs back home, my teacher would have whacked me with his bamboo rod.
So I told him that as yet, I can write only regular Chinese. I don’t know all the fancy classical words a real writer would know.
Sunny just said that his family wouldn’t know it was him if it didn’t sound plain.
I could see he really wanted me to, so I tore a page out and asked him what he wanted to say.
I have made a copy of his letter because I think it’s what many of the men would have said.
Dear Wife,
I know I promised that I would dictate a letter and tell you about the land of the Golden Mountain. But I don’t think I’m going to get there.