by Paul Yee
Me, I felt fine. Last year, we had chopped trees and removed mountains. But here I was building something instead of tearing things down.
March 13
Ba brought his dinner bowl over and slipped me a package.
“For you,” he said, looking sheepish, “to mark one year in Canada.”
I frowned. Had that much time passed? Of course I made no fuss in front of the men. Later I checked my journal to see if Ba had gotten the right date. Yes, we left China a year ago. How had he remembered? He never looked at calendars. The gift was a carrying case made of palm-leaf straw, with a shoulder strap. Clearly it was for my box of journals.
His jail cell, Ba said, was empty except for two Chinese fans. They had been well used by the summer prisoners because the room had no windows and enjoyed no shade outside. Ba took apart the dusty fans and rewove the fibres. I had no idea he knew how to weave straw.
“Nothing to do, squatting in jail,” he said curtly. “It was a living death. Besides, what would I do with two fans in the winter?”
Exercise your wrists? I almost said.
Then I wondered if Ba had softened while in jail.
March 15
Last night, we woke to the panicked shouts of men. Instantly I was alert, my heart pounding, my ears cocked for any crackle of danger. Someone beat a tin box and made dull thuds while another person banged pot lids together. Ba and Saltwater Crisp pulled on their boots and ran outside. By the time I got outside, lanterns had been lit and the entire crew was aroused. The tent next to ours lay flat on the ground; its occupants were huddled around, shivering from cold and fright.
One man had woken to a foul smell and heard low grunts. Something had breathed warm air onto him. When his hand touched thick smooth fur, he screamed, “Wild beast!”
Everyone had awakened and joined him yelling and banging. The worst part, they said, was not being able to see. There were scratching and clawing sounds, growling, the strong smell and a huge careening shadow. The animal finally turned and plunged through one wall of the tent, dragging it down. Old Fire said bears rarely woke up from their long sleep so early in the year, so something or someone must have disturbed it. It scares me how nothing seems to follow rules out here.
Tiger Face suggested that we leave a lantern burning through the night.
“That will attract more bugs!” we cried.
March 18
The day was not warm but I went along the river, looking for a fishing spot. I passed a stream where Nlaka’pamux people were fishing. They looked friendly, so I waved and called out “Kla How Ya,” which Old Fire said was a greeting in their language. I hope Old Fire was right, because no-one replied. Maybe I said it badly. I went farther up the river, and it took a while to reach another stream. But the Red Beards fishing there glared at me and shouted out angry words. I was eager to fish, so I went around them and climbed farther up the stream. Red Beards tie their lines to long poles, so it is easy to see when they are going fishing. I carried no pole, so nobody knew what I was doing. A well-worn path followed the river bank, so Nlaka’pamux people were nearby. Jerky movements in the shallow water made me smile.
I dug around for bait, and threw my line into the water. It was not long before a fish got hooked. I killed it, checked for blood and covered it with fat green leaves. Soon I had several fish to take to Cook. We are eating the mushy rice and dried salmon again, but Cook tries very hard to add flavours with pickles, sauces and spicy preserves.
March 19
The train brought larger gravel for us to cover the smaller rocks in a layer just as thick. Bookman ordered us to look closely in our baskets, to make sure we dumped the right rocks in the right place. Too bad most of the crew does not respect him.
Bookman insisted we march on top of the gravel as we trot with our baskets to the roadbed’s end. That point moved farther and farther away from the train with every trip we made. Our feet sank and twisted into the gravel. Blind Eye tripped and overturned his baskets of rock. Luckily, there was no need to recover the spill.
Soon I saw why Bookman wanted us walking there. Men took shovels and hammers to pound at the rock to flatten the layers. When the rock flew out the two sides, it was shovelled up and dumped back onto the trop. The gravel of the roadbed must settle firmly and hold itself together.
March 21
People are smiling because most of them, including Ba, paid off their ship tickets this payday. I should be smiling too, but I learned a bitter truth today. I am not earning much money. When Bookman showed me my account, I almost fell over. He was taking $27.41 off for rental of the tent and for my winter clothes. I should have spent less at the Company store. Turns out Ba did not pay my winter costs; it had been all talk. So I had to assign $20.30 to Old Fire for the food and fuel. My total earnings fell to $18.74, a third of what I had before!
What a disaster.
It was as if I had just arrived in Canada and worked only a month.
I do not know how the others felt, but I wanted to weep. I was worthless. I was a dishrag. It would be better to walk into the forest and freeze to death.
I went to Ba and told him about my account. I expected him to yell at me for being stupid. Instead, he looked at me curiously and asked if I had any idea how much was owed. When I guessed a hundred dollars, he roared with laughter.
“If someone gave me a hundred dollars for my railway wages,” he said, “I would grab it and run to Mexico!”
Ba told me flatly that no-one earned much on this job. Gamblers knew this and only lent small amounts. Ba said our total debt was thirty dollars. Of course we would be able to pay it off and have money to take home. I couldn’t believe it. I had worried uselessly for a year! I could have slept soundly at night instead! I wanted to kick myself. I really had been a Rock Brain.
