The Boy with Blue Trousers

by Carol Jones

  She was in a hole of some kind, perhaps a well. A square well. Gazing up into the darkness, she realised that those distant pinpricks were stars. Perhaps if she called out, Second Brother’s face would appear at the lip of the well, laughing at her predicament. He would call her ‘fai mui’ and then he would find a way to get her out. She held onto this thought for a few moments, enjoying the feel of it, the warm notion of home and safety. But instinctively she knew that it wasn’t true. Unlike the well at home in Sandy Bottom Village, this one was empty of water and it lacked the mossy smell of wet bricks. It was wider, too, and square, where her well was round.

  She gasped involuntarily as she recalled the truth, sending another shooting pain through her ribs. Her head hadn’t been hit by a rock; the rock had been hit by her head. Now she lay at the bottom of a mineshaft on the diggings at New Gold Mountain. She had been in a fight with Young Wu. They had tried to kill each other and he had pushed her into this hole. He might return at any time to finish what he had started.

  But he said he loved her. He asked Big Wu to speak to her father about marriage. How could he kill her if he loved her?

  Except that he was the swaggering son of the headman and she was a lowly silk reeler in his clan’s silk filature. He had always treated her like a troublesome child who needed to be a taught a lesson. And then she had gone and killed his father. How could he love her?

  She tried to recall his face as he confessed his feelings for her. There had been so much pain at his father’s actions that she might almost have missed the yearning that lit his eyes, if she hadn’t recognised it for the same feeling locked away in a hidden corner of her heart. He wanted her, as she had denied wanting him to herself. It was possible that he might love her. Was it also possible that she might love him?

  She rolled these thoughts around in her mind like a dried plum on her tongue. Sweet, salty and sour, all at the same time. She no longer knew what to believe. So she must prepare for anything.

  *

  He barely noticed the weight of the handcart as it skipped over the uneven ground. His qi fizzed through his body, giving wings to his feet. They had pitched their tent far from the Slaty Creek camp, on a ridge at the very edge of the diggings. Yet he covered the distance between the tent and the shaft where Little Cat lay in the time it took to boil water for tea. The bare earth, the blanket of stars above, and the rhythm of the turning wheel felt so like a dream that he might have imagined the battle with the girl he loved. He might have imagined that she lay like the dead in a deep dark hole. But when he arrived at the shaft and looked down, she was still there. He could just make out the dim outline of a body, lying motionless at the bottom. The woman he loved was merely a subtle alteration in the depth of blackness.

  Setting down the handcart close to the edge, he unreeled a length of rope that was attached to the windlass and dropped it into the hole. Then he crouched down, searching for the toeholds that were carved into the side. When he had found them, he knelt facing away from the shaft and shifted one leg over the brink and down, placing his foot in the first of the toeholds. It was a slow climb down in the dark, feeling for each precarious shelf with hands and feet, conscious that they might crumble at any moment and deposit him and a deluge of earth on top of Little Cat. Perhaps burying them both forever.

  He did not mind so much for himself. If Little Cat died, there would be nothing left to live for anyway. He would have to face his father in Hell, or the next life, sooner or later. That reckoning could be postponed but not denied. But he would rather face that battle than see Little Cat die, either by his hand or by misadventure. He could not lose her. He didn’t want to live in a world without her, even if she despised him. Whether he lived or died, his love for her had made him a man. Her strength had given him strength to become his own man, rather than his father’s son.

  One foot touched earth rather than air, and he realised that he had reached the bottom of the shaft. He lowered his other foot carefully, not wishing to stand on Little Cat. Then, kneeling at her side, he placed a tentative hand upon her chest. She lay so still that he feared it might already be too late. Yet despite her long fall and hard landing, he was relieved to detect the slow rise and fall of her chest. She may have broken bones, or worse, but she was alive. He must trust to the gods now.

