by Paul Yee
In the store, my boots cost $5 – almost a week’s wages! Fung said that in a regular store, they would cost $2. Wong Brother shouted at the Chinese clerk, “You lazy snake. You hide behind the counter and suck blood from your own people. We are dying in the mountains while you drink your fill here. Do you sleep well at night?”
I ran from the store as fast as I could go.
August 8
One of Lucky’s crew men lost an eye today. He was working with a Red Beard, drilling at the rock face. A small piece of rock flew out and went right into his eye. He was so scared that he wept and howled, but that only worsened his pain. It makes me cold to think of losing an eye. I would rather lose a finger or an arm, or even a leg, rather than give up my eye. With explosions, you can never tell what will happen.
August 10
Cook ran out of rice. Supplies failed to arrive a few days ago. He mixed flour with water and made soggy cakes. They tasted horrible.
August 12
Still no rice. Cook boiled up Western potatoes, which had no taste and no texture. Someone hurled one at Cook’s back, leaving a pulpy smear on his shirt.
August 13
The rain ruined my plans for fishing. I wanted to get away from Wong Brother’s moping. At the laundry, Fung and Jong had a visitor. I offered to leave, but Fung was serving fresh-cooked food: fish with ginger, and eggs with tomatoes. Of course I stayed. The visitor enjoyed the meal and spoke to me with the help of Fung’s translations. He asked my age because I looked so young. I thought I looked older from not washing my face regularly. He told me he was from the Tait people. He asked what my family did in China. He told me to open a rice shop nearby because his people liked rice.
August 14
We broke through the rock today. Two Chinese crews danced through from the other side. We held up lanterns, to see each others’ faces. Gambler grabbed someone and started talking, only to find that it was a Red Beard.
We went through to the other mouth. It was no different from our side. The ground was just as littered, so we knew that the other Chinese were not neater than us. When we strolled back, it felt magical to walk in just one direction and go from light to darkness and back to light. It seemed like we were actually going far away. Usually we had to turn around, to return to the light at the start. Here, it was as if we had done something important. In the forest, we could never chop down enough trees to make the path. Here, even Wong Brother looked cheerful.
People shared jugs of rice wine. They asked for surnames and home districts, trying to find persons they knew. How wonderful, to travel around the world and meet someone who lives downstream from you. Too bad I knew no-one.
August 15
We were folding our tents when I remembered the laundry. Fung was not packing because Red Beard workers would arrive to do a month’s work here.
“And after that?” I asked. “Where will you go then?”
He could not follow us because someone already had a laundry near the next camp. He and Jong might try gold mining or trek south to work in the fish canneries. He explained that factory men put fresh fish into tin cans, sealed them with molten metal, and then cooked the tins. Afterwards, the fish never spoiled, and were shipped around the world. He told me the rivers would soon teem with spawning fish.
I wished him and Jong a safe journey. Heading back to camp, I wiped tears off my face. Heaven would protect Fung because he took such care of Jong.
August 17
The new site was the same: mountain on one side, river on the other. The path was no wider, so we could not work faster even if we wanted to. The Red Beard drillers and blasters were new. They arrived two days ago, so plenty of rock needed to be moved.
During yesterday’s trek, we climbed over a hill and everyone gasped. The cliffs ahead of us formed a wall across the river, squeezing it through a narrow gap. Behind the rock, the river was wide and deep; its trapped water churned through in an angry froth.
Supply boats would never get past this. The current was too strong and the rocks were too dangerous. The boat would be hurled back, or smashed into pieces. We groaned and thought of rice shortages again. Cook told us not to worry. Supplies would be hauled farther north on the wagon road, and then moved across the river where waters were calmer. He said to worry more about bears in this area.
August 18
Yesterday’s drillers and blasters were new workers. Now they are dead, along with Money God.
Crew Boss had complained the work was slow and urged his men to drill faster. Inside, we saw Money God crouched by the machine, stroking it as if it were a family pet. Was he trying to fix it? Then came a terrible explosion.
No other Chinese were near the blast. When the bodies were brought out, their pale faces were streaked with black powder, blood and rock fragments.
After dinner, Wong Brother spoke to me. His eyes were glassy and red, as if they had been rubbed with a dirty cloth. “I’m going,” he whispered, “this time for sure! Will you grab extra food from breakfast for me?”
I nodded. He handed me five pencils.
“Farewell gift,” he said. “Your pencils are almost used up, and you’re too careful with your own money.”
“I can buy my own pencils,” I insisted. If he had bought me a gift ahead of time, then he was serious about leaving.
“Keep writing letters for the others,” he said.
August 22
I am so sick, I am dying. My head pounds. My ribs ache from coughing. I have no energy. My feet will not hold me up. My stomach hurts. I force myself to chew and swallow. I need to be strong and get back to work. I have lost four days of wages.
August 31
I thought I was getting better. Instead, I get worse. My body heats up. My clothes and blankets drip with my sweat. I fling away my blankets, but someone replaces them. When I squat in the woods, waste flows out in a thick stream, sometimes green, sometimes yellow. My stomach is puffed up and tender.
