Gold Mountain Blues

by Ling Zhang

  To Mrs. Mak, it was as if the sun had exploded at her feet, scattering a myriad sparks which peppered her eardrums, making them hum like a hive full of honeybees. When finally the bees flew away, she could hear the sound of her own voice, but now it was a thin, thread-like sound. Her words shredded and were scattered on the wind:

  “Wretched boy! Have you forgotten? You’re already betrothed!”

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten, Mum. But I don’t know her, and I do know Six Fingers. You know what a good girl she is and I really like her. When I was in Gold Mountain and about to starve to death, Mum,” he went on, “it was only the gold nugget Red Hair left behind that saved me. He was my benefactor. Now all his family are dead and there’s only Six Fingers left. If I marry Six Fingers, that’ll be my way of repaying Red Hair.”

  “Have you got maggots in your brain? Red Hair was your uncle, so he was senior to you. He married Six Fingers’ elder sister so that puts Six Fingers in the generation above you too.”

  “Yes, but I’ve thought about that too, Mum. Six Fingers is not related to us by blood even if you go back five generations. She and Auntie Cheung Tai are like mother and daughter now, and if Auntie has made Six Fingers her daughter, then that makes Six Fingers the same generation as me.”

  “And what about your betrothed and her family, and the three muleloads of betrothal gifts we’re giving them? It’s all arranged. What’s the poor girl done to deserve having her engagement broken off?”

  “Mum, if we let them down, it’s our fault. Of course, we can’t claim the gifts back, and we’ll give them two hundred dollars as well, to show we’re sincerely sorry. With that kind of money, they’ll even be able to find son-in-law to come and live with them.”

  “And what about my reputation? I arranged this betrothal for you, and it was witnessed by your ancestors. If you turn it down for no good reason, how will I ever hold up my head in the village?”

  “Mum, I left for Gold Mountain when I was sixteen years old and went through hell there. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have become a beggar and begged my way back home. I’m back now, who knows for how long, maybe a year, maybe a few months, but sooner or later I have to go back to Gold Mountain. I’m not afraid of hard work. I just want to marry a girl I get on with, who can make me happy and who’ll look after you properly when I’m gone. We don’t know what that girl’s like. But the whole village knows Six Fingers is a good and virtuous girl. Her needlework may not be up to yours but it’s quite decent and she’ll be a great help to you. Please, Mum, let me have what I desire!”

  “The reason why her parents gave her to Red Hair and his family was they thought her sixth finger would bring bad luck and they wouldn’t be able to marry her off. Doesn’t that scare you off her?”

  “Her parents are just ignorant. Magistrate Huang has a sixth finger too, and he’s in charge of a whole county of five-fingered people. Maybe Six Fingers is destined to become rich and powerful! Besides, she does all the villagers’ scrolls for their family events, doesn’t she? I’ve never heard that she’s brought them bad luck.”

  His mum gripped the pods in hands which trembled slightly. The juice ran out between the fingers and trickled across the wrinkled skin of the back of her hand.

  “You can’t back out of that betrothal, I’d lose too much face. You can marry Six Fingers, but as a second wife. Go and see your future father-in-law tomorrow with Ha Kau, and see if he’ll agree to you marrying his daughter first, and then marrying Six Fingers.”

  Ah-Fat was about to say something more but his mother was already on her feet and hobbling off towards the kitchen without the aid of her stick.

  “We’ll have to get her horoscope done first. That’s just as important for a second wife as for the first. Our family has only been at peace for a few years. We can’t have a woman bring calamity on us.”

  When Auntie Cheung Tai had seen off her guest and went into the back room of the house, she found Six Fingers sewing. She was altering a lined jacket which had been left to her by her elder sister. It was made of a silk weave, not the most expensive kind but almost new, and had been kept in a trunk for a few years. By the time Six Fingers remembered it, there were a couple of moth holes, but fortunately they were in the sleeve under the armpit and with a small mend would not show. The material was a sapphire blue colour embroidered with dark blue flowers—something an older woman might wear but still fashionable: it had wide decorative edging, a stand-up collar and big sleeves, rather like the Manchu-style jackets worn in North China. It would suit Six Fingers’ tall figure.

