by Kirstin Chen
“What the hell,” someone said, pushing past him.
“Stop blocking the goddamned door,” said another.
Ah Liam squeezed his way down to the lowest step. He tightened his grip on the banister and craned around the outside of the train. Squinting through the rain, he was pretty sure he spotted Li An’s shiny cap of hair in the nearest window. “Li An,” he screamed. “I forgot my bedding, Li An!” It was the only thing he could think to say.
“Crazy kid,” a woman said, swiping his side with a large, soaking-wet shoulder bag.
His friend didn’t respond.
“Li An!”
The train whistled, signaling its imminent departure.
“Goodbye! Good luck!” cried the people who remained on the platform.
Ah Liam pulled himself back inside the train, planting his feet as firmly as he could on the slippery bottom step.
The train gained speed. The people on the platform waved harder. Even the ones with tears in their eyes looked strangely happy and carefree. Once the train left the station, they would hurry home, change into clean, dry clothes, fill their stomachs with hot tea and steamed buns.
“Don’t forget to write, Little Treasure!” called a woman, her jaw stretched wide to display gold molars.
The train continued to accelerate. Beyond the platform, travelers bustled around the waiting hall. Ah Liam picked out a disheveled figure running through the main entrance, her mouth a cavernous hole beneath an unruly nest of hair. His heart leapt. He closed his eyes, let go of the banister, and jumped.
His feet slammed the concrete and his right ankle twisted, sending him tumbling onto his side. Screams filled his ears. A crowd formed around him.
“Are you all right?”
“Are you insane?”
“What kind of stunt was that?”
Steeling himself against the pain, Ah Liam rose and pushed through the crowd, ignoring their questions and insults. Twice he limped up and down the full length of the waiting hall, but his mother was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he’d conjured her up in his head; perhaps he’d seen a ghost.
34
The sky was still dark when San San, bleary eyed and fatigued to the point of delirium, climbed the overpass to track the arriving ships. The last time her boat hadn’t left the harbor until late morning, but she could not risk missing it again.
At first she could barely discern where the sky ended and the ocean began. As the morning wore on, however, she studied every vessel that approached, from humble, stripped-down fishing boats to oversized cargo ships that looked like towers tipped over on their sides. None of them flew a green flag.
By the time the sun shone directly above her, and her shadow was a squat shape encircling her feet, she began to wonder if she had the wrong date, or if the university student with the cross pendant had mixed up the boat’s schedule, or if the boat had changed its route. It dawned on her that there were an infinite number of reasons why her boat might never come. Still, she remained glued to the blazing concrete.
On a patch of yellow grass below the overpass, boys kicked a football, a circle of seated women mended garments. After hours beneath the beating sun, San San’s thirst was a roaring, implacable beast, and yet she dared not abandon her post. Uniformed workers leaving factories and job sites streamed past. A cool breeze kicked up, providing a trifling measure of relief. She waited and waited until it was too dark for her to decipher the colors of the flags on the last few straggling boats. Only then did she finally turn and head in the direction of the garbage heap. With any luck, the feral kids had moved on.
Shuffling down the unlit path toward the latrines, she tripped on a rock and narrowly missed landing in a stinking, swampy pool. Mud splattered her face. Her stubbed toe screamed in pain. She spun around, looking for someone or something to blame. But here in the darkness there was only her. Even those kids by the garbage heap had each other. Even the white-haired girl had her baby. Even the little match girl had her matches.
The low moan of a ship’s horn lulled San San deeper into her misery. How very tired she was. Why not give up, collapse right here, let the mud ooze through her pores, let the earth bear the weight of her. The horn blasted three more times, in quick succession. She turned toward its call. And then she scrambled back to the harbor, moving as quickly as her swollen legs and wounded feet would carry her.
She arrived just in time to watch her ship—massive as a citadel, flying a green flag—plow past the harbor without slowing. All the same she ran after it. It wasn’t too late for her to take a running leap, dive like a dolphin into the ocean, and swim for her life.
At the edge of the dock she stopped dead. Two dockworkers peered at her.
“That ship,” she said. “The one with the green flag. Why didn’t it stop?”
The dockworkers traded looks. “Must be a change of route.”
“How can that be? Why would it pass through here then?”
One of the men shrugged and said, “Save that question for the big boss,” and the other chortled. “Now, shoo. We have work to do.”
A second cargo ship, smaller than the one that had left her behind, but still sizable, approached the dock. She walked off, dragging the worn rubber soles of her canvas shoes against the ground. She would walk all the way back to the islet, if only it were possible. All the way back and straight to the police. And if they sent her to a labor camp, at least she would no longer be alone. At least she could finally stop hiding. She wondered if they’d let her see Cook and Mui Ah one last time, because weren’t they the closest thing to family she had left?
An image surfaced in her mind: she was lying face down in bed, her mother seated beside her, swearing they’d be separated for just a few days. The memory knocked the wind out of her. She sank to the ground behind a wall of empty crates that stank of fish.
Even back then, San San had sensed her mother was lying, trying to appear more certain than she was. Why had she let her family leave? Why hadn’t she at least put up a fight?
