By the Skin of His Teeth

by Ann Walsh

  I stepped forward, not thinking. Henri Tremblay's hand slashed out at me, and a strap of my overalls flopped loose, cut through. I scarcely noticed and kept moving toward him.

  The Frenchman retreated slightly, surprised. Behind him his two friends stared at me. "Leave Peter alone," I said once more. "All of you."

  "Henri," one of the men said, "we've had our fun. Let's go."

  "Non. I wish to teach this boy a lesson."

  I raised my hands, fists clenched. "Come and try. But fight like a man. Put the knife away."

  The Frenchman scowled. "I do not need a knife for courage, not when I see only an enfant timide before me." There was a thunk, and suddenly his knife quivered at my feet, the handle only inches away, the blade buried in the ground.

  I dragged my eyes away from the knife and took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

  "No!" a voice from behind me shouted. "We will deal with this."

  I whirled around. Sing Kee and several other Chinese men stood in the entrance to the alleyway. They all had knives in their hands.

  Sing Kee ignored me. "Leave Chinatown, Mr. Tremblay. Go, and take your friends with you."

  Henri Tremblay said nothing.

  "Let's get out of here," one of the Frenchman's friends said. "Come on." The man was sweating and seemed nervous. "We don't want to fight the heathens now. There'll be another time." He bent, pulled the knife from the ground, and gave it to the Frenchman. "Another time, Henri."

  The Frenchman wiped the knife on a leg of his trousers. "Non. Let us teach the heathens—all of them—a lesson they will not forget."

  Henri Tremblay's other friend said firmly, "No, Henri, not this time. There are too many. You fight if you want, but I'm leaving."

  "An excellent idea," Sing Kee said. "Go at once."

  "I'm leaving, too," the man who was sweating said. "I don't want to fight."

  Henri Tremblay's two cronies moved slowly toward the street. The Frenchman looked at Sing Kee, then at the knives in the hands of the Chinese men. Glaring at Peter and me, he spat on the ground in front of Peter, turned abruptly, and followed his friends.

  All the knives had disappeared. Sing Kee and the other Chinese men stood aside while the three white men edged cautiously past them and out of the alleyway. Suddenly my knees were weak, and I felt as if I were going to be ill. Sinking to the ground, I put my head in my hands and took a few deep breaths. When the sick feeling passed, I raised my head and found myself alone.

  The Chinese men, Sing Kee, Henri Tremblay, and his friends—everyone had vanished. Had it really happened? I wondered. I touched the cut strap of my overalls flapping loosely against my chest, then ran my fingers across the deep gash in the earth where Mr. Tremblay's knife had been.

  Yes, it had happened.

  Slowly I stood, but my knees were stronger now. Peter-where was he? More than ever I needed to talk to him. Where had he gone? With Sing Kee? Yes, surely Sing Kee had taken Peter to his store to tend to the boy's injuries.

  But when I pushed open the door of the herbalist's shop and called for Peter, there was no answer. "Peter, are you here?" I called again.

  Sing Kee emerged from behind the curtain that screened the back room. "Go away, Master Theodore," he said, frowning. "You have caused much trouble today."

  "I need to see Peter. Is he here?"

  "You must look for Peter elsewhere. Go home."

  "But I have to make sure he's all right. He was bleeding."

  "I have cleaned the cut and applied a salve. It is not serious." He turned his back and went to his workbench.

  "I need to see him," I repeated.

  "No, you do not. His own people will care for him, Master Theodore. Now please leave."

  Sing Kee always called me Ted, not the formal Master Theodore. He was very angry with me.

  "I'm sorry, Sing Kee. I didn't mean to cause trouble for Peter. Please understand that."

  "Sorry is only a word. It will not help right now. My nephew is hurt, both in body and spirit. Leave him alone. Let him heal." The herbalist leaned over his large stone mortar and began grinding dried herbs into a fine powder, the heavy pestle thumping noisily against the curved sides of the mortar.

  "Sing Kee, please..."

  The sound of pounding grew louder. Sing Kee concentrated on his work, as if I weren't there. He didn't answer me, and I knew there was no use trying to talk to him. Once more I said, "I'm truly sorry," then left.

