White Jade Tiger

by Julie Lawson

  “Run, Jasmine! Run!” Keung cried.

  Another voice, deep within, urged her on. The dream voice, louder and clearer than ever. Jasmine, run! Don’t look back! She felt tiger slippers on her feet, felt the tigers awakening, rushing her on at a dizzying speed.

  Taking courage from the tigers she flew through the night. She could hear her heartbeat drumming along the tracks. She could hear Keung, close behind. She could hear Blue-Scar Wong heaving behind them, closer and closer—

  Don’t look back! Too late. Glancing over her shoulder she caught the flash of steel whizzing through the air, heard the cry, felt her knees buckle and slam against the rail, felt her head smash on the wooden tie. Then all was darkness.

  When she opened her eyes the sky had gone. There were no stars, no moon. Only darkness, weighing down on her. Panic rose in a twisted knot, squeezing her stomach, strangling her throat so she couldn’t swallow. Had she been buried alive? No, rain was falling on her face. No, not rain. Water, dripping from the roof, oozing down the rock walls. She was in the tunnel.

  Come on. Get up. She stumbled towards the sound of scuffling and voices.

  “Where is it?” Blue-Scar had Keung against the wall of the tunnel, the tip of the knife at his throat.

  “No,” Keung gasped. Blue-Scar pressed the knife deeper into the skin. “My...my bag.”

  Blue-Scar struck him across the face. “I’ve torn apart your bag. You know it’s not there. Now, where is it?” The knife broke the skin. Keung felt something wet trickle down his neck and knew it was blood. With a shudder he closed his eyes, silently asking his father and all his ancestors to forgive him. The image of Bright Jade flashed through his mind but disappeared as Blue-Scar hit him again. Gasping for breath, he struggled with the words. “Inside my...”

  “NO!” Jasmine’s movement was so sudden Blue-Scar didn’t know what hit him. All he could see was a blur that leaped from the blackness of the tunnel and knocked him to the ground. A figure loomed over him, arms raised, legs bent, poised, ready to strike. As he started to rise, it kicked him in the throat and sent him sprawling. He felt the second kick coming, grabbed the leg and gave it a viscious twist. Jasmine shrieked and fell onto the tracks as Blue-Scar grappled for her throat.

  “I told you not to interfere!” he shouted. Desperately she fought for breath, raking her fingers through his scalded face until he let go, howling with pain.

  “Jasmine, run!” Dimly, she heard Keung’s voice. She rolled out of Blue-Scar’s way and staggered to her feet, aware of one thought—get out of the tunnel. But what about Keung? She couldn’t leave him. He screamed again, his voice shrill with panic: “Train!”

  With a rising sense of horror, she felt it. The thundering rumble, the vibrations of the track. How far away was it? The beam from the headlight was hazy, but growing sharper, brighter. From the corner of her eye she saw Keung fumbling in his jacket. “Leave it!” she cried. “Run!”

  Before she could move she was pinned by the headlight, piercing as the eye of a tiger. She froze. Heard the whistle. Saw the burst of white steam.

  Blue-Scar lunged towards her. She darted to one side, then hurled herself at him with all her strength. Caught him off balance, pushed him onto the tracks. Flattened herself against the wall. As a white shape roared through the tunnel, growing and growing until it consumed the darkness, its body fierce and terrible.

  Finally the thundering stopped and the ground stopped shaking. In the distance Jasmine heard the whistle of a train, as mournful as a last farewell. She felt a stirring beside her, and reached over to clasp Keung’s hand. In horrified silence they stared at the mangled heap in the centre of the tracks.

  “It was the train,” Keung gasped. “He fell into the path of the train.”

  Jasmine took shallow breaths to quiet the sound of her breathing. “No. I pushed him. I mean, I... There was something else. Didn’t you see it? The white shape, just before the train...”

  Her leg hurt, her chest hurt and her head felt ready to explode. If I could just get out of the tunnel, she thought. Away from this. She sank to the ground, shaking with the horror of what lay on the tracks. If I could get to the daylight.... She buried her face in her arms. Daylight was still a long time away.