And then the answer came to her. Nothing she could say would have changed Ma’s mind. Ma had abandoned her because she loved Ah Liam more. That was the simple truth. San San had always known her worth in comparison to her brother’s, as surely as she knew her own name. But somehow, amid the turmoil of the past weeks, she’d lost sight of this immutable fact; somehow, because of all she’d suffered through, all she’d seen, she’d convinced herself that she deserved more.
Truly, it was time to go home.
Beyond the wall of crates, a dozen crewmen streamed onto the deck of the cargo ship. They directed the dockworkers to roll barrel after barrel into large nets hooked up to complex pulley systems. With their drab work clothes and identical buzz cuts, they formed an army of clones.
A pair of crewmen passed right in front of San San’s hiding spot, hauling a dolly stacked high with burlap sacks. The arms of the man at the head of the dolly were covered with beautiful pictures that had somehow been inked into his skin. Here was a long, sinuous dragon unleashing tongues of fire from its mouth, there, a beautiful maiden whose legs had been replaced by the lower half of an emerald-scaled fish. The man shouted something in Cantonese and gestured for his partner to pick up the pace. San San’s eyes fell on the picture inked on the underside of his forearm: a slender, half-naked foreigner impaled upon a cross. It was nearly identical to the pendant that had dangled beneath the university student’s shirt.
She told herself to cut it out. She’d made up her mind, once and for all, to return to the islet. And yet she couldn’t snuff out the flicker of optimism within her. This time would be different; this time she knew where she stood. The laws that governed her world were absolute: she would always be second place. Her family owed her nothing, and would give her nothing more. And if she chose to flout those laws, as she would in attempting the journey once again, she understood that she could fail. When that happened, if it happened, the authorities would deposit her on the islet to face the co
nsequences—the same position she’d be in if she gave herself up today.
Now, if only she knew where this Hong Kong ship was going next.
For several hours, the men worked to unload barrels and replace them with new ones. They hauled wooden boxes and metal drums back and forth, yelling to each other in Cantonese, which she had trouble deciphering. Every once in a while, the inked man led the others through rousing tunes about sun and sea, paying no deference to the late hour. She wondered if she should try to board the ship even without knowing its destination. But wouldn’t it be worse to end up in some other port city like Quanzhou or Guangzhou? And how would she sneak aboard with so many people around?
When the sun peeked over the lip of the horizon, the crewmen stopped to take a tea break. They were joined by a group of boys, clearly affiliated with the ship, some of whom were only a few years older than San San. The boys squatted on the ground and smoked—even the very youngest one—just steps away from her hiding place.
She channeled all her energy toward trying to understand the peculiar, lilting syllables that poured from their mouths. She picked out words like “kitchen” and “wash” and “dishes.” The boys seemed to be arguing about which of them was the most efficient dishwasher, and she concluded that they ran the kitchen aboard the ship. Teacher Lu had told her that outside the mainland, children were often enslaved and forced to labor as adults, so she wasn’t entirely surprised.
The oldest boy appeared to be the head cook. He hacked up a wad of phlegm and spat it at the feet of the boy they called Turtle, who jumped back and hollered, “Watch it, bastard!”
She almost cracked a smile. Their easy, good-natured mocking reminded her of her brother and his football teammates. How many times had she trailed shyly behind them after school, wishing to be in on their jokes, to be teased and to tease back? A ship like this one would have a plethora of suitable hiding spots, and wouldn’t it eventually make it back to Hong Kong, no matter the stops along the way?
Like the crewmen, the boys wore old, plain clothing that was quite dirty, not all that different from her own. She swiped a palm over her short prickly hair and shook out her limbs, like a runner preparing to race. When the group, responding to some invisible signal, got to their feet, San San slipped out from her hiding spot and merged with them, careful to linger behind the boys while still remaining in touching distance. She mimicked their long, buoyant strides, their jauntily swinging arms.
The crewmen chattered and told jokes. Already it seemed as if her comprehension had improved, although maybe it was because the men spoke and gestured so expressively. They trooped up the gangplank, their heavy boots drumming rhythmically upon the metal ramp.
“Don’t let Ah Ling hear about it,” one said.
“Cheh!” the other replied, a universal expression of scorn.
“You’re a real scoundrel,” said someone else.
“Cheh!”
San San mouthed the word, longing to feel it explode on her tongue. She noticed too late that the boys had split off and were heading below deck. She hurried after them. The boys went down a flight of stairs and through a corridor. She followed, treading as lightly as possible. The youngest boy was recounting a complicated riddle about two elephants in a circus, and the bigger boys interrupted periodically to poke fun at him.
On the shore, workers in a nearby dormitory were being called to their morning exercises. Loudspeakers blared “Hymn to Chairman Mao” on a continuous loop:
Oh! Most honorable Chairman Mao, may you live long!
You liberate all with your brilliance. People now are happy, full of blessings!
All people look to you as a kind protecting mother!
May you live in the world forever and point us down the peaceful road!
