White Jade Tiger

by Julie Lawson

  A bridge stretched before them, high above the creek. Jasmine groaned. If it wasn’t a tunnel, it was a trestle-bridge. She gritted her teeth and took a step forward. She was a Dragon Girl, after all. Somewhere, her unknown ancestors were watching.

  “Don’t look down,” Keung said. “Keep looking ahead, at the gang working on the other side. See, they’re laying ties and rails.”

  She concentrated on the sounds of hammering and tried to ignore the creaking of timbers beneath her feet. It’s perfectly safe, she told herself, glancing at the piers of solid masonry supporting the spans. It’s built to carry a train. Even if it’s over 100 feet high, it’s perfectly safe. One step at a time. Over the first span. At least she was in the open, not inside a tunnel. But which was worse? She remembered a discussion she’d had with Krista. Would you rather be too cold or too hot? Too cold No, wait—too hot. No, too cold... Stop it. There, over the second span. What if a train should come? Walk faster. Would you rather fall from a trestle or be buried in a tunnel? Faster. Faster.

  “I did it!” she exclaimed. “Way faster, this time.”

  The wind picked up as the day wore on, and dark clouds threatened rain. They passed several camps, some with tents, some with crude log cabins. Gangs of coolies laboured everywhere. But no sign of Chan Sam.

  At China Bar they met a man panning for gold. “The whites left, so I took over the claim. I’ve been lucky.” He smiled broadly.

  “Did you work on the railroad?” Keung asked.

  “For awhile I worked on the cliffs. They lowered me down on ropes, then I drilled holes in the rock walls for explosives. Then they pulled me up—before the blast. When the rock was blown away there was a foothold so other men could stand and work.” He looked up at the rugged peaks. “With nothing but shovels we changed the shape of these mountains. But the mountain spirits kept many of us in payment. Now I find gold It pays better, if you’re lucky. Sometimes I find jade in the river. Always green though, never white.”

  “Have you heard of the white jade tiger?”

  His eyes widened. “You speak of this too? Not long ago a merchant came by, asking about this tiger. But no, I know nothing.”

  The bridge at Skuzzy Creek was even more nerve-rattling than the one before, especially with the wind whipping across it. “Why don’t we go down to the creek,” Jasmine suggested. “We can warm up and have something to eat. If Blue-Scar is following us, he’d never think of looking down there.” And we won’t have to cross the bridge, she added to herself. At least not for awhile.

  They half-scrambled, half-slid down the slope. At the bottom they found a rock outcrop, sheltered from the wind. They built a fire for the tea kettle and rice pot, and were warming their hands when they heard a rustling sound. They looked around, but could see nothing. The rustling continued, punctuated now and then with coughs and moans. “There’s someone in there,” Jasmine said. “In that cluster of trees.”

  They crept towards a clearing in the alders and found an old man kneeling in front of a ragged tent, trying to start a fire. “Come and share our food,” Keung said. “We have a fire close to the creek.”

  The man started at the sound of Keung’s voice. With great difficulty he straightened, leaning on a stick for support. He turned towards them slowly, as if the slightest movement caused pain.

  Jasmine gasped at the sight of his face. It was horribly swollen and discoloured with bruises. His feet and legs were swollen too, and he moaned with each rasping breath.

  Keung stood staring, frozen with shock.

  The man shook, as if overcome by a sudden chill. “Blackleg scurvy,” he said hoarsely. “First the feet swell. Then the legs. And the eyes. When the shaking becomes too violent, you know there is not much time left.” He gave a weak smile as if shrugging off the inevitable, and forced himself to stand taller, in a gesture of defiance.

  Keung struggled to speak. It couldn’t be. And yet—the tilt of the head, the shrug of the shoulders, the way he stood, even now, desperately trying to maintain his dignity. Finally, in a strangled cry, the word came out. “Father!”

  Chapter 18

  Chan Sam took a step, dazed and unbelieving. “Keung? How can this—I don’t—” Overcome by another bout of shaking, he collapsed in his son’s arms.

  Keung and Jasmine half-carried him to their shelter and propped him up by the fire. Keung prepared a cup of tea, added special herbs, and handed it to his father.