  As she was falling asleep she thought she heard Keung’s stunned cry and the words, “The tiger is gone.”

  Sleep was comforting. For a long time the darkness was shut out and there were no dreams to disturb her. But little by little, consciousness stole in. She shivered and reached for the quilt, but it wasn’t there. When she opened her eyes to search for it, she was surprised to see a light in the tun nel, beckoning like a candle flame. She rose and slipped towards it. But as she approached, it grew smaller and smaller, until all its brightness was concentrated in one form—a white jade tiger lying in the centre of the tracks, beside the broken remains of Blue-Scar Wong. Shuddering, she picked up the tiger and crept towards Keung. She placed it in his open palm, smiling as he sighed in his sleep and closed his hand around it.

  Another light shimmered at the end of the tunnel. She drifted towards it, unaware of the darkness, unaware of her footsteps on the tracks. The light was growing, changing, shining with greater intensity. As she stepped out of the tunnel it shifted into a familiar shape, warm and welcoming. Luminous, like Bright Jade.

  The spirit floated off the tracks, down the slope towards the river. “Wait!” Jasmine cried. “I can’t keep up with you.” The spirit turned to her and smiled with the face of her mother. And in her mother’s voice whispered, “The time has not yet come, Dragon Girl.”

  Frantically Jasmine clambered down the slope. “Stop!” She reached out her arms, trying to catch hold of the fleeing shape. Suddenly, she stumbled. Her injured leg buckled beneath her. The next instant she was caught up in a tumble of stones, sliding way, way down to the river below.

  Chapter 20

  “Oh god,” Jasmine groaned. Pain throbbed through her head, into the backs of her eyes, along every nerve in her body. Every muscle ached. Slowly, tentatively, she stretched out hands, arms, legs, testing to make sure nothing was broken.

  “Are you alright?” a voice asked. She glanced up to see a young Chinese woman, her face creased with concern. “We heard a loud clattering. You must have fallen down the stairs.”

  Stairs? No, she had fallen down the riverbank. But...that wasn’t right Where was the river? She looked around, dazed. A staircase, backs of buildings, cement walkways. People in modern clothing. Traffic sounds, a radio blaring through an open window. Was she back in Chinatown? Could this be the courtyard off Fan Tan Alley, where Dragon Maker lived? It wasn’t possible.

  And it was so cold. A raw, snow-coming cold that stung the back of her throat. How could it be so cold in—Wait. It wasn’t September. She was back, and it was February.

  Where was Keung? She had left him sleeping in the tunnel. Was he still there? “I’ve got to go back,” she muttered. “I have to...”

  “You shouldn’t be back here, you know,” the woman said. “There’s a gate across the passageway in the alley.”

  “I know,” Jasmine said. “Hell’s Gate.”

  The woman gave her a quizzical look. “Are you sure you’re alright? Here, let me help you.” Jasmine took her arm and stood up shakily. She took small steps, fighting the dizziness, struggling to regain a sense of control.

  “There’s Fan Tan Alley,” the woman said as they reached the gate. “Fisgard’s to the left. You’re sure you’re OK? I could phone someone.”

  “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “I’m... I’m fine.” A voice whirred inside her head. This is how it ends? What about Keung? What about seeing it through? Suddenly, she remembered her backpack. She had left it at Dragon Maker’s, to be less conspicuous... “Do you know about Dragon Maker?” she asked impulsively. “The old man who used to hide things in his dragons?”

  The woman smiled, surprised. “My grandparents used to tell me that story!”

  “I fou
nd one of the dragons,” Jasmine said excitedly. “And I met Dragon Maker. Did you know that—”

  “It’s just a story,” the woman said. She unlocked the gate and gave Jasmine a pat on the shoulder. “Go home,” she said. “Take a rest from dragons.”

  Somehow, her footsteps led her down Fisgard, along Store Street and onto the Johnson Street Bridge. It was too brash and glaring, the roar of traffic, bustle of people. Lights shone green, red and amber. Words flashed: Walk, Don’t Walk Run.Her heart raced, her knees trembled. Stop. Go. No tunnels. No river. No tiger. Her feet moved reluctantly, unsure of this strange new world. But this is your world, she reminded herself. And your time. Still, she could not make a connection.