Later
I still cannot believe what an idiot I am. The worst part is, there is no-one to blame but ME. I thought Ba’s debt must be as big as Grandfather’s. Now I feel like an old man, tired and beaten up.
March 22
Tonight, a Jung-San man snarled loudly, “Don’t know why the Zhou people always get the easy jobs. Do they pay money to Bookman, or does Bookman prefer his kinsmen over us?”
Those were fighting words. When I thought about the accusation, it was true. The men who flattened the roadbed were always the Zhou fellows. The rest of us trekked back and forth between the railhead and the end of the roadbed. We were the ones wearing out our shoe leather.
“Why are Jung-San people so stupid?” retorted a Zhou. “They go to work where no-one knows them, where everyone comes from Say-Yup. If they were from Say-Yup, then they would get the good jobs too.”
Liar! Nobody from our crowd had gotten a turn at flattening the roadbed.
“Don’t get up,” Saltwater Crisp whispered to me. “Don’t say a word.”
A Jung-San man grabbed a shovel and rushed at the Zhous. We all jumped up and looked for weapons, but Cook shouted and stepped in, brandishing his cleaver.
“If there’s a problem, let’s talk it over slowly,” he said soothingly. “We’re all workers here, why fight among ourselves?”
Ba shook his head. “This happened in the first crew that I worked with,” he said.
March 23
Cook is surnamed Zhou too but he dislikes how Bookman plays favourites. Today, the jobs were given out fairly. Even I got a chance to flatten the roadbed. It felt wonderful to use my entire body to swing a hammer, and to hear a satisfying whumph hit the ground.
At dinner, Cook served a treat: dried vegetables.
“It’s too early for fresh greens,” he declared. “I do the best I can for everyone.”
Everyone received equal portions. Then Cook told a funny story with a lesson:
People in the Yee family were very proud, always bragging about how smart they were. After his first day at school, Ah-Choy came home and told his mother, “Teacher told us to stand up and recite the Three Word Classic. I knew twenty verses b
ut the other children only knew five. Is that because I am a Yee?”
“No, my son,” Ma said. “It is because you listen to your mother.”
Ah-Choy said, “Teacher told us to stand up and say our numbers. I counted up to 50 but the other children only reached 15. Is that because I am a Yee?”
“No, my son,” Ma said. “It is because you listen to your mother.”
Ah-Choy said, “Teacher lined up all the students, and I was three times taller than the other children. Is that because I am a Yee?”
“No, my son,” Ma said. “It is because you are twenty-seven years old.”
Everyone laughed. Good thing there was no one surnamed Yee in our crew.
March 24
I have not had a week such as this since leaving China. Two pieces of good news, side by side, since three days ago!
When we returned to camp today, a familiar face waited for Ba and me. Ox Uncle was grinning from ear to ear. He was so excited he couldn’t sit still. He had spent the winter in Second City, in a busy boarding house. A fellow boarder was Old Jang, the gambler to whom both Ox Uncle and Ba owed money.
When work resumed this spring, Old Jang and Ox Uncle landed in the same gang. Last week Old Jang received a letter, telling him both his parents had died suddenly. The father died from illness and then, three days later, the mother never woke up. The coincidence spooked the entire family. Everyone in the village said the couple must have offended the gods somehow. Now the family was carrying out cleansing rituals in China.
Right away Old Jang did charity to address his parents’ misdeeds. He donated money to the Chinese hospital in Yale. He bought a ship ticket for Kwan-somebody who lost both his legs in an accident. And he cancelled Ba and Ox Uncle’s debts. Both men were overjoyed. Me too! They slapped each other on the back, and Ox Uncle pulled out a jug of wine to celebrate with. They called themselves the luckiest men in Gold Mountain!
Ba grinned and asked if I was pleased.
“Only if you stop gambling,” I blurted. Did he not see how blessed he was? He had been granted a gift, for doing absolutely nothing! He could have lost everything, but now his fortune was reversed! Surely this was a sign from the gods that he should mend his ways!
When he shook his head, I urged him to put aside some of his winnings so that he didn’t lose all his money again and again. He didn’t hear me. He was too busy laughing with Ox Uncle. Still, I guess I will sleep better tonight.
March 25
Saltwater Crisp went to town and picked up a letter. His wife advised that the second crop last year had been very poor, due to a lack of rainfall. Ba confirmed that Poy Uncle’s wife had reported the same news in her letter. She and Ah-Wing had struggled to bring in the rice, but the yield was low while the labour needed to harvest the grain was the same as always. They had to keep all the grain for food so there was none to sell and no income for the household.
Everyone looked sad, so Cook told a joke:
A scholar going to Beijing passes through a small town and hears the clanging of gongs, the crack-crack-crack of firecrackers, and the loud weeping of hired mourners. A fancy funeral parades by, with waving flags and banners and people tossing spirit money all around. The costly fuss is clearly for someone very important.
“What great man passed away?” calls out the scholar.
A spectator points to the coffin. “The one in there.”
Later, I asked Ba if I should send money to Poy Aunty. He said he had taken care of things already.