  “So you find me, just before I am to die,” he said weakly. “The gods have had some part in this. Or Bright Jade.” He peered at Jasmine through swollen eyelids. “Although she is not what I expected.”

  “This is Jasmine, Father. She’s from another time, but she’s not Bright Jade.”

  Chan Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. She has led you to the tiger, after all.”

  “But what about you, Father? What happened?”

  In a faltering voice, struggling to control the shaking, he explained. “I was in Lytton. The white boss fired two men in my gang. Too lazy, he said. The bookman gave them another chance. But after two hours, they were fired again. The boss refused to pay them for the two hours. So we attacked the boss and three others with rocks and shovels and pick handles. It was wrong, but we were so angry. One man was badly hurt. The next night....” He hunched over, seized by a fit of coughing.

  “The next night,” he continued, “a group of whites attacked our camp. They set fire to our bunkhouse. When we ran out, they beat us.” He ran a hand over his bruised face, wincing at the touch. “My friend died of the beating. Many were badly hurt. But the white doctors in Lytton would not treat us. We had to send for the Chinese doctor in Yale.”

  “I hope they were arrested,” Jasmine exclaimed.

  “Nothing happened,” he said bitterly. “We identified the leaders, but they got off. After that, I left Lytton. I had to get to Victoria and find a way to return to China.”

  He paused, worn out by the effort of talking. “I became weaker and weaker. I was afraid the coolies would take my possessions and leave me if they saw I was ill. So I came down to this creek. In a dream I saw the white jade tiger coming to life in my hand. Growing larger and larger until it opened its jaws and devoured me, one piece at a time. I screamed and woke up, drenched with sweat. Shaking. I knew I didn’t have much time. Now I know I can go no farther.”

  Keung gave an anguished cry. “Why did you never write? Three years without a word!”

  Tears welled up in Chan Sam’s eyes. “I was too ashamed. I’m sorry, I—” His shoulders heaved with racking coughs. “I found the tiger in the mud. I should have reburied it, but I thought it would change our fortunes. I thought it would bring good luck.” In a halting voice, he asked, “Do you know about Blue-Scar Wong?”

  Keung nodded. “He’s been following us, hoping to find you and the white jade tiger. We left him behind at Hell’s Gate.”

  “Wong took the tiger from me. I stole it back. Then I fled Victoria—” His words were broken by violent shaking and another fit of coughing.

  “Rest now, Father. Don’t try to speak.”

  Chan Sam brushed him aside and continued, his voice lowered to a raspy whisper. “The whites tried to take it away when they attacked the camp. But every time they touched it, their fingers burned.” He fumbled with the leather thong around his neck. “What a terrible weight. It grows heavier and heavier. Too long I have carried this curse. Here— take it.” He handed Keung the priceless piece of jade.

  Jasmine stared at the tiger, luminous as moonlight. Every muscle was finely etched in the stone. Strength, power and magic pulsed from within, as if the tiger might spring to life at any moment.

  “You must take the tiger home,” Chan Sam said. “Remember the prophecy— dreams turn to dust, until the white jade tiger sleeps again.It grows restless. Unless it is returned, it will destroy—” He stopped, seized by another attack of shaking.

  “We’ll take you to Yale,” Jasmine said. “There’s a doctor there,
I’m sure you’ll—”

  “Too late,” he said. “Joss has it otherwise. The curse of the tiger has it otherwise. But listen, my son. I do not wish to remain here as a ghost. Promise to mark my grave and send my bones home to China.”

  “Yes, Father. But—”

  “And find a hiding place for the tiger. There are those who do not fear its curse.” He shakily drained the last of his tea. Then he fell forward, face in hands, exhausted.

  They carried him to his tent and gently tucked the frayed quilt around him. In no time, he was asleep.

  “He is not yet fifty,” said Keung. “And already he is an old, old man. This Gold Mountain is killing my people.”

  “It won’t always be like this,” Jasmine said. “In my time—”

  “Please. Do not talk about your time. Living in my time is enough of a burden right now. I have found my father only to watch him die. It is too hard for you to understand.”

  “You’re wrong. I do understand.”