  Six Fingers had finished her mending and was pulling the sleeves through. When she was sewing, she used her thumb and forefinger but the extra stump of a finger which grew next to her thumb wobbled as if it was putting in a big effort too. In fact, its efforts were just a distraction and it got in the way. Unlike the care she gave to the rest of her fingers and toes, Six Fingers paid no attention at all to this extraneous finger—it might as well have belonged to someone else and just have been planted on her. This contrary stub had nothing to do with her.

  She might have had a completely different life, she thought to herself, if this finger had not butted in so unreasonably, changing it into what it was today. Was it a good life? She could not answer that question. She had nothing to compare it with. However, she did secretly wonder if, without this extra stub of a finger, fate might have offered her another kind of life.

  Auntie Cheung Tai put down a packet in her hand and sat beside the girl. The packet was wrapped in thick yellow paper with a strip of festive red paper stuck on top. Even though it was sealed, it was obvious from the grease which had seeped through that it contained cakes bought in a shop in town.

  “Walnut cookies. Third Granny gave them to me. Have a bit.” Third Granny was the matchmaker in their village.

  Six Fingers shook her head. “No thank you, I’m not hungry.” This was only partly true. She was not hungry because she had just had a large bowl of sweet potato porridge and felt completely full up. But she would have liked a bit of cookie. Since her elder sister died, she had rarely tasted fatty food, in fact she had not even seen much of it. Just seeing the grease mark on the packaging made her think of the shape, flavour, colour and texture of the delicacy inside it, and made her mouth water.

  Auntie Cheung Tai stroked the jacket lying on the table and tut-tutted. “Silk from Three Gold Circles.… No one else in the village has anything like it. Your sister certainly knew how to shop. Why are these sleeves so short? They’ll only reach your elbows.” But Six Fingers picked the jacket up and held it up against the older woman. “They’re not short, they’re just right.” “That can’t be for me!” Auntie Cheung Tai exclaimed, flapping her hands in agitation. “It’s not the right style for an old woman like me!”

  Even as she shook her head in protest, the corners of her lips curled in a moist little smile which told Six Fingers that she really liked the style. A few days before, she had been boiling up the piglets’ food and sparks from the fire had burned several large holes in her old lined jacket. She could not mend it—the jacket was too heavily patched for that.

  “Did you hear what Third Granny said?” she asked as she snipped the ends of the threads for Six Fingers.

  Six Fingers neither nodded nor shook her head but stayed silent.

  “He’s a decent man—you’ve met him, he’s spoken to you. He’s a good man and fine-looking. It’s just a pity he has that scar on his face. Well, you’ve seen that too. Not like when I got married. My head was covered with the wedding veil so I could hardly see anything of my new home and husband. It was only when the veil came off that I saw his face was covered in pockmarks.”

  Still Six Fingers said nothing. There was no sound in the room apart from the hiss of the needle and thread being pulled through the material.

  “You’ve lived with me for years,” Auntie Cheung Tai went on. “And even though I’m not your birth mother, I’m almost a mother to you.
I can take care of this for you. Being junior wife to a Gold Mountain man isn’t the same as with other families. There you’d have to put up with the mother-in-law and the first wife’s bad temper. But ten to one, this Gold Mountain man would take you back with him and you could be happy together in Gold Mountain, and leave the first wife to look after the family back here. That’s what all Gold Mountain men do.

  “He’ll marry his first wife at the end of the first month, then two months later, he’ll marry you. After he’s spent a year or so in the village, if you both get pregnant, then he might be holding two ‘Gold Mountain babies’.”

  Six Fingers’ sewing came to a halt and her fingers froze in mid-air. Only her extra finger continued to tremble like a startled dragonfly.

  “They’ve prepared the betrothal gifts and they’ve been very considerate. They didn’t want to offend you so you’ll get almost the same amount as the first wife. I can see he’s really taken a fancy to you. If he hadn’t already been betrothed, you might have been his first wife. First wife, junior wife, it really doesn’t mean anything. He likes you so he’ll naturally treat you better. It’s just like with the emperors of old: whomever they really loved became the favourite concubines, and never mind the empress.”

