by Ling Zhang
The eleven soldiers and Kam Shan fell into place at the end of the ticket queue—but they did not stay there long. With exclamations of surprise, the people in the queue gave way before them and closed in behind. They were waved along with invitations to “Go right on in, please!” Before they realized what was happening, they were standing at the box office.
All except Kam Shan. He was spat out into the queue again like a plumstone when the fruit has been eaten. It was, he knew, because he was not in uniform.
It was not until they were already inside the building with their tickets that they realized that Kam Shan had been left behind.
Kam Shan stood for a long time as the queue snaked forward, the big bag in his arms. Finally, he got to the front. He pulled out a dollar bill and gave it to the cashier. “Give me the best seat, in the middle,” he ordered. The man shot him a look, and pushed out his ticket and thirty cents’ change. Kam Shan took the ticket and left the change. “You have it. As a tip,” he said. He smiled at his look of astonishment and the smile lingered on his face all the way to the auditorium.
A man in a black suit and tie stepped out from the shadows and barred Kam Shan’s way. He stretched out his hand but did not touch him, merely appearing to guide him to the side door.
“This way please.…”
Kam Shan felt his head spin. He searched in the recesses of his memory for words to suit the occasion. The much-used “Sorry” came to his lips but he swallowed it back. Instead he said “Never.” It was a word he had not used in his life before and did not slide smoothly off his tongue. In fact, he was so unused to it, he did not know what intonation to use and it came out as a bellow which frightened them both.
He began to stammer an apology. After thirty years in the country, he still spoke broken English and in moments of stress it went completely to pieces. There was nothing for it but to pull the wooden box out of his bag. The usher could not understand his English but he immediately understood the significance of the engraved box:
Private Jimmy Fong (1900–1945)
Died on French soil in the cause of freedom
The usher looked taken aback, skeptical and hesitant by turns, but his expression finally resolved itself into a friendly smile.
“Come with me,” he said.
By the time Kam Shan had settled in his seat, the lights were dimming and the film was about to begin. Before it went completely dark, he caught a glimpse of the great round dome of the auditorium above, with its host of winged cherubs and the dazzling chandelier that hung from its centre, brighter than all the stars in the sky.
“Kam Ho, you’re finally in the best seats,” he said to the box in his hands.
The box contained a uniform and a military cap.
Year thirty-eight of the Republic (1949)
Hoi Ping County, Guangdong Province, China
Today in Canton Ah-Yuen had come close to losing his life.
The Progressive Teachers’ League had called a meeting of members from each county, to prepare to celebrate the Liberation. He and a teacher from Pak Sha had left the meeting to buy fried rice with snails for everyone’s dinner. As they walked along the road by the river, they heard a deafening boom. Ah-Yuen felt as if someone had cracked him over the head with a stick. When he regained consciousness, he put his hand to his forehead. It came away sticky with blood. He looked up. Only half of Hoi Chu Bridge was still standing, the other half was submerged in the water, stained blood red by the rays of the setting sun. A cluster of wooden boats moored under the bridge had been crushed like matchsticks. Brightly coloured rags hung from the branches of the overhanging trees; as he went closer he saw they were human limbs and articles of clothing. The air was filled with the despairing cries of the wounded.
The locals reckoned that the Nationalists knew they had lost, so they blew up Hoi Chu Bridge to stop the Peoples Liberation Army troops from pursuing them.
He was excited at the news; his heart leapt and his head wound began to pulse with pain. The Peoples’ Liberation Army was very close. There had been constant rumours that the PLA was soon to enter Canton, but no one thought it would happen so quickly. He forgot about getting his wound dressed or about the fried rice. He even forgot to look for his colleague from Pak Sha. He rushed back to tell the other League members the news. It was only when he arrived that he realized he was barefoot. He had no idea when or where he had lost his shoes.
It was midnight by the time his head was bandaged and he had eaten his dinner. He went to bed but he could not sleep. Then he heard on the radio that Canton was liberated. Throwing back the covers, he ran outside. PLA soldiers thronged the whole city, even down to the side streets and alleyways. They had arrived quite silently, as if they had drifted in on sandstorm.