  Long into the night she cried, for her loss and for his. And it seemed as though all the ghosts in the canyon cried with her.

  Ghosts stirred the dreams of Chan Sam. They showed him the white jade tiger buried in the mud. And a hand, pulling it out. They showed him his greed and selfishness, taking the jade to Gold Mountain, ignoring the prophecy. They also showed him a strong, fearless image of himself, drilling holes into rock walls, carving roads out of the granite cliffs. Ah yes, he sighed in his sleep. They had moved mountains. But what of their dreams? What of their Gold Mountain?

  “Aiee!” he cried, stretching out his arms to the wailing ghosts. “I remember you—crushed to death by the rolling log. And you—drowned, when you fell from the unfinished bridge. And you—who are you? You, without a head?” He screamed in horror.

  Keung rushed to his side. “Father, wake up. It’s only a dream.”

  “No,” he gasped. “It’s not a dream. We were not given a proper warning and my friend—his head was blown off in an explosion.” He sobbed with despair. “These ghosts will not rest until they are given a proper burial. But how will we find their bones?” He grabbed Keung’s arm. “Do you remember the Great Wall of China? And the tomb of Bright Jade’s Emperor?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Stone by stone we built that Wall and died for someone’s dream. Year after year we dug deep into the earth, building a kingdom for the Emperor, dying for his dream. And this railroad! Here we are in a foreign land, breaking our backs and our hearts for someone else’s dream. But what of our dreams? What of yours?”

  The ghosts did not disturb Keung’s dream, that night by Skuzzy Creek. He dreamed of a girl, dressed in the clothes of a coolie. She was swinging over a river, her long dark hair trailing like the feathery branches of bamboo. As he watched, she let go of the rope and plunged into the water. Frantically, he waited for her to come up. But when she emerged it was not from the river.

  She stepped out of Fan Tan Alley, her face bright with laughter. He followed her along a street he did not recognize, a paved street, full of sounds and colours, lined with flowering cherry trees. At the end of the street was a gate, golden and splendid, with three roofs of glazed tiles gracefully curving up at the corners. Brightly painted panels shone in the sunlight—the phoenix and the dragon, green earth and blue sky, yin and yang.

  The girl was passing through the gate, passing to the other side. Once she passed through, he knew he would never see her again. Desperately, he called her name. “Jasmine wait! Don’t go!” But she did not hear him. She did not see him. He had become the ghost.

  In Jasmine’s dream a parcel arrived from her father. When she opened it she found a pair of red satin slippers, embroidered with tigers in silk threads of blue, white and gold. But when she put them on, the tigers roared to life, leaped off the slippers and vanished.

  She awoke expecting to be back in Fan Tan Alley. After all, they had found Keung’s father and the white jade tiger. Instead, she woke to a brilliant sunrise over the Fraser Canyon. The creek splashed alongside her, the river rushed below. The ground glittered with frost.

  She shivered, and wrapped the quilt more tightly around her. From the far side of the trestle came the sounds of hammers and picks as coolies began their day’s work. And from the cluster of alders came another sound.

  She rose to find Keung piling rocks on top of a freshly-dug grave, his face taut with unshed tears. She stood beside him in silence, clasping his hand. There was nothing to say.

  “I’ll find work in Victoria,” Keung said as they climbed the slope to the tracks. “As a servant, maybe. Or as a woodcutter or vegetable peddler.”

  “Don’t forget the merchant we met on the sternwheeler.”

  “Oh yes, Lam Fu Choy. I had forgotten.” He paused for a moment. “You will go back to your time?”

  “I guess so.” She had been puzzling over that very thought. How would it happen? The last time, Bright Jade had appeared in a dream. She had followed her, somehow, and woken up in Fan Tan Alley. Maybe she had to be asleep to get back. Maybe she had to be in Chinatown.

  They walked quickly, anxious to reach Yale and take the sternwheeler back to Victoria. Every so often Jasmine saw Keung touching the tiger, as if to make certain it was still there. “Where will you hide it?” she wondered.

  “I’ll ask Dragon Maker to hide it in one of his dragons.”

  “Won’t Blue-Scar Wong look there like he did before?”