I float through nightmares. At one point, I shout at Wong Brother, “Are you still here, coward? I thought you ran away! Not enough backbone?”
Fung from the laundry, his face moves in and out of focus. What is he doing here? Isn’t he heading south? Then I taste bitter tea.
Bookman comes through, slapping our faces and shouting, “Is this man really sick, or is he pretending? How can so many workers get sick at the same time?”
I hear my voice calling out for Ma. How embarrassing. What a baby I am.
Chapter 7
September 1882
September 8
After two weeks, I can stand without shaking. I carry light loads. Cook needs lots of dry firewood to boil all our drinking water.
I went to the river and walked into the water. The sudden cold gave me a shock. A small boat passed. Its passengers were too far away, but their faces were dark ones, maybe Chinese or Nlaka’pamux or Tait. I waved and they saluted me with their oars. I wished I was free to go far away.
Wong Brother said half of our crew sickened in one night: running to the woods, squatting and moaning as they clutched their stomachs, stumbling over logs and bashing their shins and heads. It was hard, he laughed, to tell if people’s pain came from nighttime crashes or from the illness. Gambler and Pretty Boy, who were not sick, quickly left with their belongings and their earnings.
The Red Beards were just as sick. The work slowed to a trickle. “It was much safer to work,” Wong Brother said with a grin. “I enjoyed myself!”
“Weren’t you about to run off?” I asked.
“How could I go?” he retorted. “We thought you were dying!”
The Chinese contractor rode his horse from Tunnel City to visit. He brought packets of herbal teas. Cook boiled it and everyone drank, but no one felt better.
September 9
Today was my first full day of work. I felt weak and was glad to rest next day. Bookman told us a fire car finishing a delivery would then head to Tunnel City. We could catch a ride. But we would nee
d to make our own way back. AND NOT BE LATE! A group of us want to go, including Old Uncle and Lucky’s crew. I need new clothes. My shirts and pants are threadbare and ragged. Worse, no amount of washing can remove the disgusting smells of vomit.
I was sick on payday and I felt ill again when Bookman talked to me today. My pay for the previous month was only $3.35! $1.50 was deducted for two days of travel and for the half a day when we breached the tunnel and did not work. I bought boots, pants, socks, notebook and pencils (before Wong Brother gave me more), and contributed to the funeral fund. Since the start of work, I have earned $31.48. It is a lot of money in China, but when I hear that the Red Beards earn twice as much as us, then I think it is very unfair. Is $30 enough to clear Ba’s gambling debt? I wish he had told me how big the debt was. Then I wouldn’t worry so much.
On payday, at least one person will ask me to write a letter, so I will make some money. I hope everyone wants to write home about being sick.
September 10
The train went through our tunnel, #12, but I did not recognize it. The road had been built up and levelled, so the fire car ran smoothly and high off the ground. Where did so much earth and gravel come from? Did the Company use machines or workers? I wished I had seen the work.
At Tunnel City, I was happy to bump into Fung. He and Jong had found work here. Fung asked if I recalled his visit when I was sick.
“You!” I exclaimed. “You fed me that bitter tea!”
“I fed it to Red Beards too.” Fung laughed. “They were so sick that they were good customers.”
Shirts cost $1.75 each. Trousers were $1.75. Socks were 40 cents. In the ledger, I saw the Company had deducted money for more herbal tea from Contractor. Fah! They were useless drinks! Fung said that at a regular store, my clothes would have cost half of what I paid.
Big Uncle needed boots but there was trouble. “You’ve bought too many things, old man,” the clerk said. “Even if you worked another year without ever getting sick, you would still owe us money.”
“I need boots.” Big Uncle’s shoes had gaping holes. He had mended them with tin pieces, but they cut his foot and the leather.
“You should be careful buying things,” snapped the clerk, slamming the account book.
“I’ll pay for them,” said Fung, throwing down some bills. And then he stomped out. Big Uncle went after him, thanking him and promising to repay him.
Wong Brother’s face was dark. “We should burn down this store!” he hissed.
We dragged him away as fast as possible.
September 12
The drill that gets its power from steam was broken so we had free time, waiting between blasts. Not until late in the afternoon did another Red Beard arrive to fix it.
September 14
New workers came to replace the ones we had lost. One was assigned to our tent. He washed his shirt and hung it inside to dry. Wong Brother told him to take it outside.
“Tonight it’s going to rain,” retorted the newcomer. “How will my shirt dry?”
“People wash on the rest day, when there’s enough day time to get it dry.”
“You people stink,” he muttered. From then on, his name was Fragrance.
September 16
Rocks fell from the tunnel’s roof. They hit several people, including me, on their arms and shoulders. Luckily, no one’s head got hurt. We waited a while to see if more rock might fall, and then we went back to work. My shoulder is still sore. Good thing I do not have to work tomorrow.