Ah-Yuen stood in the street staring at soldiers who lined the walls fast asleep. Their faces were thin and waxen in the glow of the street lamps, and they looked as if they had not had a decent meal or a good night’s sleep for a very long time. They were equipped with an assortment of puttees and belts, some new, some old, all of different colours, as if they had collected them randomly from the battlefield. But every face bore a smile, as if they were enjoying the same sweet dream. The soldier nearest him was just boy, smooth-cheeked and with a little drool running from the corner of his mouth. If his Wai Kwok had lived, he would have been the same age.
Ah-Yuen stood under the street lamps for a long time, unable to tear himself away. He thought back to the evening when Mr. Auyung left. If he had gone with him, he might have been among these soldiers today, sound asleep like them in the stinking gutters. They would rouse themselves in the morning, and shout in one voice to the entire city: We’ve brought you good times!
That night, the League took an emergency decision to send its members back to their schools. They were to travel through the night and have their teachers and students make a new national flag to be hoisted over the school for the next morning.
It was after midnight by the time Ah-Yuen arrived in Sam Ho Lei Village and felt his way through the pitch dark to the school gate. A League member had given him a ride on the back of his bicycle to the entrance to the village.
There was not a sound to be heard except for the slashing of his bamboo cane in the undergrowth. He used it to ward off snakes, which were a common hazard if you were out and about in the countryside at night. But he was also using it to beat time as he hummed out of tune:
Onward, ever onward,
To the sun we are marching forth,
Treading on our dear mother earth.
The nation’s hopes to bear on our shoulders,
We are an army of undefeated strength.
Ah-Yuen had learned the new anthem this evening, one of many things he had just heard and seen and studied for the first time in his life during the League’s meeting in Canton. Some of the leaders were underground Communist Party members, but Ah-Yuen did not discover this until later.
The villages of Sam Ho Lei and Spur-On were mere waterholes compared to the ocean that was Canton. And Ah-Yuen was a little frog at the bottom. He did not want to go home, he really did not. The more he learned, the more he wanted to go on learning. But he could not get out of this nighttime trip to Sam Ho Lei because the League had given him a task to perform.
The gates to Ah-Yuen’s school were shut for the night and he did not want to wake the old gatekeeper, so he climbed over the wall into the schoolyard. He went to Kam Sau’s room and knocked gently on the window. “Open up…!” A light came on before he had finished speaking; with her husband away, Kam Sau slept so lightly that the smallest sound wakened her.
She opened the door. At the sight of his heavily bandaged head, her knees almost buckled under her. “What … what…?” she gasped, her lips trembling in terror.
“It’s nothing!” Ah-Yuen was quick to reassure her. “I got hit by a stone.” He went straight to their rattan trunk, opened the lid, and began to turn out its contents.
“Have we got
any red material?” he asked.
“What do you want red material for at this time of night?”
“To make a flag. For the New China. Canton’s been liberated.”
“So quickly?” Kam Sau’s eyes were like saucers, astonishment and joy mingling on her face.
Then she went on: “You won’t find any in here. There’s some at the diulau. We used it when we got married, and Mum put it away afterwards.”
“There’s no time. By eight in the morning, we’ve got to raise the flag along with all the other schools.”
Kam Sau sat down on the bed, and considered waking the other teachers to ask for red cloth. Ah-Yuen looked at the quilt which Kam Sau had hurriedly thrown aside. “Get some scissors!” he said. “The quilt cover will do. It’s red. There’s a bit of red embroidery on it but no one will notice.”
As they tore up the quilt cover and made the flag, Kam Sau said: “We’ve had a letter from Kam Shan. The papers in Gold Mountain are full of news about riots and massacres here. He asked if we want to sneak out to Hong Kong. Then we could go from there to Canada. The Canadian government is allowing Chinese in now.”
“Huh!” said Ah-Yuen scornfully. “Imperialist propaganda. Tell your brother not to believe a word of it.”