  Perhaps Peter would be with his father, but Mr. Lee met me at the door of his store. "Peter not here," he said before I could say anything. "Go away." He, too, was upset, and I didn't stay to question him further. "I'm sorry for the trouble, Mr. Lee. Please forgive me. Please tell Mrs. Lee I'm very, very sorry."

  "Go away," Peter's father again said. "You go now." I went.

  Maybe Peter was at the restaurant where he used to work. Nervously I made my way there. Although Henri Tremblay and his friends had been in a hurry to leave Chinatown the last time I saw them, this was a place where they often ate. To my relief neither the Frenchman nor any of his friends was in the restaurant. Neither was any other white person. The owner ran to me the moment I stepped in the door, shaking his head and waving his hands as though to push me away. "Closed, we closed, go." The restaurant was completely silent. Everyone stared at me, and I saw anger on their faces.

  "I'm truly sorry for what happened," I said.

  Not a single voice replied. No one here would help me find Peter, I realized, so I turned and left.

  There was nowhere else for me to search except at Peter's own home. But I didn't know where he lived, and even if I could find his house, the thought of facing his mother made me ill. If strangers in the restaurant, and Sing Kee, my friend, were angry, how would Peter's mother feel toward me? How could I apologize to her for being the cause of her son's humiliation—and his injury? Someday Peter might forgive me, but I doubted that his mother ever would.

  I retraced my steps to Sing Kee's. He must know where Peter was. He was his uncle. I would try one last time to get him to tell me.

  Sing Kee was at his workbench. He looked up in surprise when I came in. Then he frowned. "What do you want?"

  "Sing Kee, you must know where Peter is. Please tell me."

  "I thought you had gone home."

  "No. I've been looking for him."

  "All this time?"

  "Yes. I have to speak to him, Sing Kee. He was hurt because of me. I need to tell him I'm sorry."

  Sing Kee shook his head. "I told you that it was not a serious injury."

  "I need to see for myself. Do you know where he is?"

  Sing Kee sighed. "I have said that you must look for Peter elsewhere."

  Something about the way he answered didn't sound right. "You do know where he is, don't you?"

  "You must look for—"

  "You're not answering my question. Please help me find him."

  "If you cannot find him, then perhaps he does not want to be found." Sing Kee picked up a jar of herbs, uncorked it, and dropped a handful into a small pot. He avoided my eyes.

  I was silent for a while. "Yes," I said at last, "I understand. At least I think I do."

  Sing Kee said nothing.

  "I understand," I said again. "Peter doesn't want to see me."

  Sing Kee remained silent.

  Tears stung my eyes, and I forced them back. "Peter has every right to be angry. But please, Sing Kee, when you see him, tell him I apologize. Tell him I'm sincerely sorry for the embarrassment I caused him today. I'm sorry he was made to..."

  Once again I saw Peter on his knees surrounded by Henri Tremblay's jeering gang. Once more I saw the blood on his forehead. It was my fault. Everything that had happened to Peter today was because of me.

  "Sing Kee, please, you must tell Peter I'm sorry. I had hoped he would forgive me—maybe someday he will—but I understand that he doesn't want to see me." I bowed respectfully to the herbalist and turned to leave.

  I realized I would
never see Peter again except perhaps on the street as we passed each other. I knew he would avoid me whenever he could, that we would no longer be friends. Once more tears rose behind my eyelids.

  Peter could never forgive me for what had happened today. I wondered if I could ever forgive myself.

  I was almost at the door when a voice called, "Do not go."

  The curtain to the back room swung aside, and Peter walked through it. He had been crying and his voice was shaky. But the blood had been cleaned from his face and, to my relief, I could see he had only a small cut on his forehead.

  "Peter, are you all right?"

  "Yes. Most of me is."

  "It was my fault, Peter. I'm so sorry."

  "It is not your fault, sir...Ted. I wanted to race. I wanted to win."

  "Please forgive me."

  "There is nothing to forgive. My uncle says I was foolish. He uses many wise proverbs to explain. It was my mistake, not yours."

  "You know what you did was wrong," Sing Kee said. "Our people do not need more trouble."

  "Peter didn't plan to race with me," I said. "I asked him to be my partner at the last minute. It was my misjudgement, not Peter's."

