Gold Mountain Blues

by Ling Zhang

  Kam Ho was so different from his elder brother, Kam Shan, they were night and day. He was just over a month old, but he seemed to be brooding about something all the time.

  Six Fingers sat at her dressing table and began to brush her hair.

  It was long and thick and spilled in an untidy dark mass over her shoulders and down her back. Not that anyone else ever saw her hair like this— only Ah-Fat. Six Fingers always wore it combed into a bun. She took bone comb, dipped it in hair oil and began slowly to pull it through her hair. Then she plaited it tightly and wound it into a thick bun at the nape of her neck. The village women usually used water in which tung-tree wood shavings had been steeped to dress their hair, but Six Fingers had Luk Mui brand hair oil which Ah-Fat bought her in Hong Kong. It was made by a Dutch company and had a faint flowery fragrance. She fastened a red felt flower onto one side of the bun and looked in the mirror. Her face shone back at her in the silvered glass. She put the mirror away, opened a small drawer in the dressing table and took out a finely carved sandalwood box. It had a brass ring fastening the two halves together and looked like the sort of box a wealthy lady might keep her jewellery in.

  Six Fingers gave the ring a little twist and opened it to reveal a stack of closely written sheets of paper. In the box she carefully hoarded all the letters Ah-Fat had ever written to her. The one on top dated from more than a year ago. Ah-Fat had written it just before boarding the steamship to come home. He had stayed a whole year this time and had gone back last market day. He would still be on his way back to Gold Mountain and she could not expect another letter from him for another two or three months. She opened his last letter and read it again. She had folded and refolded it so many times that it had begun to fray at the folds. She could recite by heart what it said. When she got to the words “after so many years apart, my heart flies back like an arrow, and all I desire is to rest in the arms of my beloved,” her face grew hot. She was secretly thankful that her mother-in-law could not read. Every letter from Ah-Fat had parts meant only for her. She skipped over them when she read the letters aloud to Mrs. Mak.

  On his return this time, Ah-Fat had raised enough money to pay the head tax and his original intention had been to take Six Fingers and Kam Shan back with him. He went to ask his mother’s permission. What Mrs. Mak’s response was, Ah-Fat never said. Six Fingers saw Ah-Fat coming out of his mother’s room with a face like a thundercloud. He never mentioned his plan again.

  So Six Fingers thought she would write and ask Ah-Fat what he was going to do. If the post was fast, the letter might even get to Gold Mountain before Ah-Fat himself. She laid out a sheet of writing paper, carefully ground the ink in the ink stone, smoothed the wolf-hair brush and had just written the words “My dear husband” when she felt a gush of milk soak the front of her jacket. Kam Ho’s birth had been quite different from Kam Shan’s. He had popped out with hardly any effort at all on her part, as easy as a hen laying an egg. In fact, he was already halfway into the world by the time Ah-Choi got back with the midwife. Ah-Fat had hired an old woman whose sole job was to attend to her during the month after the birth. Three meals a day, with generous helpings of chicken, duck and fish had given her a plentiful supply of milk, enough to feed three Kam Hos and still have some left over.

  Six Fingers undid the buttons and wiped herself dry with a towel. She wore a thin silk jacket fastened slantwise across the front, over a fine linen corset that Ah-Fat had brought back from Gold Mountain for her. According to Ah-Fat, Gold Mountain ladies wore hooped petticoats too, but Six Fingers laughed at that. “If I wear both, the stripes will make me look like a bee!” After much persuasion from Ah-Fat, she consented to wear the corset. At first, she felt so tightly squeezed inside the tube of fabric that it made her short of breath. But she got used to it, and now if she went out without it on, her breasts bounced uncomfortably up and down and she could not walk with her usual energy. But she was adamant that she would not wear the hooped petticoat. She could not get any work done in it. Ah-Fat had to give in on that one.

  Once Six Fingers had dried herself and changed her jacket, she sat down again and continued with her letter.

  Kam Shan and Kam Ho have both been fine since you left. Mum’s eyes have not got any better, but they have not got worse either.