  “I’ll say my father died before I could find him. I’ll say he’s buried somewhere near Lytton, along with the tiger.”

  Somehow, she didn’t think it would be that simple.

  The last rays of sunlight were sinking into the river as they passed Hell’s Gate. The mouth of yet another tunnel loomed ahead. Jasmine shuddered. Tunnels were bad enough in the daylight, let alone after dark. “Let’s camp here,” she said. “I’m ready for something to eat.”

  They bustled about in an easy silence, building the fire and preparing the meal. It occurred to her that they were good at this, that in their short time together they had developed quite a routine. The thought made her smile. “You know,” she said, “this will probably be our last night in the canyon.” Something shifted inside as she spoke, a rush of sadness or regret so sharp it startled her. She realized then that she didn’t want to leave him. Didn’t want to go back. And yet—

  His voice, soft and urgent, pushed into her thoughts. “Do you hear something?”

  She strained to listen. A low bubbling of water, the whish of steam, the crackling of flames. She shook her head and reached for more tea. Keung put out his hand to stop her. “Listen.” He stared into the darkness beyond the fire.

  The rustling of leaves on a windless night. The padding of footsteps. “Someone’s coming,” Jasmine whispered. A thrill of fear brushed her spine. She caught a glint of steel. And knew who it was.

  Chapter 19

  Jasmine felt a sickening lurch in her stomach as the figure stepped into the firelight. She swallowed hard. “Blue-Scar Wong,” she said, trying to keep her voice from quivering, “are you afraid of tigers in the night?” Her eyes flashed to the knife in his hand.

  Blue-Scar Wong flicked the blade with his thin fingers. His face was a crumpled mask of papier-mâché, twisted and grotesque. He gave a malicious smile and the scar gleamed lurid blue in the firelight. “Tigers?” he hissed. “It is not a fear of tigers that led me to you, but a desire to take back what is mine. Give me the white jade.”

  “We don’t have it,” Keung said.

  Blue-Scar leered unpleasantly. “I saw your father hand it to you. I heard his words. I care nothing for the curse of this white jade tiger. That does not affect me. What affects me is its value. Selling it will make me a very rich man. Besides, your father stole it from me and I want it back.”

  “It belonged to my father,” Keung said heatedly. “The bailiff had no right to take it from him or to sell it. If you hadn’t lied, it would have been returned to him long ago
.”

  “You should be happy I’m taking it off your hands,” Blue-Scar said. “The white jade tiger has brought nothing but grief to your family. How many dead now? Three sisters, your brother, your father, not to mention all the others in your clan. When I take it, you’ll have a better chance of staying alive.”

  “That’s not how it works,” Jasmine said sharply. “No matter who has it, Keung’s family suffers. Until the tiger returns to Bright Jade’s grave.”

  “Who are you to know so much about the white jade tiger?” He spun around, his words hitting her like blows. “You, a pitiful coolie, cowering in my gambling den, scrabbling along the tracks. But then, perhaps you are not what you seem. Who are you? And what business is this of yours?” His eyes pierced into hers.

  Jasmine remained silent. Fear gnawed at her belly, her heart pounded in her ears, but she met his stare without flinching, until finally he blinked and looked away.

  “Bah!” he spat. “You’ve been hearing too many stories, too many legends of the past. Forget them. You are here now, to stay. Both of you. You will never return to China. I, on the other hand, may go back with my riches, after selling the jade.” His voice turned ugly and hard. “Give it to me.”

  “I will return to China,” Keung retorted. “And when I go, the tiger will come with me.” His hand edged towards the fire. He flashed a look at Jasmine, his eyes darting from Blue-Scar to the fire, then back again. Be ready, they said.

  “You are an ignorant, worthless boy,” Blue-Scar growled, pointing his knife at Keung. “If you don’t hand over the tiger, I’ll—”

  He never had time to finish. In one sudden move, Keung lifted the tea kettle and pitched it straight at him. The kettle smashed against the side of his head and the scalding water spilled over his face. “Aieeee!” he screamed, again and again.

  Keung and Jasmine sped towards the tunnel.

  “I’11 kill you!” The words blasted through the canyon as Blue-Scar Wong shot after them, livid with rage.