  Six Fingers put the jacket down, got up and went towards the stove. When the fire was out, it was a dark corner and the gloom swallowed her up as if she had been enveloped in a dark cloth. She had disappeared but Auntie Cheung Tai heard a rustle as she reached for something.

  “Mother Cheung Tai, I don’t want to go to that family.” Her soft voice came through the mantle of darkness.

  “Why? You usually get on with Auntie Mak, and Ah-Fat is certainly good to you. Is it the scar that bothers you?”

  Six Fingers said nothing. There was a heavy silence, thick as a blob of lumpy ink. After a long pause, it dissolved a little and a trembling voice floated out:

  “They’re all good people.”

  Auntie Cheung Tai heaved a sigh. “Then how can you not agree, you silly girl?”

  “Mother Cheung Tai, I … I won’t be a junior wife.”

  The older woman sighed. “Six Fingers, you were eighteen this New Year. At that age, a girl’s more than ripe for marriage. You’ll end up an old maid if you don’t. Last year you could have married that man, and been his first wife too. But you refused, and I was with you there. He really wasn’t right for you. But Ah-Fat’s exactly the kind of man you need. It’s just your fate to be a junior wife. If you won’t accept that, you’ll end up getting old with me, won’t you?”

  Six Fingers suddenly burst out of the darkness, bent over as if she had a heavy bundle of faggots on her back. She was panting as she said:

  “I’m not going to be a junior wife, Mother Cheung Tai.”

  The older woman’s patience was wearing thin and seemed as if it might break at any moment.

  “If you miss out on this one, Six Fingers,” she said, “where do you think you’ll find another man that doesn’t care about your six fingers? Of course everyone wants to be a senior wife. It’s just not going to happen to you. You should give thanks to the Buddha that this family has sent this many betrothal gifts to someone who’s going to be a junior wife.”

  Six Fingers had something heavy at her waist which she took out. She gripped it in her hand so hard that she seemed to be trying to squeeze water from it. It gave her courage and her words were brusque:

  “I’m not going to be a junior wife, Mother Cheung Tai.”

  Auntie Cheung Tai had her back to Six Fingers and was tidying up the sewing things. Her reply was just as brusque.

  “This time it’s not up to you. I’ve already given our reply to Third Granny. The twenty-fifth day of this month is propitious. The gifts are all arranged.”

  Six Fingers did not answer. Auntie Cheung Tai heard a dull thud, and looked around to see Six Fingers on the floor. Something dark red oozed over the back of her hand and blossomed wetly on her jacket front. The girl must have spilt the red ink she used in her paintings, Auntie Cheung Tai thought. Then she saw that a stub of a finger had fallen on the floor and lay shrivelled and slug-like in a sea of blood.

  Six Fingers had used the pigs’ fodder knife to chop off her sixth finger.

  Six Fingers hovered between life and death for three days. The village herbalist came, looked at the wound and took her pulse. His verdict was that the knife blade was contaminated and she had blood poisoning. He did not hold out much hope for her recovery.

  When the news reached the Fongs, Ah-Fat was busy practising his calligraphy, copying out a famous poem by a Southern Song dynasty poet. He had chosen the best and most absorbent paper and wrote rapidly, in a free, cursive style. When he heard the matchmaker talking to his mother, his writing hand froze in mid-air and a blob of black ink fell from the wolf-hair brush, spoiling the paper.

  When Ah-Fat emerged, the matchmaker had gone. A hen in the yard had just laid an egg and was flapping and clucking around Mrs. Mak hoping for some grains of rice as a reward. Ah-Fat threw a stone at it. There was pandemonium as squawking hens took refuge on the fence, filling the yard with a flurry of wings. Mrs. Mak brushed off a chicken feather which had stuck to her face. “The pot of sticky rice is still hot,” she said. “Shall I get Ah-Choi to bring you some?”

  Ah-Fat did not answer. Although his mother could not see him, she could tell his face had grown as dark as a thundercloud. His heavy silences were more and more oppressive to her. She felt as if her whole body was being crushed flat under their weight. Her son’s heart had turned to stone and she felt incapable of making any impression on it. She racked her brains for something to say. Her voice came out weedy and etiolated.