  Sing Kee frowned. "Perhaps, but Peter understands more than you do, Ted, how things are with the Chinese in this country. He knows better."

  "Yes, Uncle," Peter said. There was silence for a while, then he smiled wanly. "But we run like wind together, Ted. We would have won."

  "We would have won easily," I said, smiling back. "Perhaps next year..."

  Sing Kee shook his head. "No. You must not think of it. You must stay in your place, Nephew, like other Chinese. Otherwise you cause much anger—and harm. Just one person, you, was hurt today, but more could have been injured."

  "There were people who thought Peter was treated badly, Sing Kee. Jenny, my mother, and a great many other women left the races, saying it was unfair."

  "Really?" Peter said.

  "That is good," said Sing Kee. "But most men did not think it unfair, and it is the men, not the women, who make the laws. It is also the men who fight when they are angry."

  Peter studied his feet. "Today I caused much trouble. I am sorry, Uncle."

  "Yes," Sing Kee said. "Even Ted was angry. Mr. Tremblay seemed surprised that Ted would fight as fiercely as a tiger."

  "Tiger? Oh, no, Sing Kee, I felt like a kitten."

  "A very cross kitten, sir...Ted. A very brave kitten."

  "Yes, brave enough to scratch hard," said Sing Kee, smiling for the first time.

  "Mr. Tremblay and his friends are cruel men," Peter said, touching the cut on his forehead. "It is hard to believe that some men are so cruel, but others, like you and your father, are always kind and do not treat people differently."

  "It is the same in China, Nephew," Sing Kee said.

  "How can that be?" I asked. "In China you're all Chinese. How can you be treated differently there?"

  "In China not all of us are equal," Sing Kee said. "Merchants like my brother are not held in high regard, for they must associate with foreign devils—excuse me, Ted—in their work."

  I didn't much like being thought of as a foreign devil, but I supposed it wasn't much worse than being called a heathen animal, so I just nodded.

  "Even field labourers more important than merchants like my father," Peter said. "For they help to create life."

  "Here, in this new country, we hope to change the way people think," Sing Kee said.

  "Yes," Peter added, "we hope. But Mr. Tremblay and others like him..." He didn't finish the sentence, but shook his head and changed the subject. "You did not explain, Ted. Why did Mr. Joseph not come to race?"

  I grimaced. "That isn't easy to explain." But I did.

  Sing Kee covered a broad grin with his hand, and Peter laughed. "That Miss Jenny, she very unusual woman," Peter said.

  "She is indeed," I agreed. "But please don't say anything about this prank of hers. Bridget is right. It wouldn't be considered a ladylike thing to do."

  "We will not speak of it again," Sing Kee said, still grinning. "A wise man knows when to remain silent."

  "When Miss Jenny is around, most people are silent," Peter said. "For she talks a great deal."

  "Yes," I admitted, "but she has a beautiful voice, doesn't she?"

  Thirteen

  After I left Sing Kee's shop, thunder shook the sky and a few fat raindrops began to fall. Although the morning had dawned clear and bright, a storm was moving in. At any moment I knew the clouds would open and one of summer's heavy rainfalls would drench the town.

  There were no more shouts or cheers—the contests were over. Even the horse racing must have finished, for the area around the platform was deserted when I passed. The rain would cause no problems now that most of the day's activities were completed. In fact, it would be welcome to those of us who hoped to watch the fireworks. There had been much discussion about the safety of the planned fireworks display, and some people thought it shouldn't be risked, not even to celebrate Dominion Day. One great fire had been enough, they said. It would be a tragedy to risk a second, merely for the pleasure of seeing a few coloured lights in the sky. But now that it was raining—if the rain wasn't too heavy by evening—the fireworks could safely be ignited. And Jenny and I would view them together. She had promised, hadn't she?

  When I returned to town after dinner, the storm was over. The streets were only slightly muddy and the air was cool. The mosquitoes and black flies had enjoyed the rain, and they were unusually fierce, but tonight I scarcely noticed them.