March 27
The train brought important supplies and we eagerly unloaded them. We were handling real pieces of the iron road! Finally we were going to build the railway! We became polite and helpful, calling out to one another in the dark, “Be careful,” “Grab it here,” or “Watch your step there.”
“Don’t drop it!” called out one joker. “It may break! You’ll pay for damages!”
The 8-foot-long wooden ties had two flat sides and two unfinished sides that still showed tree bark. Two men could carry a wooden tie, but eight men were needed for a steel rail. It was rusty, 30 feet long and weighed 600 pounds. Everyone watched their step, so we moved slowly. If the rail slipped from our grasp, eight men could be injured all at once!
We unloaded heavy sacks of metal spikes, connector-plates and bolts. Some bags weighed as much as the wooden ties.
We put the ties by the roadbed, lining them up like rows of soldiers. Tiger Face tripped over a tie and fell with a crash. The sound was from the lantern he carried, but in the tunnel, everything sounded louder.
March 28
The trains delivered several loads of rock, so we did more unloading. It was hard to keep my gaze off the ties and rails, and I stumbled several times. I imagined carefully guiding the wood and steel into place, pounding the spikes through them, and twisting the bolts tight as a final touch. I wanted to push something into the earth, and then watch it grow, like seedlings planted in springtime.
Maybe Crew Boss was waiting for a sunny day before starting.
March 29
The train delivered a huge contraption of metal blades, which teams of horses dragged over the roadbed. The heavy blades squealed as they scraped and scratched their way over the stone. After they passed by, the roadbed looked smooth and level.
Then the Red Beard workers who had come with the horses started work. We Chinese set the wooden ties in place on the roadbed. Some of us held the lanterns closer to let Crew Boss see clearly. He used a marked rope to ensure the distance between each tie was the same. Then we assembled on both sides of the roadbed, slowly lifted two steel rails, and gradually lowered them onto the wooden ties. Everyone was alert and there was much shouting in order to get the two rails to land at the same time. This way, the ties did not buckle and all the weight settled in a balanced way into the roadbed.
Crew Boss used another rope to set the distance between the two rails, and we adjusted their final placement.
But once everything was in place, the Red Beard workers did all the work.
I turned away, very disappointed. I was a donkey laden with heavy sacks, or an ox ploughing thick mud. No need to think, just move along, move along, move along.
Tiger Face would not look me in the face, so he must have felt as I did. Later I was embarrassed at having assumed we would do the job. But it did not look that difficult.
March 31
After the rails were laid, the Red Beards mounted a sturdy metal cart over them. The cart flew along as two men aboard it pumped a see-saw up and down to provide power. At one spot, the men stopped and called for us to lay more gravel onto the roadbed and to pack it down hard.
Now the train can pass through the tunnel and travel a short distance outside. Now we can see the engine clearly in the daylight.
Chapter 14
April 1883
April 1
Ching Ming occurs in seven days, so teams of men went into the forest looking for graves. We figured Chinese must be buried nearby, because we had all worked on similar stretches of the iron road where deadly accidents had happened.
The Zhou team returned first, having found markers for two persons surnamed Lee and Chan. Ba and our kinsmen Lees asked to be first to present offerings at the grave. But the Zhous insisted on going first because they had located the site. As we argued, a foul-mouthed Zhou fellow told us to stop sitting around like ladies and go find our own site. Good thing another team came back with news of a Zhou and a Hoy person buried beside a Red Beard.
Luckily our rest day falls on the actual day of Ching Ming. Ba asked me to go out early that morning and catch some fish. Then he disappeared into the gambling tent. Every time he gambles, I worry he will lose our money again.
April 2
I feel very proud when the train comes through the tunnel and stops at the railhead. All those cars were travelling on something that my hands had built!
The Red Beards worked on the rest day, putting up a machine at the railhead. It burns wood in
a tank that also holds water. Every now and then, the engineer releases steam in short, powerful bursts from under the sturdy frame of logs.
When a load of stone arrived, this time we lined our baskets alongside the cars. Long metal cables led from the steam-maker all the way to the end of the train. I noticed it had fewer cars than usual. On the last car, a huge piece of steel, curved and smooth like a plough, and as wide as the train, was thrust under the load of stone.
Someone blew a whistle, and the steam-maker turned grunting gears and wheels. They tightened the metal cables which in turn dragged the great plough forward, making it work like a giant shovel. As it chugged ahead, the load of gravel slid along the curved sides and then down, to fall off the car and into our waiting baskets. The plough slid from one car to the next, pushing and forcing the stone off the cars. In no time, all the cars were clear and the train backed away.
We dug out our baskets and carried them to the roadbed. More than half the gravel had spilled off the train and landed on the ground, but still the unloading had taken much less time and the trains would return sooner.
The Red Beards shook the hands of one Red Beard man and clapped him on the shoulder. He had been scribbling into a notebook all this time. Bookman said he was a top boss from very high up in the Company. He had recently been hired to speed up the work and to save money for the Company. When I mentioned that he looked familiar, Bookman said Top Boss constantly inspected the line and workers. Top Boss rode off on his own horse; he did not wait for the train to give him a ride.