September 17
Bookman said to Wong Brother and me, “You two like to fish? Come with me.” We walked along with him. “Look at the water,” said Bookman. “See anything?”
No, it was too dark.
We followed a stream that flowed into the main river. Big fish were fighting their way upstream. Their skin was green and red, odd colours for fish. Something did not look right. Their bodies were swollen and puffy, as if they were sick. At a small waterfall, the fish flung themselves out of the water, trying to jump over the ledge to the higher water. It looked as if they were flying! Farther up the river, the waters were thick with dark red fish, twisting and writhing.
Bookman explained that these fish returned to their birthplace after living four years in the ocean. They came back to give birth.
“Why are you showing us this?” I asked. Bookman was never friendly.
“Because Gold Mountain is also about birth and life, not just death.”
September 19
Heavy rocks dropped from the roof of the tunnel, near the rock face. They just missed Wong Brother and me. But other men were not so lucky. A slab of rock flattened one Red Beard driller, folded him over like a piece of paper. Another Red Beard driller had his head cracked open. Their Chinese helper died too, crushed under several boulders. I saw so much blood and gore that I threw up over and over.
We did not pull out their bodies right away, worrying about falling rocks. Finally Crew Boss went in with a lantern on a long pole. He poked at the ceiling and said it was safe. We went in quietly. We avoided the noisy gravel, trying not to bang into one another, fearful that the slightest sound would bring down more rocks. Many of us were mumbling prayers to the gods and ancestors.
That night, no one said much as we ate dinner. When I looked at Wong Brother, he shook his head sadly.
September 20
Yesterday, three people were killed in a single day. Last month, two people were killed in one day. With these numbers rising, I fear I may die at any moment. Will I pass into eternal darkness, or into great brightness? Will I still be able to watch my friends at work, or will I be taken far away?
When I awoke this morning, I did not want to go to work. I wanted to burrow deep into my blankets and stay warm and safe. I miss Ma and Grandfather, and (I never thought I would say this) even that pesky Little Brother of mine.
September 21
What a horrible month. I spent more than what I earned. This breaks the rule at our family store: Always take in more money than what you spend! Here, the Company deducted food as if I were eating full meals even when I was deathly sick. I have never known of a firm that is so nasty and miserable. I complained loudly, but Bookman said the Company had promised to provide food on each day of work. Whether or not a worker ate his share, well, that was not the Company’s concern. I wanted to kick Bookman!
Medicine and new clothes cost me $13.65, against earnings of $9. Now I own even less money than last month. If this continues, then Ba’s gambler friend can’t take much. Hurrah, I think. The gambler will lose his loan! What a stupid man!
Then a flash of insight hit me. What if the gambler isn’t stupid? What if he knows that railway work is awful and earnings are low? Then he would have lent Ba a small sum! Maybe our debt isn’t too high. At least not as bad as Grandfather’s debt, where we lost our entire store.
September 22
Life can change so quickly.
Today, we went back to the place Bookman called Hell’s Gate. The Company had built a steamboat, called Skuzzy, to deliver supplies north of Hell’s Gate. But first the boat had to get through the angry waters of the gate.
For six months, the Company had hired veteran sailors and captains to steer the boat through. They all failed. Now the Company told us to pull the boat through.
Crews of Chinese waited on both sides of the river. The boat circled below. Its chimney poured out smoke. Its paddlewheel spun in frenzy. We grabbed long heavy ropes that stretched from the boat to the two shores.
The boat took a run at Hell’s Gate. Just as the current started pushing it back, bookmen shouted “Pull!”
We pulled. We struggled to get a foothold on the slippery rocks. The boat did not budge, as if the river gods clutched it firm and were testing us.
The rope was stretched hard as rock, and wet from river spray and our sweat. Our hands struggled to get a firm grip. Someone shouted out a count, so we could merge our efforts.
“One! Two! Thre
e! Pull!”
We gained an inch! A cheer went up. The man shouted out the numbers again, and we gained another inch.
The man in front of me fell. But he hauled himself up and resumed pulling, right on the count, without missing a beat.
Step by step we moved ahead. We waited for the count and threw the weight of our bodies onto our ropes.
“Don’t look behind!” shouted Bookman. “Watch your feet!”
We pulled and yanked with all our might. We cursed the river. We wanted to show the Red Beards that we Chinese would succeed where they had failed. We cursed the Company. “It should get a lighter boat!” someone shouted.
Red was streaming from my hands. I can’t be bleeding, I thought, my palms are thick as leather! No, the blood came from the man in front, from his fall.
And then it was over. The Red Beards shouted happily, threw their hats into the air, and shook each others’ hands.
To send us back to work, the bosses herded us onto Skuzzy. Someone called me. It was Ba! He grabbed me and pulled me close.
“Look how big he is!” Poy Uncle exclaimed. “He’ll bring you good luck!”
That was bad news. If Ba needed good luck, then he had not regained our wages. I felt uneasy, the same way I felt whenever he came home from overseas. The family would be excited, and Ma’s face lit up. But Ba spent no time with me and Little Brother.