  “I’ll send a message with Ah-Choi to Auntie Cheung Tai. We’ll pay for three days of Daoist ceremonies, to expiate the soul of the dead girl.”

  Her words seemed to fall like a pebble into ancient still waters. It was some time before the ripples gradually appeared on the surface.

  “Six Fingers isn’t dead yet, Mum.”

  “The herbalist said to prepare for the funeral.”

  Ah-Fat made no sound. She strained to stare with the “eyes” in her ears, but they suddenly seemed to have grown opaque. Now she knew she was completely blind. Never again would she see into her son’s heart.

  “I’m going to find out when the next boat for Gold Mountain leaves, Mum.”

  Her son had changed his clothes and put on his shoes and was off to inquire about the boat—when it suddenly dawned on Mrs. Mak that she was being very foolish. Every brick and tile of their house, every field and every beast they owned, every grain of rice in the bowls of everyone from mistress to minions, had come to them thanks to Ah-Fat’s bank drafts. She had been under the impression that she commanded her son, but now she realized that actually it was her son who commanded the whole family. He was master of all their fates; the whole family’s continued existence depended on his loyalty to her. If she lost his heart, then they were all lost. She was filled with terror and muddy yellow tears gathered at the corner of her eyes.

  It also occurred to her that Six Fingers had quite a few merits. She was capable, upright and had a mind of her own. When it came to important family affairs, there was no way that blind old Mrs. Mak or her weak and helpless sister-in-law could cope. What they needed, when her son was not there, was someone like Six Fingers to be the mainstay of the family. She had not permitted Ah-Fat to marry Six Fingers as his senior wife because she was afraid of losing face in the village. Yet face was only a veneer on the surface of their lives. Face without life was no face at all.

  Besides, Six Fingers did not have six fingers any more. With the stroke of a knife, Six Fingers had altered her fate.

  “Ah-Fat, tell Ah-Choi to get Third Granny here. I want Third Granny to say to Auntie Cheung Tai that providing Six Fingers pulls through, we’ll scrap the other betrothal, and you’ll make Six Fingers your first wife,” she said. “All this trouble can only be sorted out by the perso
n who caused it. And she was born tough, that girl. Who knows, when she hears the news, it may bring her back to life.”

  Mrs. Mak heard her son’s footsteps slow down.

  “Right,” he said. “But I’m not calling Ah-Choi. I’ll take you to see Third Granny.”

  Mother and son hastily left the house, Mrs. Mak hobbling so fast that Ah-Fat could scarcely keep up with her.

  Third Granny went into Auntie Cheung Tai’s house and Ah-Fat and his mother waited outside. Mrs. Mak was gripping a handkerchief, which had been brand new and crisply starched but was now wringing wet. She could hear Ah-Fat’s big feet pacing up and down on the tamped mud pavement in front of the house and the sound not only grated on her ears but seemed to grate slivers of flesh from her heart too. She was as anxious as her son.

  A long time later Third Granny came out. She seemed downcast and instead of her usual glib manner, she spoke awkwardly.

  “She didn’t say a word, didn’t even give a flicker of her eyelids.”

  “Did you ask Auntie Cheung Tai to tell her, or did you tell her yourself?” asked Mrs. Mak.

  “Of course I told her myself. I spoke right into her ear. Too bad it doesn’t look like I’ll be enjoying your matchmaking gifts. The herbalist says it’ll be tonight.”

  On the way home, Mrs. Mak could not keep up with her son. She felt as if the heavens above had caved in on her. She could hardly drag her little “lotus” bound feet along and the walking stick in her hand seemed to groan mournfully under her weight.

  “Ah-Fat, if you really want to leave, I can’t stop you, but at least wait until Six Fingers is buried,” she shouted hoarsely after him.

  In the middle of the night, Auntie Cheung Tai went to relieve herself in the backyard and heard a strange sound. It was something like a draught whistling through cracks in the wall or the earth drinking in a fine drizzle. She looked up at the frangipani tree but it was not moving; she felt its trunk but it was not wet. It was a dry, still night. Holding up her trousers, she groped her way to where the sound was coming from—and arrived at Six Fingers’ bed.