San San had never paid attention to the song’s lyrics, but now, after all that incomprehensible babble, each word seemed to call out to her. This wasn’t the time to let herself get distracted. What she needed was a supply closet of some sort, a room the crewmen would visit sparingly. She passed a door and tried the doorknob but it wouldn’t budge. She passed a second door, and this time the doorknob turned. Grasping the doorknob with both hands, she pulled with all her body weight, and the door opened, groaning against the floor.
She jumped back, but the boys were already coming for her.
“Hey you,” the head cook shouted.
Her first instinct was to run, but it was clear they would catch her almost immediately.
“Who are you, boy? How did you get down here?”
“Please let me come with you,” she said in Mandarin, hoping they’d understand. Her high, trembling voice horrified her; she lowered it at once. “My pa is dying in Hong Kong. The rest of my family is already there.”
“What’s he saying?” the head cook asked.
Thankfully, the boy called Turtle spoke Mandarin. But after he translated, the head cook only smirked, as if to say, “How is this my problem?”
“Just give me a place to hide,” San San said. “I swear I won’t cause any trouble.”
The youngest boy said, “No way, no way. If anyone finds out we’ll all be in deep shit.”
Turtle said, “Can’t we maybe hide him in the kitchen?”
Footsteps sounded on the deck above, and the head cook said, “We can’t discuss this out here.” He headed down the corridor.
The other boys followed, and San San did, too. She had to somehow convince them to help her, or to at least not rat her out.
Inside the kitchen, the youngest boy said, “It’s too dangerous. They’ll definitely fire us. My ma will kill me if I lose another job.”
Turtle said quietly, “His pa is dying. What would you do if it were your pa?”
“Stop talking all of you. I need to think,” said the head cook.
A voice spoke in accented Mandarin on the floor above. “After I show you the cabins for the crew, I’ll take you downstairs to see the kitchen and mess hall.”
“All right, comrade,” another voice replied.
The boys’ eyes bulged. “Shit. Inspection.”
The youngest boy grabbed San San by her shirt collar. “Get out of here. It’s too dangerous,” he said, just as Turtle contradicted him. “Hide him in the storage room. Why would they look there?”
The head cook’s eyes passed from one boy to the other. San San had to tip the balance in her favor, and she had to do it now. She pulled back her sleeve and fought to unbuckle her watch.
The youngest boy shoved her. “Scram. Go.”
She thrust the watch at the head cook. “Take this. It’s from abroad and worth a lot.”
The head cook snatched the watch from her hand. Why hadn’t she thought to clean it? He spat on the strap and rubbed off the dirt and crowed, “What a girly color.”
Tears filled her eyes—it was the last thing her father had given her—but she managed to blink them back. She was a boy now, and one thing she knew for certain was that boys didn’t cry. She changed tactics. “If you don’t help me, I’ll tell them you let me on board, and then”—she pointed at the youngest boy—“he’s right, you’ll all get sacked.”
Turtle quickly translated. Footsteps pounded down the corridor toward the kitchen, closer and closer. The youngest boy began to cry. Again Turtle urged them to stick San San in the storage room. But the head cook continued to hold up the watch, gazing at it like a sacred talisman that would somehow tell him what to do.
35
Bee Kim awoke to rain splattering across the windowpane. These modern flats were so flimsy, outside noises passed right through them like water through a sieve. A crack in the drapes told her it was still dark, and she shut her eyes, determined to fall back asleep.
Down on the street, a vendor hollered for the neighborhood housewives to bring him their broken ceramics. “Don’t throw away money. I can make your old ones as good as new.”
At this hour? In this weather? Wasn’t a typhoon supposed to strike? With a sigh she push
ed herself upright and eased her legs off the bed.
In the hallway, she paused with an ear to her grandson’s door. Her hearing may have worsened, but she swore she could hear Ah Liam’s long steady breaths—the pure, deep slumber of a child who’d never suffered and who’d always been loved. What a sweet, handsome little boy he’d been, adored by everyone he encountered. What a thoughtful, intelligent young man he was growing into. This, Bee Kim thought. As long as I have this.
She quietly pushed open the door, and her grandson’s empty bed was so confounding, it took her a moment to notice the sheet of paper on the pillow. She lunged for the note.
My family,
I have gone to rebuild the Fatherland. Our country needs its young people, and it is my privilege and my duty to join the most important revolution of our time.
Please don’t worry about me. I’m not alone. My friends and comrades are with me, and the Party will see to all our needs.
I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I hope someday you will come to believe in the revolution and will understand why I had to deceive you. Know that everything I’ve done stems from love for my country, and that I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused. As soon as I’m settled, I will look for San San. You’ll hear from me then.
Your loving son and grandson,
Ah Liam
“Daughter-in-Law,” Bee Kim cried. “Come here! Now!”
Seok Koon appeared, holding her dressing gown closed with one hand. “What is it, Ma? Are you hurt?” She looked around. “Where’s Ah Liam?”
The servants scurried down the hallway, repeating variations of the same questions.
Bee Kim thrust the note at Seok Koon.
She read it and crushed it to her chest. “I must go to the train station.” She turned to the maid. “Go flag a taxi. Hurry!” She ran to her room and emerged with her pocketbook dangling from one wrist. She belted her dressing gown and shuffled to the front door in her bedroom slippers.