  Having got this far, Six Fingers felt that this was not at all what she wanted to say. She crumpled up the paper, threw it into the wastepaper basket and began again with a fresh sheet of paper.

  My dear husband,

  All the family has been fine since you left. Mr. Auyung has been here once and gave us a children’s story and copying books. Kam Shan can start school sometime next spring. The crops have been good this year and the first season’s rents have all been collected. Next market day, Mum is going to buy two more plough oxen for the spring. She has also arranged a match between Ah-Choi and Ha Kau, and they will marry in the first month of the new year. They have lived with us for a long time, Ha Kau working the land and Ah-Choi in the house, so it will be a harmonious match.

  By now Six Fingers’ hand was aching. She had not lifted a brush once during the month after Kam Ho was born, and had got out of the habit. She felt she had covered most of the family news, but there was still something else that she had not said. What she had written seemed to float to the surface of her heart like millet husks, which, at the merest puff, could be blown to the paper, light and easy. But what remained unwritten was like damp flour sticking to the deepest recess of her heart, difficult to bring to the surface and put into a letter. Even if she could bring it up, it would have gathered dust in the process, losing much of its original clarity. Six Fingers sat deep in thought, then finally added the last sentences:

  When the moon is full, that is when I miss you most. Who knows when our Gold Mountain promise can be carried out? The mountains and rivers stay the same, but I’m afraid I won’t stay beautiful forever. All I can do is use this brush to write you words of love and send them to the man of my dreams in Gold Mountain.

  Your wife, Ah-Yin, Spur-On Village, the Mid-Autumn Festival, 1900

  She put down her pen to the sound of whispering behind her. When she looked round she saw the faces of her female neighbours at the window. Six Fingers opened the door and the women clattered in. “Six Fingers, your Ah-Fat’s only just gone. Are you missing him already?” Their husbands had also gone to Gold Mountain. Some had come back but others had not, and from time to time the women would beg Six Fingers to write letters for them.

  “Huh!” retorted Six Fingers. “Missing him? It’s my mother-in-law who asked me to write.” But the women knew how much Ah-Fat and Six Fingers missed each other. “Right then, we’ll ask Auntie Mak what’s so urgent she needs to tell her son, shall we?” they teased her. Six Fingers was flustered. “Do you want me to write letters for you or not?” she asked, going scarlet in the face. There was raucous laughter.

  As they chattered, their hands were busy at their stitching, embroidering the brim of a hat or sewing cloth shoes. The room was filled with the clack and hiss of needles and thread.

  “Will you write to that man of mine and ask why no dollar letters have arrived for the last two months?” asked a woman called Ah-Lin.

  Ah-Lin’s husband was the oldest of the Gold Mountain men, at fifty-six years of age. He had chronic asthma and could not do heavy work. A few years previously he had saved up a bit of money and bought himself concubine at one of the tea-shacks. He had two children with her and, since then, had not been back home. He just sent the necessary dollar letter every couple of months, to maintain his first family. In fact, for both families, it was the woman’s earnings in the tea-shack which kept body and soul together.

  “What’s the point of asking him?” said someone. “Isn’t that woman in charge?”

  This was a sore point, and Ah-Lin said fiercely: “I’ve had all the rotten luck, while she’s out in Gold Mountain enjoying life with him.”

  Several women piped up at once. “She’
s a tea-shack girl. What do you expect? She’s the rotten apple at the bottom of the barrel. Anyway, it was your man who made her his fancy woman.”

  Ah-Lin bit her lips until deep teeth marks showed. “Huh!” she said. “I’m the one Ah-Kyun married officially. That worthless bit of baggage!”

  Six Fingers could not help herself. She jabbed her finger in Ah-Lin’s face: “And what about your nice tiled house and your silk clothes? That girl has slaved away to pay for them, hasn’t she? You only eat if she has food. If she doesn’t have food, you’ll all just starve to death. Why don’t you just write a nice letter and ask what’s going on? What’s the use of whining?”

  That silenced Ah-Lin.

