by Paul Yee
We look like bandits, with cloth wrapped around our heads to hide our noses. The explosions release thick clouds of dust that the winds hurl into our faces. We narrow our eyes and squint as much as possible. As we breathe, our noses and throats feel dry and cracked. Once you start coughing, it is hard to stop. But the cloth makes us sweat even more. When we get back to camp, everyone rushes to fetch water to bathe and to flush the grit out of our throats.
July 7
We thought the danger lay inside the tunnel but it hovered outside too. Rocks hurtled down the mountain and crashed into us. The narrow path slowed our escape. A man from Lucky’s crew was slow, and his legs were crushed. He screamed in pain, but no one could relieve him. His workmates carried him to the raft to send him to a doctor. Then we cleared the outside path before going back into the tunnel. It is a living death to lose one’s legs. Can you imagine being stuck in one place, all day long, watching people walk and skip by you, laughing and talking and going places you will never see?
July 9
Wong Brother and I went fishing but he said very little. The narrow path at work forces us to walk single file. If Wong Brother is not right ahead or right behind me, then we cannot talk, even when we stand and wait for Red Beards to come out.
We went up a side stream into the forest. We crashed through bushes and found two Red Beards, fishing with long poles. They looked at us, and then went on talking softly as we went farther upriver.
Wong Brother asked if I wished Ba were in this crew. I told him honestly that I didn’t know, because we argued so often. Wong Brother reminded me what Ba had said to Sell-Ginger on the boat. Yes, Ba had spoken well, but then I reminded Wong Brother that Ba’s gambling was hurting our family.
Some nights, I stare for hours into the dark, worrying that Ba and I could be stranded here and never go home to China. After a long pause, Wong Brother told me, “Good-hearted men gamble too.”
But that made me think more of Grandfather than Ba.
When we took fish to the laundry, Fung asked us if we could take his assistant Jong fishing. I offered him my line and hook, but Fung refused. He tapped his forehead.
“Jong is lucky to be alive,” Fung said. “Have you heard of Hang Halfway from Heaven?”
He told me Jong and his crew went to drill blasting holes at a high cliff. The mountain was tough; it refused to give. Finally, the crew climbed to the top and the boss lowered men down the mountain face. Dangling from thick ropes, the men drilled holes, stuffed blasting powder, and lit long fuses. Then men at the top pulled with all their might to haul them up. But Jong’s rope got tangled in a little tree growing out of a crack in the cliff. Jong was chopping at it when the blast went off. Rocks careened into him but the explosion also freed his rope. The men pulled him up, and found him senseless. Now he cannot work or speak. He can only do simple things, like fetch water.
I thought he was just quiet. I promised to take him fishing next time.
July 10
Last night I had a nightmare. I dreamt I was dangling like Jong from a long rope down the face of a cliff. Suddenly eagles attacked. Screeching loudly, their talons clawed at me. I kicked at them and tried to fight them off with my hammer, but they were too fast. They came so close I could see their glinting eyes and smell a fierce odour. I shouted at the crew to haul me up, but they shouted back to keep working. I felt pain in my leg. I looked down. It was bleeding. Then pain erupted in my arm. The eagle had torn away my sleeve and raked into me. But the blood that spurted out was not red. It was black and green. That was when I woke up in a cold sweat.
Today I wrote a letter for Wong Brother but wished he had paid someone else. He addressed his father with respect. He described the accidents of the last while as well as meeting Jong. He wept to admit his father was right. Back home, the father had declared Wong Brother could not do this job or survive the setting. Wong Brother said, “I know now that you do not think I am weak or cowardly. You knew the iron road was no life for any man.” Wong Brother wiped his tears and told me to write, “Yet so many of our people are here! How can we live like animals?”
At the end, he made me promise never to tell anyone about this letter.
July 11
More rocks and boulders rolled down on us. The rumbling made us scatter, but no one knew where the rocks would land. Those near the tunnel ran inside. Others rushed down the line. Those caught in the middle flattened themselves against the wall and covered their skulls with pails, hoping the rocks would shoot over their heads. Luckily, no one was hit. We demanded better protection. We use the path all the time, coming and going from the tunnel. We cleared the outside debris as fast as we could.
July 12
No more fresh vegetables. We ate the last of the greens brought up from Yale.
July 14
More rocks roll down the mountain. People say heavy rains are loosening the rocks higher up.
July 16
It rained and we could not go fishing. Nor could we rest. The rain collected atop our sagging tents in heavy pools. We had to release the water before the roof collapsed on us. Then we dug long trenches to take the water away from us. It was supposed to be a rest day, but it felt more like a work day! At least the rain cooled the air. Water falling on dry bush releases a pungent smell, a bit like straw baking in the paddy fields that suddenly gets wet.
Wong Brother spent the day in the gamblers’ tent. I never thought he was the gambling type. I said nothing, to avoid having him call me “woman” like Ba did.
July 18
The bosses decided to put an end to the rocks rolling onto the iron road path. They sent men up the mountain to blast it. Mid-morning, from afar, we heard explosions, one after another and another. When we headed back, the iron road path was buried under rocks, timber and boulders, all tangled three storeys high.