  He searched the darkness for the rope, which dangled against one wall of the shaft. Lifting her upper body gently, he wrapped the rope beneath her arms twice and tied it securely. Her journey to the top would not be comfortable, but hopefully it would be safe. He scaled the wall of the shaft once more, pulling himself over the edge and leaping to his feet. The windlass groaned in protest as he tried to turn the handle. He leaned all his weight into it, breathing a sigh of relief when it began to turn, the rope creaking as it slowly hoisted up Little Cat’s body. His muscles strained with the effort, but he ignored the pain. When she reached the top, he gripped the handle with his left hand and reached out over the abyss to gather her to him with the other, hooking a leg around the pole of the windlass to anchor himself. For a moment, he wondered if he would be able to hold her weight with a single arm, but he knew that he must for there was no one else to help him. He alone was responsible for her life.

  Releasing the handle, he took her full weight with his right arm, hugging her to his body, then levered them both to safety using the power of legs and torso. Standing upright at the brink once more, he wrapped her in both arms and held her close, nestling his head upon her shoulder in a brief respite. During all his exertions, she had not moved nor made a sound. To all intents, she was as lifeless as a puppet. Yet he felt the soft breeze of her breath against his cheek and her heart danced against his chest.

  He lifted her onto the handcart to lie curled up like a sleeping child. Then he grasped the handles and prepared to carry her to the tent where he hoped the doctor would be waiting. Her weight was distributed awkwardly, but he couldn’t do anything about that now. He put his back into the task and heaved, pushing off with a grunt of effort. Once it got going, the handcart bumped and wobbled around the mullock heaps, skirting gaping holes, as he headed in the direction of the creek where his tent lay up a rise on the other side. Steadying the cart, he braced for the descent into a gully. In the distance campfires flickered like fireflies, while ahead the bush beckoned. Dark. Silent. Secluded enough to hide a secret forever.

  The gully’s banks were ridged with erosion where the miners had been at work. A makeshift plank bridge spanned the trickle of water at the bottom. The gully wasn’t deep but its banks were steep. If he faltered, the cart would escape, hurtling over the uneven ground to fling Little Cat into the creek. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, looking up into the night. But the skies of this southern land did not offer any comfort. He would have to count on himself.

  He started down the slope cautiously, taking small steps. But the cart dragged him forward, intent on yanking him from his feet. Gathering speed, it rumbled over a ridge of earth before becoming briefly airborne so that Little Cat slid sideways, threatening to topple them both. Straining his entire body to stop her from sliding off, he twisted his forearms, battling her weight and the cart’s momentum. Then, in a semi-crouch, he used the power of his legs to halt the runaway cart.

  Breathing hard, he rested halfway down the gully’s bank, the cart stable for the moment. But one of Little Cat’s legs now dangled over the edge, the foot bare and covered with scratches. He took her leg by the ankle to place it back where it belonged and its heat sent a jolt through his arm.

  Cradling her leg, he felt a dense mass fill his throat, as if everything that had happened in the past year was rising up to choke him. His eyes were drawn to her figure – arms crossed haphazardly over her chest, a single braid draped about her neck – and he felt hot tears well. How had it come to this? How had they found themselves so far from the ordered groves and rice paddies of the mighty Pearl River? Why had the gods of the Celestial Kingdom abandoned them?

  �
��How did it come to this, Little Cat? Why didn’t we trust each other?’

  They had been friends of a sort once.

  *

  She heard the tears in his voice and flicked open an eyelid. It had been difficult to remain silent as her body was jolted across the uneven terrain, but she had done so, despite the agony wrought by every bump. Even more difficult when he cradled her foot in his hand. Now at the sound of his pain she could no longer resist opening her eyes to spy him standing vague and shadowy against the starlit sky. His shoulders were hunched, his head buried in his hands. His voice, as he spoke her name, was gruff with sadness.

  Yet intuition warned her again that he was a Wu, and not to be trusted.