  Curious stares followed her, pegging her as the stranger she felt herself to be. She tried to shrug them off, but the feeling of disorientation clung to her as closely as the well-worn jacket. She paused on the bridge and looked over the harbour, longing to see the wharves and the sternwheelers, longing to see Keung.... But the magic was gone and the harbour did not change.

  The voice in her head kept whirring. Maybe if you go back If you go back to the never-ending store and through the door again. Turn around and go back. Now!

  But her footsteps outpaced the voice. Before she knew it she was at her aunt’s. And it was too late to go back.

  “Jasmine,” Val exclaimed. “Back so soon? I wasn’t expecting you for an hour or so. Did you get the tea? Let’s have some now.”

  Jasmine crumpled down at the kitchen table. Tea? She’d completely forgotten. And an hour? She glanced at her wrist, then remembered she’d left her watch at Dragon Maker’s along with everything else. By the kitchen clock it was 10:15. It would have taken about ten minutes to walk home and she’d gone into the store right at 10:00. So, all that time with Keung, all that time in the canyon was...nothing.

  Val sat down, studying her niece closely. “Are you feeling OK? You look like you’ve been through the wringer. What happened to your clothes? And your face—you haven’t been hurt, have you?”

  It was too much. Jasmine threw her head down and sobbed. “I forgot everything—the tea and the postcard, and I left the dragon and the old coin with Dragon Maker and...and I don’t know if Keung got back to Victoria and if he ever—”

  “Suppose you tell me what happened,” Val said, hugging her. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  The minutes ticked away. Through questions and answers and tears. As the time passed—or is it really passing, Jasmine wondered, looking at the clock. Here it is passing, but somewhere else, in another time, it’s not. It’s stopped, completely. As the time passed, she felt lighter, relieved in the telling, as if a bamboo pole had been lifted from her shoulders.

  “It all started with Bright Jade, didn’t it?”

  Jasmine stared at her aunt, astounded. How could she have known?

  “Your mother used to dream about Bright Jade,” Val explained. “And the white jade tiger. She used to keep me awake, talking about it, trying to get it out of her mind. She had terrible nightmares, too.”

  “When did—I mean, did they last for a long time?”

  “They started just after our mother died. And they stopped very suddenly, right about the time Heather tore off those coolie clothes, the ones you’re wearing. She never mentioned the dreams again. You know,” Val said with a small grin, “I was so jealous of Heather. I kept wondering, why can’t I have the dreams? I thought they were some kind of message. I kept going to Chinatown, trying to find the answer. Heather thought I was crazy.”

  “Didn’t she like going to Chinatown?”

  Val shook her head. “That’s why the dreams bothered her so much. She was like our parents. They didn’t want to acknowledge our Chinese connection either. Our grandparents had distanced themselves from it and our parents didn’t want to be reminded of it. Your mom felt the same way.”

  “What do you mean? What Chinese connection?”

  Val’s blue eyes widened. “You mean you don’t know? Heather never told you? Your great-great-grandfather was Chinese!”

  Spirits wove through her dream like fireflies, one light shimmering to the next. Nearest and brightest was her mother. And farthest away, her light as soft as the rustle of silk, was Bright Jade.

  Jasmine woke up, turned on the lamp and studied her face in the mirror. She didn’t look Chinese. But in the coolie clothes, she hadn’t looked white. She was one, she was the other. She was both. Dragon Maker had known. And a part of her must have known. Otherwise, how could she have fitted in? How could the magic have worked, if not for that part of her?

  And why had her mother kept it a secret?

  “You have to imagine the scandal at that time,” Val had said. “A Chinese man married to a white woman? His family would have been as outraged as hers. They must have been very brave, and very much in love, to go through with it. And the Chinese were treated so badly in those days. Maybe that’s why their children wanted to forget.”

  “Why didn’t Mom tell me?”

  “Maybe she didn’t think it was important. A lot of people focus on the present and don’t think too much about the past.”

  “That’s why your parents didn’t like you going to Chinatown?”

  “They thought it best to leave well enough alone, and not venture into the past at all.”