  One young woman, just married, was a bit of a tease. She grabbed the letter Six Fingers had not had time to put away and began to read through. There was general laughter and cries of “Since when did you learn to read, Ah-Chu? Haven’t you got it upside down?” Ah-Chu paid no attention. She frowned and peered at the letter, tracing each character with her finger. Finally, she shouted in triumph: “‘Field,’ there’s the character for ‘field’ here, Sister Six Fingers! I know that one! And ‘ox,’ I know ‘ox’ too! And there’s a ‘four’ here. I’ve got it! You’re going to buy four plough oxen, right?”

  Six Fingers did not know whether to laugh or cry. She took the letter back, saying: “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, isn’t it? The worry’s not someone who’s illiterate or literate, it’s someone who’s semi-literate.”

  Ah-Chu was young. Her husband had gone to Gold Mountain straight after their wedding. She was now five months’ pregnant with her first child so, unlike the village women with children in tow, she was free to please herself and enjoyed coming over to Six Fingers’ house for a bit of fun. Six Fingers sometimes taught her a few characters.

  “You mean even a dumb-bunny like Ah-Chu can learn to read?” the others exclaimed. “It’s not difficult,” said Six Fingers. “If you learn one character a day, you’ll know three hundred and sixty-five by the end of the year, and in a couple of years you’ll be able to write your own letters. Then if you’ve got something private to say, no one else needs to know.”

  There were nods of agreement. “That’s true,” said someone. “Six Fingers knows all our innermost thoughts. And we have to give her presents of eggs and cakes into the bargain!”

  Amid the general chatter and laughter, Kam Ho suddenly woke up and gave an ear-splitting wail. Six Fingers hurriedly pointed towards the back room and the women lowered their voices. But it was too late. They heard the tap-tapping of a walking stick and Mrs. Mak came into the room.

  She waved her stick in the air, then pointed it right at Six Fingers’ forehead—the “eyes” in her ears were as acute as ever. “You should have fed that baby ages ago. What have you been doing since you got out of bed?” Six Fingers hurriedly picked up Kam Ho, undid her buttons and pressed a nipple into his mouth. Kam Ho whimpered and then settled down to feed.

  Mrs. Mak’s walking stick made another circle in the air. “And you lot, haven’t you got any work to do at home? It’s the fifteenth of the eighth month. You should be helping your parents-in-law get things ready for the Mid-Autumn Festival.” The women exchanged glances, not daring to speak, and then crept away like mice fleeing a cat.

  Six Fingers knew that her mother-in-law did not like her mixing with the wives of Gold Mountain men, in case they led her into bad ways and she became uppity at home. Cradling Kam Ho in one arm, she helped Mrs. Mak to a chair. “Mum, it would really help if I can teach them to read and write a bit. It’ll stop them pestering me to write their letters for them, and that’ll save our family a lot of trouble.” “Huh!” the old woman responded. “It’s better if a woman can’t write, then there’s nothing to distract her from attending to her in-laws.”

  Six Fingers heard the sting in that remark and saw the black look. She redoubled her attentions to her mother-in-law. “Mum, did you not sleep well last night?” she asked. “Huh!” Mrs. Mak said again. “How do you expect me to sleep well? I miss my Ah-Fat. He was nothing but skin and bone this time back. He has such a hard life. The whole family depends on the dollar letters he sends. He slaves away day and night in Gold Mountain, and never gets a hot dinner. And if his clothes need mending, there’s no one to mend them for him. That husband of Ah-Lin, he can’t hold a candle to my Ah-Fat, but he’s doing all right. He’s got his first wife looking after the family here and a second wife to look after him there.”

  Six Fingers was aghast. Her mother-in-law seemed to be saying she wanted Ah-Fat to take a concubine in Gold Mountain. Before she married, she had been adamant that she would make her own match and would never become a second wife. But now that she was married to Ah-Fat, there was no way she could stop him taking a second wife. Was that what he had been discussing with his mother before he left? No wonder he had not talked to her about taking her to Gold Mountain.

  She took a deep breath but there was still a tremor in her voice as she asked: “And does Ah-Fat have anyone suitable in mind?”