  ‘Why did I listen to my father?’ he pleaded with the sky.

  Despite her misgivings, she couldn’t ignore the lure of his physical presence. She had matched him blow for blow. She had felt her naked body held tight against him. She had felt his hands crushing her throat. There were some urges more powerful than intuition. Despite their history, despite her pain and her doubts, she wanted to reach out and touch the smooth brown skin of his cheek and tell him that everything would be all right. She wanted to feel him hold her close. She did not want to fight him.

  ‘Everybody listened to Big Wu,’ she whispered.

  ‘Little Cat! You are awake.’ He crouched by the side of the handcart, caressing her face, searching her eyes in the darkness. ‘Where do you hurt?’

  ‘Everywhere. I think I have broken a rib. But I will live. If you let me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean for you to fall. I only wanted to stop you from killing me…’

  She raised an arm to put her finger to his lips, but thought better of it when her entire body protested. ‘I know.’ Her mouth was the only part of her that did not hurt.

  ‘My family will disown me. My father’s po will haunt me. But I can’t kill you.’

  ‘I can’t kill you either,’ she said. She thought of Elder Brother with his shy glances at Siu Wan, and realised there were many ways to love. Not killing each other was simply one of them. ‘But if I have to spend another moment in this handcart I might change my mind.’

  ‘If I lift you out, can you walk?’

  ‘If I can lean on you.’

  She slid her other leg over the edge of the handcart as he moved his arms beneath her upper body and slowly sat her up. She winced, watching as he mirrored her pain.

  ‘This might hurt,’ he said, preparing to stand her up.

  ‘I will put my arms around your neck.’ She placed her hands around the back of his neck and felt him loosen his hold on her ribs. Then he stood, all her weight hanging from his neck so that she felt the muscles straining with the effort. He had become even stronger since she had seen him last. He was more man than boy now.

  When they were both standing, she let her hands slide from his neck and down over his back so that their arms locked around each other’s waists. The pain in her ribs faded, replaced by a dull ache in her deepest valley.

  So this was the feeling the older girls described when they talked about playing at clouds and rain. She moved closer, pressing herself against his jade stem and he moaned as if in pain.

  ‘Now I have hurt you,’ she said.

  ‘I could bear this agony every day of my life.’ He ran his hands down over her hips, pulling her hard against him. Ignoring the pain, she clung to him.

  ‘We cannot be together,’ she murmured in his ear, letting her tongue lap the salt on his skin.

  ‘I will tell my family that you are dead.’

  ‘Then you will have to return home.’

  ‘I will tell them I plan to stay and dig for gold. Grow the family prosperity to honour my father,’ he said, touching his lips to hers.

  It was a nice thought, but futile. She leaned back, so that she could see his handsome face. She might not have many more chances. ‘You are Big Wu’s only son. They will send someone to find you… and then they will find me,’ she whispered, shaking her head as she spoke.

  ‘We will go away. We will…’ He took her face in his hands, caressing the fine bones of her neck.

  She kissed his lips to silence him. She felt as if every sensation in her body was focused on her lips touching his. She wanted to glue her body to his so that they would never be parted. So that she could hold this feeling forever.

  She also knew that they could not fight the future. It was larger than both of them. The Wus would never let him go. They would never forgive. And she and Young Wu could never wed. Not in this lifetime.

  But at least they could have this moment.

  He crushed her against him and she cried out once more. In pain and pleasure and the bitterness of their fate.

  44

  For the second time that night Violet headed out along Slaty Creek where it trickled slow and brown through the diggings. She was conscious of Lewis glowering at her side as they hurried along the creek bank but he did not engage her in conversation. All his attention was focused on finding Strong Arm. Every so often he spared a few words to check the direction that she had taken, but he did not slow his pace until they reached the lone red gum standing sentinel by the creek about a mile from town. Then he relented, allowing her a brief respite to catch her breath.