They finally had the quilt cover opened out flat on the table. It made a big red square which gave the room a warm glow. Stuck in his waistband, Ah-Yuen had a copy of the Chinese Business News which some members of the Teachers’ League had brought in from Hong Kong last month. He took a look at the Chinese flag on the front page. They did not have any yellow fabric but they had some yellow paper left over from the craft class. They followed the design in the newspaper, one cutting, the other pasting, and by the time the first cock crowed the flag was ready.
At five minutes to eight, Ah-Yuen pulled a whistle out of his pocket and blew three sharp blasts to assemble the student body. The sports grounds was already crowded with teachers, pupils and some of the local country folk. Ah-Yuen and Kam Sau released the rope binding the flag and the wind snatched at the material with a savage snap. The rays of the rising sun burnished the fields, the school, the flag and the people in a glow of crimson.
Ah-Yuen mounted the mud-brick platform and began to shout: “Boys and girls.…” His voice suddenly cracked and the words would not come out. “The good times are finally here!” was all he could say.
There was a crackle of applause from all around the sports grounds. Ah-Yuen turned to look at Kam Sau, but she was not applauding. She had buried her face in her hands and her shoulders shook.
“Oh, Dad, I wish you had lived to see this day!” She sobbed for the father she had never seen.
The next day was Sunday and Kam Sau and Ah-Yuen set off for the village with their daughter, Wai Heung. The girl was attending the upper primary class at the School for All now, but Six Fingers missed her so much that she insisted that Wai Heung spend Sundays with her. She offered to go and fetch her granddaughter herself but Kam Sau was anxious to spare her mother the journey. Six Fingers was getting on, and it was a long way for her to walk.
When they arrived, Six Fingers and Mak Dau were horrified at the sight of Ah-Yuen’s head wound. Ah-Yuen succeeded in reassuring them with a sketchy account of what had happened, and they sat down to dinner.
Six Fingers cuddled Wai Heung and showered her with endearments. “What did you study at school this week, sweetheart?” “Dancing.” “Dancing?! What kind of a lesson is that, dear?” exclaimed her grandmother. “Should people like us be learning dancing?” “My dad’s been teaching us folk dances for the Victory March in Canton.” Six Fingers was looking more and more bewildered. “What Victory March?” Kam Sau and Ah-Yuen exchanged smiles. “Haven’t you heard, Mum? Canton’s been liberated. In a few days there’ll be a big ceremony to welcome PLA’s official entry into Canton. All the children from our school will be taking part.”
“Another new dynasty? So soon!” exclaimed Six Fingers. “Don’t talk about it as if it was an Imperial dynasty, Mum,” said Kam Sau. “The Communist Party is the people’s government. We common folks rule, not an emperor.” “That’s what the Nationalist government said too. Do you really believe it?” Kam Sau’s voice rose angrily. “Mum, no more backward talk like that. The Communist Party is different. Life will get better, you’ll see.”
“We’ll have to wait and see if the Communist Party is better or not. But my little Wai Heung’s definitely not joining the march. There’ll be far too many people. She might get lost and someone might kidnap her. Then what would we do?”
Wai Heung had been rehearsing the dances for the last two days and went white in the face when she heard that she would not be allowed to go. She tugged at her grandmother’s sleeve. “Granny, I’ll stick close to Mum and Dad. I promise you I won’t get lost.”
At the look of disappointment on Wai Heung’s face, Mak Dau softened at once. “Let her go,” he said to Six Fingers. “It’s not as if she’s going out alone. She won’t get lost.” Six Fingers’ face tightened with anger. “Doesn’t anyone take any notice of what I say any more?”
Ah-Yuen gave his daughter a little kick under the table, as a hint she should keep quiet, but the girl banged down her rice bowl, and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her as she went. Kam Sau went after her but nothing she could say stemmed the flow of tears. Finally she said: “Your dad says when the time comes, you’ll be going. Only don’t tell your granny.” Wai Heung smiled through her tears.