  As I got closer to Pa's shop, I began to worry again. Would Jenny be there? Was she angry at me for not insisting she be allowed to race? But how could I have done that? Bridget had forbidden it. Surely Jenny would meet me. It wasn't my fault that "Joseph" and I couldn't race.

  Then, from a distance, I spotted her on the boardwalk in front of Pa's shop. I walked faster. "Jenny!" I called, relieved. "You're here!"

  "Yes," she said. "So I am."

  I smiled. "I'm glad. It'll be a fine evening."

  Jenny nodded, the black veil over her face fluttering as she did.

  "That's a good idea, that hat with the veil," I said. "The insects are hungry tonight."

  "Oh?" she said. "Aye, of course, the wee beasties. This veil does keep them from my face."

  I slapped at a mosquito. "Come, let's go through the town and take in the displays. Most shops have been decorated to honour Dominion Day, and I didn't have time to see everything earlier."

  "Nor did I," Jenny said, sighing. "I had nae planned on spending today in the house with the twins."

  "I thought you had the whole day off. Didn't you tell me Mrs. Fraser said you could attend all the festivities?"

  "Aye, but I changed my mind and stayed away from the celebrations."

  "I didn't watch any races, either. I lost my enthusiasm for them after Peter was treated so badly."

  I didn't tell her how badly Henri Tremblay and his gang had treated Peter, that his humiliation hadn't ended at the starting line. No doubt she would find out what had happened, but until then I didn't want to speak about it to anyone.

  "Eejit races. Eejit rules. Poor Peter." Jenny took my arm, and we stepped down from the boardwalk and began to stroll through the town, looking at the decorations. The performance at the Theatre Royal had ended, and other people were doing the same thing. Even though it wasn't fully dark yet, many stores had candles and lamps in their windows, illuminating Dominion Day displays.

  In the window of Moses's barbershop was an evergreen wreath adorned with tiny ribbon rosettes surrounding a gold crown honouring Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. Many other windows also had crowns, though some had flags, wreaths, and garlands, as well. The Engine House and the adjoining Theatre Royal were trimmed with hooks, ladders, hoses, axes, and other implements of the Fire Brigade, all wreathed in evergreens. The German bakery displayed the colours of the new German empire, and the Union Jack flew from about twenty po
les up and down the street.

  Over the road hung banners proclaiming GOD SAVE THE QUEEN, UNION FOREVER, and SUCCESS TO THE DOMINION. More evergreens and ribbons in red, white, and blue, the colours of the Union Jack, festooned every available window and doorframe and were looped around the overhead water pipes.

  "Oh," said Jenny, "the town looks almost bonny, not at all like its usual dreich self."

  I didn't think Barkerville was "drab" at all, but I didn't want to disagree with Jenny. Not tonight.

  We said hello to others along the way, though I was surprised how few people greeted us in return. Perhaps they didn't recognize Jenny in her black veil. But I had no time to worry about that because suddenly there was a series of explosions, and the sky lit up—the fireworks had begun!

  We hurried to Chinatown. The street was packed; everyone had gathered where the fireworks were being assembled and lit.

  Four shooting stars sped upward, exploding in a shower of tiny red lights. The crowd gasped, then clapped. There was another bang, and a large fireball flew high above our heads, bursting into hundreds of soft white stars that fell slowly to earth. The crowd roared with pleasure and surged forward.

  I was roughly pushed aside as two laughing men made their way to the front of the crowd. "Watch where you're going, sirs," I said.

  "Sorry!" they shouted without glancing back.

  "Ow!" Jenny said, moving closer to me as she dodged another spectator who had shoved his way past us, intent on having the best possible view.

  "Are you hurt?"

  "Nae, not to cry about. Although someone just stood hard on my toe."

  There was another spray of colour, another cheer from the crowd, another swell of movement around us. Once more I was bumped into. This time I nearly lost my footing, and Jenny gripped my arm tighter.

  "Are you hurt?" she asked.

  "No. I don't know why people have to push and shove to get a better view when all they have to do is glance up. Why, I'm sure the fireworks can be seen from anywhere in town."

  "So they can. Let's leave."

  "Where shall we go?"

  "Someplace where there are nae so many rude people," she said, pulling on my arm and leading me back the way we had come. "I imagine the boardwalk outside your father's shop has an excellent view."