  Mrs. Mak sighed. “He doesn’t want a second wife. He won’t listen to his mum. Now that he’s married, he only listens to his wife. Everyone knows you’re the only one he listens to. If you really want the best for him, you’ll write and suggest that he spend a bit of money on a concubine here to take back with him to Gold Mountain. Gold Mountain women, you don’t know where they’ve come from. You can’t trust them.”

  Six Fingers found herself unable to answer either yes or no. Myriad ants seemed to be crawling over her skin. She was torn between being happy at Ah-Fat’s fidelity, and worried about how Ah-Fat was coping in the face of such hardship. She could not bear the feeling of Mrs. Mak’s blind gaze, or rather the eyes behind her blind eyes, boring into her. She finally muttered: “Yes, Mum.”

  Mrs. Mak got up and went out. When she got to the door, she turned and said: “Six Fingers, I know what you’re thinking. Every wife finds it hard to accept her man taking a second wife. When Ah-Fat’s dad was alive, I was dead against him having a concubine too. But Ah-Fat can’t go on year after year without someone to look after him. Unless of course you’re thinking of leaving your old mum-in-law here all alone and going off to Gold Mountain to be with him.”

  This last statement had a distinct rise at the end of it, so that it sounded more like a question. Mrs. Mak finished speaking but did not move. Leaning on the door frame, she seemed to be waiting for an answer. Six Fingers knew that if she did not give it, her mother-in-law could stand there forever.

  “I’d rather stay here, Mum, and attend to you for a hundred years,” Six Fingers said. She did not look at her, dared not look at her. Mrs. Mak’s blind eyes could see through her all too clearly.

  Mrs. Mak’s stick tapped away into the distance, then halted.

  “Ah-Choi, put eight of the best moon cakes, two of each kind, in a nice decorated box and take them to Auntie Cheung Tai. She deserves them, for taking in the young mistress when she was little. It can’t have been easy.”

  The old woman’s words echoed sibilantly around the courtyard.

  Year twenty-nine of the reign of Guangxu (1903) Vancouver, British Columbia

  “Name”

  “Ah-Lam.”

  “Surname?”

  “Chu.”

  “So Ah is your first name, and Lam is your middle name. Is that right, Mr. Chu?”

  Ah-Lam looked at the interpreter. “Are you talking Chinese? I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

  Ah-Fat clenched his teeth together, and bit back the laugh which threatened to escape like a fart.

  The public seating area was of moderate size, just ten rows of seats with a gangway down the middle. Ah-Fat was seated on one side, and there was a yeung fan on the other. The yeung fan held a Provincial News, and had “Name?” already leafed through it a number of times. Now he was perusing the advertisements, in particular a small one outlined in red ink:

  The Whispering Bamboos Laun
dry announces the opening of a new branch, situated opposite the Vancouver Hotel in Georgia Street. The Whispering Bamboos Laundry has over a decade of experience in washing, starching, ironing and mending, and has more than twenty employees. We are at the service of hotels and individual customers. Prices are reasonable and your satisfaction is guaranteed.

  The interpreter was a short man dressed in a neatly pressed three-piece suit. Holding his hat in his hand, he stood ramrod straight, reminding Ah-Fat of the clothes prop in the back room of his laundry.

  “Yes, Your Honour. Chu Ah-Lam says that is the case.”

  Bald-headed traitor, Ah-Lam swore silently to himself, disrespecting your ancestors, cutting off your pigtail and eating out of the White man’s hand.

  “The case of Hunter v. Chu is hereby convened. Mr. Hunter, will you swear in God’s name that today you will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

  Mr. Hunter was the plaintiff in the case against Ah-Lam. He took thick, black, leather-bound book from the judge, raised his right hand and rattled something off. When he had finished, the interpreter took the book and passed it to Ah-Lam.

  “I’m not swearing on any black book. I don’t believe in that Long Beard god of yours.”

  “What does he say?” the judge asked the interpreter.

  “Mr. Chu doesn’t believe in God so he can’t take the oath on the Bible.”

  “Well, what does he believe in, apart from money?”

  “You motherfucker” was Ah-Lam’s response when the interpreter translated the judge’s question. The interpreter was aghast. After a pause, he said to the judge with some embarrassment: “Mr. Chu hopes your mother well.”