  Jasmine curled up on the window seat and gazed at the city lights. She thought of Keung, arriving so long ago. So young. So alone. All those lives, coming in, going out, like the campfires flickering through the canyon. Did he get home alright? Did he take the white jade tiger home?

  She missed him. She wanted to say, Guess what! I learned something about my ancestors. My great-great-grandfather was Chinese. Do you think he knows I travelled into the past and spoke his language? Is he proud of me, do you think?

  A few days later, the parcel arrived. “The slippers,” Jasmine exclaimed, tearing off the brown paper. “I had a dream about them.”

  Sure enough, there were the slippers, embroidered with the heads of tigers. Tucked inside was a letter.

  Dear jasmine, I really miss you and lasagne—in that order. Actually, I’m enjoying the food and learning the tricks of wokerie. You’re in for some delicious treats.

  Jasmine groaned. “Oh no. He’s going to get carried away again.” I’ve got a week’s holiday in April and hope you will join me for some exploring. A fellow teacher has talked me into visiting her relatives in Guangdong—a province in the South. So how about it? Most of the Chinese who worked on the CPR came from that part of China.

  “Does he know about our Chinese connection?” Jasmine asked.

  “I never thought so,” Val said, “but I could be wrong. I know that Guangdong is where my great-grandfather came from.” I’ve booked you a flight in April. You’ll love it—sorry— let me rephrase that to: I’m sure you might possibly have an interesting time.

  “I hate it when he tells me I’ll love something,” Jasmine explained. “Like when he told me I’d love staying with you. I got furious,”

  “Is it so bad?”

  “No,” she said. “I love it!” About the slippers. The Chinese believe the tiger is the king of beasts, not the lion. He’s as important as the dragon. The Blue Dragon was said to rule over the East and the White Tiger ruled over the West. Demons were supposed to be terrified of the tiger, so it was painted on walls of houses and temples to scare away evil spirits, and embroidered on children’s shoes for the same reason. I suspect you could scare away evil spirits without any help from the tigers, but I thought you might like them all the same. And remember, the longest journey starts with a single step, whether you’re wearing tiger shoes or not. So I hope to see you next month. A longer letter will follow, with more words of wisdom, etc. All my love, Dad.

  P.S. They say a tiger lives to be 1000 years old, and when he’s 500, his colour changes to white. His claws are a powerful good luck charm, if you ever happen to come across them. So keep that in mind, OK? See you soon.


  In no time at all, it was April.

  “You’re really going to China? On Monday? When we’re all suffering in school? You’re so lucky!”

  “Yes, yes!” said Jasmine. She was waiting for Val, surrounded by her teacher and classmates. Her bag was loaded with cards and scraps of paper with everyone’s address, and her mind was stuffed with instructions. “Don’t worry. I’ll send postcards of the Great Wall and the terra-cotta warriors and I’ll bring back pictures of rice paddies and dragons and I won’t forget Krista wants a bell for her bike and—

  “And I’d like a jade carving,” said Mrs. Butler.

  “Dream on!” Jasmine said with a grin.

  “When will you be back?” Krista asked.

  “In time for the summer holidays. Too late for strawberries, but we’ll plant the garden like we planned last year, OK?”

  “Great! With a pagoda, maybe?”

  Jasmine laughed. “Sure, why not? Oh—here’s my aunt, I’ve got to go.”

  “Don’t forget us. Keep up the tai chi. See you...”

  Then she was gone.

  Saturday morning. Everything was organized, packed, checked and double-checked. There was nothing to do but wait, except for one thing. She had to go back Just one more time.

  She took the coolie clothes from the closet and put them on. Braided her hair into one long queue. Placed the hat on her head.

  Val gave her a worried look. “You’re obviously heading for Chinatown. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  Jasmine nodded. “I’ll be back when I’m back.”

  Chapter 21

  Don’t get your hopes up, she told herself as she dashed across the bridge. It might not work. The key might be in the dragon or in the coin, remember? Neither of which you have. So don’t get your hopes up.

  But she zipped along regardless, fired up with the certainty that it would work. Because it had to. It just couldn’t end with so many missing pieces.