Skinny and lightweight, I climbed the heap of rubble first. At the top, I waved triumphantly. I could see more of the other side of the riverbank. The men shouted at me to get to work. I threw down rocks and gingerly tugged at pieces around me. Every little rattle made me think the heap would fall apart, drop me into its centre, and crush me dead.
July 20
Little Uncle was near the top of the rubble heap when he yanked at something and lost his footing. Sliding down, he loosened more debris. Everyone backed off as he slammed into the ground. Then a table-sized rock rolled onto him. We called to him but he was silent. By the time we lifted the rock, he had stopped breathing. Crew Boss ordered us to remove him, so we thought to bury him. Crew Boss stopped us. We had to bury Little Uncle after our shift.
It was hard to find a spot because the mountain had little flat land. Lucky told us that the Nlaka’pamux people stored their dead in boxes high in the trees. We asked what his crew had done with their bodies. He said they had buried them by the river. He shrugged, knowing the river would rise and carry them away.
“We are Wongs,” Money God said, “We treat our people with respect. If we need to walk all the way around this mountain, we will.”
Lucky felt insulted, and left us. “Watch out for wildcats,” he said. “They devour humans.”
Three new crew members, who are not Wongs, stayed with us. In fact, they carried the pickaxes and heavy shovels.
I felt guilty. If we had not backed away when Little Uncle tumbled down, he would still be alive. If we had quickly yanked him away, then that rock would have missed him. Please, Little Uncle, forgive me.
I remembered Little Uncle from our very first day at work, and it almost made me cry. He and Buck Tooth brought down the second tree of the day, and then another one. They were the only men who managed to chop down two towering trees in one day. That night, Little Uncle and Buck Tooth grinned endlessly. The men in our crew do not smile as much now.
I looked around for Buck Tooth tonight, but he had walked away from the camp. Everyone was sad. Everyone liked Little Uncle. He wasn’t afraid of anything.
July 21
Pa
yday. I have worked seventy-one days, but instead of $71 I have $28.13. This month, I bought a shirt, a hat and underpants. On travel days, we only get 50 cents a day. And on the day the Red Beards did not work, we only got half a day’s pay.
Worse, a Company note stating that my wages were promised to someone else had been inserted into the ledger. Bookman was warned not to advance me any large sums. Good thing I had not asked for an advance in Yale. He would have laughed heartily at me.
I can only hope that Ba’s luck at gambling has improved since Stir-the-Pot saw him. I never cheer on gamblers because Ma and I both believe that gambling is a loser’s game. But here I have no choice but to pray for Ba to play his way out of this disaster.
July 22
I was atop the rubble heap when I heard whimpering sounds. Crew Boss held Jong and gave him short tight slaps. A pail of water lay overturned at their feet. I shouted at Crew Boss to stop, but he didn’t understand Chinese. I needed something to hurl, but nothing was nearby. No one was around. Jong finally broke free and ran off.
Pock Face came at the day’s end and asked me to read a letter from his wife. Good news! The matchmaker found a boy from a good family for their daughter! They have already traded small gifts. Pock Face jumped up and gave me double my reading fee. Then he rushed around the camp, spreading his good news. It’s a relief to see his limp is gone.
July 23
Jong came to me, early, wanting to go fishing, but this was the third day after Little Uncle’s death. I wanted to apologize for not helping Jong yesterday, but kept quiet. Maybe he had not seen me up on the rubble heap.
Back at camp, Wong Brother said he hated this work and wanted to run away. I said nothing.
Pock Face told me to write to his wife, telling her not to wait for his return but to set their daughter’s wedding for as early as possible. Without thinking, I asked how he could miss the wedding. He grinned and said that when he went home, he wanted to hold his first grandchild!
July 25
The Red Beards are smiling. Two good reasons! Big drills powered by fire and steam have arrived. As well, we finished clearing the outside rubble so they can enter the tunnel and work. They do not get paid for standing around and waiting. Clearing the rubble is hard, but at least we work in the daylight and fresh air.
The tunnel is badly lit, so you cannot see the ground. You only know that if you fall, it is very painful if not deadly. The louder and faster drilling causes ever more dust to fly everywhere, so you want to shut your eyes. But you need to see the way.
The Red Beards work the drills by boiling water in a tank and sending steam through long snakes to the men inside. Some of Lucky’s men work beside the drillers, carrying the equipment out when it is time to blast. They think it is the best job, because they stand around and wait and get paid. And they think they are safe, because of course the Red Beards will protect themselves.
Wong Brother has not run away. That is good.
July 26
The Red Beards stopped smiling. Last night the roof collapsed and clogged the tunnel with debris. The men are muttering that the new machine drills must have shaken the mountain too much, and caused the ceiling to break apart. Worst of all, the Red Beards left their new equipment at the rock face. The falling rocks may have destroyed it. What a waste that would be. We will clear the rubble but no one knows how long it will take. The Red Beards are leaving but the Nlaka’pamux and other local people are staying to work with us.
The debris in the tunnel is the same as that which killed Little Uncle. We see but do not want to speak about it. We work carefully. Crew Boss glares at us, but we pay him no attention.