Ah-Yuen and Kam Sau spent the night at the diulau but neither could sleep. Suddenly he wanted her very much. Kam Sau had refused to allow her husband even to look at her, let alone touch her, since the assault by the Japanese soldiers left her so badly injured. But tonight, after a few attempts to push him off, she gave in, insisting only that he turn the light off. The room was dark, but it was a darkness broken up by bright moonbeams which filtered in through the lattice windows, casting dancing shadows of the trees outside onto the floor. Ah-Yuen caressed Kam Sau, feeling the jagged, lumpy scar between her legs, and she began to tremble all over. At last, after so long, she felt like a woman again as she grew moist at his touch.
Ah-Yuen held Kam Sau in his arms. “The dawn’s coming. There’s nothing to be afraid of now.”
As they lay awake, Ah-Yuen said: “Write to your brother tomorrow and tell him the shoe’s on the other foot and this is where the good times are now. Tell him to come home and live out his days here.”
Kam Sau smiled. “The new government has new currency. We can’t use the American dollars my brother sends any more.” “Of course we can,” said Ah-Yuen. “It would make nice green wallpaper. If we stick them up, it’ll be a reminder that there are still Chinese living a hard life in Gold Mountain.”
1952
Spur-On Village, Hoi Ping County, Guangdong Province
When Kam Sau’s meeting in town had finished, she picked up her daughter and they set off for Spur-On Village to see Six Fingers.
They had not been home for three Sundays running, for various reasons. Kam Sau had had a number of meetings to attend because the School for All was merging with a local government school and Ah-Yuen had to stay behind for another meeting. Wai Heung had graduated this summer from upper primary and was at the county middle school. This was even farther from the diulau than her parents’ school so she could not go home every weekend.
Wai Heung had shot up and, at fifteen, was nearly as tall as her mother. She was still a beanpole, although there were signs that she was developing a young woman’s curves. In her neat white blouse and blue trousers, she looked ready to burst into bloom.
Kam Sau was delighted to see her daughter again. “How’s your homework?” she asked. “Is it more difficult than in primary?” “The homework’s easy,” said Wai Heung, “but it’s hard to learn our lines. Last week the whole class went with the work team to the villages to promote land reform.”
Kam Sau was surprised. “What do you know about land reform?” she
asked. “Chairman Mao tells us: Get rid of bandits and tyrants, cancel tenancies and mortgages,” her daughter began. Her face was screwed up with effort, and Kam Sau could not help smiling. “Do you really understand it? Or are you just reciting it?” “Of course I understand it. It means ‘Down with the exploiting class!’”
They plodded on getting hot and sweaty, then sat down by the roadside and drank from their army-issue water bottles. Wai Heung wiped the sweat from her forehead and asked her mother tentatively: “Mum, is our family in the exploiting class?” “Of course not.” “But we have fields, and tenant farmers and farmhands.” “That doesn’t mean we’re the exploiting class. Your grandfather was a labourer in Gold Mountain and so were your uncles, and every inch of our family’s fields was bought with their sweat and blood.”
Wai Heung seemed reassured by her words, but Kam Sau was puzzled: “Who’s been giving you those silly ideas?” she asked. “Auntie Ah-Hsien.” “Huh!” said her mother. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Kam Ho’s widow, Ah-Hsien, was no longer the dull, bovine woman she used to be. Nowadays she was much more talkative; she had an opinion on everything.
When Six Fingers told her to put more water in the rice, Ah-Hsien responded that that was only what poor people did in the old days, to eke out the little they had. Now that they were liberated, everyone had more than enough to eat, and there was no need to make the rice go further.
On Tam Kung’s birthday, when Six Fingers told her to take the fruit offering to the altar and light incense sticks, Ah-Hsien did as she was told, but only after delivering herself of the opinion that rich people did not need to go to sea, so they did not need to worship Tam Kung. That was for poor people but, since Tam Kung did not take any notice of the prayers of the poor, it made no difference if they worshipped him or not.
Ah-Hsien had begun to dress differently too. She still wore the old-style tunic but added a leather belt which she had begged from Mrs. Wong of the work team as a fashion accessory. Every day when she got up, the first thing she did was to fasten it over her tunic. “What on earth do you think you’re wearing?” exclaimed her mother-in-law rudely. “If you want to dress up as a beggar woman, why don’t you just tie a straw rope around your waist?” Ah-Hsien said nothing but carried on wearing the belt anyway.