  She held her hand to her ribcage as her breathing slowed, wishing she could quell the turbulence in her heart so easily. Above her, the night sky was bright with a river of stars, giving the barren landscape an unearthly appearance, and the quiet was eerie. But she would not be the one to break the silence. She was too angry, with Lewis, with Strong Arm, but most of all with herself. She thought she had done with this pain. She thought she was done with betrayal. And yet she had allowed herself to be fooled again.

  ‘Is this the tree where they met?’ said Lewis, once she had caught her breath.

  She was tempted not to reply, since if she could not get her due, there was still a certain sweetness to petty vengeance, but the urgency in his voice stayed her. Perhaps Strong Arm really was in danger. She might wish a disfiguring pox upon the girl, or an unpleasant bout of diarrhoea, but she did not wish her dead.

  ‘Yes. But I did not follow them further. They continued along the creek that way.’ She pointed towards the distant bushland, beyond which the moon was rising above Cabbage Tree Hill. ‘How will you find them in the dark?’

  ‘There is light enough.’

  He set off once more along the gully, following the course of the creek by the light of stars and a rising half moon. She could have returned to town now that she was no longer of use in showing him the way, yet something held her to this course. A spark of determination, a tiny flame of… hope. He owed her. And perhaps she might win him yet. She was as much a warrior as Strong Arm in her way. Her father had been a sailor, an adventurer, not a farmer of silkworms. Oh yes, if necessary, Miss Violet Hartley could fight as hard as anyone. She would not let pride prevent her from getting what she wanted.

  Campfires glowed on distant slopes nearer town but as they travelled further the diggings became sparser. Lewis’s sure stride took him easily across the uneven ground, while Violet scrabbled to clamber around holes and hummocks. She did not fancy being swallowed up by one of these dark and dirty holes, and her breath came in ragged gasps, but she did not turn back. It felt like they had been walking for hours, but was probably only a quarter-hour, when a sharp cry pierced the night up ahead. Lewis took off immediately at a run. Violet picked up her skirts and followed. There was more vegetation this far from town, so that patches of scrub and the occasional eucalypt, which had escaped the digger’s axe, interrupted her view of the path ahead. She veered around some bushes to emerge on the banks of the gully several yards distant from Lewis. He had ceased running and was staring across the gully to the other side, where two figures were silhouetted by starlight. To Violet, they appeared to be locked in an embrace, standing so close that they might have been one person. The taller figure caressed the smaller one’s neck as if t
o bring her mouth to his, while she encircled his waist with her arms.

  But she also knew that love could resemble a struggle as much as an embrace. It all depended upon one’s perspective. And Lewis, it seemed, was determined to see death where she saw love.

  Another cry. Muffled this time.

  She watched as Lewis removed his revolver from his breast pocket and held the gun in front of him, his arms rigid with intention. He hesitated for an instant, as if weighing the time and distance between himself and the embracing couple and Violet hesitated with him. Instinctively, she knew that Strong Arm faced her lover rather than her killer. ‘No…’ she said quietly.

  Lewis cocked the revolver and aimed.

  ‘No!’ she shouted, taking herself by surprise. Despite her cry, Lewis was not disposed to listen. He did not lower his arm. He did not waver in his intention. Yet what could she do to stop him? And what should it matter to her if some stranger from the tea land died? What should it matter to her if the girl lost someone who she loved? One way or another Violet had lost everyone she had ever risked loving. At least it had taught her resilience. It had taught her to survive. One might even say that she would be doing the girl a favour by not intervening. That was what she told herself in those brief moments before Lewis fired. And yet…

  With a speed she didn’t know she possessed, Violet sprinted the last few yards that separated her from Lewis. ‘No!’ she screamed. But she was too late. With an explosion of sound and saltpetre, he fired the gun just as she reached him. She felt a savage jolt, and reeled with the impact. Pain scorched her upper arm like a hot needle as she crumpled to her knees, whimpering.