July 28
Crashing sounds suddenly boomed through the tunnel. The ground shook beneath our feet, and I thought it would open up and swallow us. We sprinted out the entrance and hid in the bushes. After a while, we heard the birds chirping in the trees around us. When we inched into the tunnel, we discovered more of the ceiling had collapsed, but farther inside.
July 29
We came back from the gully, and Crew Boss was teasing a little Nlaka’pamux girl. He had taken her basket and held it high, just beyond her reach. When she lunged for it, he jerked it away. When she jumped for it, he stepped back. The little girl’s face was dark with anger, but she refused to cry out. Finally, I ran up behind Crew Boss, grabbed the basket, and handed it back to the girl.
July 30
We went fishing but caught nothing. Jong cannot sit still. We removed our boots at the stream, but when it came time to leave, I couldn’t find mine. They had stood right beside Jong’s. I hobbled back home, leaning on Jong and walking in the river. I knew who had stolen them. Crew Boss had seen us leave camp, so he must have followed.
I asked Bookman to recover my boots.
“Where’s your proof?” he demanded. “Whoever took them may have thrown them into the river. Or high into a tree. Go buy a new pair. You want to fight Crew Boss, but what’s the use? He could refuse to approve your wages.”
Bookman offered to take me to the Company store tomorrow. But I would lose a day’s wages! I felt my fist clenching and unclenching, but there was little I could do. If Wong Brother was running away tonight, I would go with him. But I would need boots first.
Gambler and Pock Face each had kept one good boot from their forest accidents. Luckily, there was one boot for each of my feet between them. They let me wear the boots but they fit badly: one was loose and the other was too tight. But I could not afford to lose a day’s pay.
July 31
Bad shoes are bad news. The bigger one stubbed the ground and down I went, with two baskets of debris. My palms were bloodied and my knees felt shattered. One knee was very soft and I could barely walk on it, even after tying my sweat rag around it. I saw Crew Boss sneering at me, and that made me return to work.
Chapter 6
August 1882
August 2
Rocks dropped from the ceiling and struck Mouse. His shoulder was bruised but he could still work. A man from Lucky’s crew suffered badly: a sharp rock sheared off his ear.
Wong Brother and I went to relieve ourselves. He asked me to run off with him, again. When I hesitated, he labelled me a coward. He said I feared the forest, Company agents, and starving to death. I reminded him that an honest man always repaid his debts. Then I called him an idiot for chasing after gold. Seto and Soo were still poor as dirt. What kind of a life was that?
He stomped off. I wanted to hurl one of my boots at his head. But then, “Don’t run off!” burst out of me in a childish wail, which I did not intend. Writing this down makes me look like a baby, but I must be honest.
It made Wong Brother stop, and he came back, peering at me curiously. He tried again to get me to run off with him. But I yelled at him for being afraid to die on the job, for being too scared to fail at this work. He shook his head sadly and said, “You don’t think it takes courage to do what I’m doing?”
When he walked away, I felt like a three-year-old. Later, I wondered if it was possible for both of us to be right at the same time and still not see eye to eye?
August 3
Loud shouting arose from the Red Beards’ camp last night. We heard sharp cracks. In the morning, we learned a bear had been prowling around their camp. Someone had shot a deer, which the cook had cleaned and cooked. But the bear smelled blood and came looking for food. It ran away when a Red Beard fired a gun. The bear tracks looked like human footprints, but much wider. The past few days have been hot, so the deer meat must be spoiling quickly.
This dry heat is unlike what we have at home. There, the sticky warmth of summer has us dripping from human sweat and soggy air. Here, our skin stays dry, except for where sweat pours out. Some men work without shirts, and get darker and darker each day. Too bad we did not bring our wide-brimmed straw hats from home. They would have been helpful. The tunnel is dark and cool, but as soon as we step into the bright sunlight, we feel the heat and look for the water bucke
t. The sun is fiercely hot, as are the exposed faces of rock. The mountains are thick with forest, but the trees are too far away to give us any shade.
August 5
We finished clearing the way to the rock face. No-one expected it could be done so quickly. The bosses were especially happy that the drilling machines had not been damaged.
Wong Brother has not run away yet. Maybe he fears bears.
August 6
We went to the Company store. Fung the washman knew the way and talked to the raft-men. On the road, many horse-drawn wagons clattered past, but none offered us a ride. Across the river, we saw the iron road taking shape. Sides of the mountain had been sliced off, leaving great bald spots in the rock and fresh debris in the river. The tents looked tiny and flimsy.
My feet were hurting, so I prayed the store was not too far. The man who lost his ear came too, to ask the Chinese contractor if he could go home. Wong Brother came too. I thought he might take advantage and run off.
We crossed the river again. The store was at Tunnel #6, a very long one. It needed so many workers that the camp was called Tunnel City. The Company had offices and a machine shop there. Fung said families lived there too, and sure enough, we saw children scampering around, playing games. The largest buildings were boarding houses for the Red Beard workers. They did not live in tents like us! Fung saw friends who ran a wash house there.
