by Ling Zhang
It was uncanny the way the three of them—brought together ten years before by a railroad, and then scattered because of the same railroad—had all bumped into each other today. They both felt it had to be more than just coincidence.
They talked of old times. “Have you heard anything of Ah-Sing?” asked Ah-Fat. “When I got back to Victoria earlier this year, I went to the Tsun Sing General Store but it was shut. I knocked but no one answered.” “Didn’t you know he’s doing time?” said Ah-Lam.
“Doing time for what?” asked Ah-Fat in surprise. “He was as honest as the day!” “Over the years, he saved up a bit of money, enough to pay the head tax and boat fares, and then he went back home and got married. The next year, the wife joined him in Victoria. She was practically the only Chinese woman there who wasn’t working as a whore in Fan Tan Alley or the tea-shacks, and she was good-looking too. Ah-Sing was worried and kept her locked up all day in the back of the shop. But he couldn’t keep the letches away from her. When he wasn’t home, they’d be up at the window peering in at her. And she was lonely; she couldn’t stand being cooped up all day every day. In the end she fell for one of them and one night she was off. Ah-Sing went after them on horseback and caught up with them. Then he went crazy. He slashed at them with a knife. He got the woman on the face, but she wasn’t badly injured. But he killed the man on the spot. He’s been in jail for over a year now.”
There was a moment’s silence, then Ah-Fat said: “He was a good man, Ah-Sing was.” “Last year when I saw him,” said Ah-Lam, “he talked about when the railroad work finished and you came back to Victoria. You’d been through really bad times, and had nowhere to live and nothing to eat. So he used to leave the stove outside the door for you every day.”
Ah-Fat was speechless.
That stove, with the flicker of warmth it provided, outside the back door of the Tsun Sing General Store had warmed his hands, and the food he had scavenged too. Ah-Sing had left it there to save his life.
Ah-Sing had known that he was spending every night outside the back door of his house. He had known all along. But he never let on.
“What jail is he in?” Ah-Fat asked.
Thousands upon thousands of Chinese gathered today at the Canadian Pacific Railroad steamship docks to welcome the famous Li Hongzhang from the Empire of the Great Qing to Canada. This gentleman holds a number of official positions, including Imperial Viceroy and Superintendent of Trade for the Northern Ports, although he has been stripped of some of them following China’s defeat two years ago in the Sino-Japanese War. China lost its entire fleet in that war, and has had to pay two hundred million ounces of silver in war reparations—a sum equivalent to the gross national product of Japan for seven years. Viceroy Li has now been on his sea voyage for seven months. After visiting Russia, Germany, Holland, Belgium, France and England, he arrived in America at the end of last month. He is making this journey on the Imperial edict in order to foster relations between all these nations and China. Vancouver is Viceroy Li’s last port of call; from here he will return to China via Japan. His visit to Vancouver was unexpected. We understand that he was due to visit Seattle but that rumours of angry crowds of Chinese emigrants awaiting his arrival there forced a change of plan (although Li himself has denied this adamantly). The reason for their anger is the Chinese Exclusion Act that has just been passed in America. The last-minute nature of his visit here has in no way dampened the excitement of Vancouver’s Chinese.
Today the entire length of Howe Street is bedecked with lanterns and coloured pennants. A gigantic ceremonial arch which, we understand, took large numbers of Chinese emigrants several nights to erect, has appeared at the dock. It is formed of one main arch and two side arches. Above them, three pointed roofs are formed of swags of drapery. At the apex of the drapery over the main arch hangs a ball in which has been mounted a Union Jack. The Chinese and Canadian flags hang from each of the side arches. Four welcome banners hang from the tops of the arches and several exquisite “palace lanterns” are hung underneath. The one beneath the main arch is especially eye-catching, as it is two feet in diameter, and its frame is swathed in silk fabric painted with flowers and Chinese designs and lettering. Multicoloured tassels hang from the bottom of the lantern, and the effect is extraordinarily beautiful. Today the dock was crowded with people, many of them Whites who had come to see the pageantry. A brawl even broke out at the end of Howe Street. There is speculation that the affray may have deliberately been caused by thieves hoping to steal onlookers’ wallets. Two monks stood among the crowds doing a roaring business hawking the incense used at temple ceremonies, which they said was to welcome Viceroy Li .
Viceroy Li was conveyed from the docks in a special horse-drawn carriage accompanied by Mayor Collins, Mr. Abbott, the General Superintendent of the Canadian Pacific Railroad in British Columbia, and Chief Constable Ward. Li’s entourage (which included his son and a nephew) followed, riding in an ordinary carriage with all the party’s baggage. It is understood that the most important item that Viceroy Li carries with him is a coffin made from superior quality nanmu wood. At seventy-four years of age, the Viceroy anticipates that he may die on his voyage. As the carriage brought him close to the ceremonial arch, the patiently waiting crowds of “celestials” performed their customary welcoming ceremonies. First there was the crackle of firecrackers, followed by the explosions of huge fireworks, thunderous drumming, and the noise of many hundreds of people shouting in unison. This was accompanied by musicians playing their peculiarly fascinating music, and some people sang Qing Imperial songs.
Viceroy Li’s eyes sparkle with intelligence. He sports old-fashioned steel-rimmed spectacles, has high cheekbones in a fleshy, dark-skinned face, and appears to be in good health. He stoops, which makes his six-foot frame visibly shorter. Today he wore an over-jacket of the famous Imperial yellow, shaped rather like a cape and of no obvious practical use. Under this he had on an outer garment of dark blue brocaded silk and, under that, a dark red robe printed with darker flower designs. He wore a pair of boots with thick, white soles and a Manchu official hat, with a deep, swept-back brim, set back to reveal a gleaming pate. Long pigtails tied with silk ribbons hung from under the back of the hat, reaching down to his knees. The brim of the hat was black edged with gold. Velvet ribbons cascaded from the peak of the hat, which was decorated with a huge gem, and a plume of peacock feathers sporting three “eyes.” A diamond ring sparkled brilliantly on the little finger of his right hand.
There were obvious differences in social rank among the crowds who had come to meet the Viceroy. About a dozen Chinese businessmen were permitted inside the roped-off area to meet him. It was clear that these were of the upper classes from the expensive quality of their attire. Indeed, their elaborate garments were a far cry from what we are used to seeing on the Chinese in Chinatown. The ordinary labourers standing some distance away, were dressed in cotton jackets and wide trousers gathered and tied at the ankle. Many of them had closed their laundries and shops for the day and had made the trip here from neighbouring towns and villages, in order to welcome Viceroy Li. All these sons of the Great Qing emperor—wealthy merchants and ordinary labourers alike—continue to wear the long pigtails to which age-old custom has given symbolic value, even though many have lived in Canada for a number of years.
Vancouver World, 14 September 1896
Ah-Fat stood far back in the crowd, squinting up at the flags which hung from the ceremonial arch. They flapped in the brisk autumn breeze, furling and unfurling. The red sun on the Qing flag was the colour of the glistening yolk of a duck egg, and the slender black dragon seemed to writhe madly in a frantic attempt to catch the egg yolk in its mouth. Ah-Fat had seen a flag like this before, in the Chinese Benevolent Association, but he had never seen it displayed on such a fine day. The weather was beautiful, and when the yellow flag completely unfurled flat against a bright blue sky, Ah-Fat had the sudden feeling it was a Chinese New Year picture, hung on a blue backcloth.
Ah-Fat had flattened himself so that he could squeeze into a narrow crack between one person and the next. All his bulk was in his shoulders, while the lower part of his body was feather-light. Still, every now and then, he caught muttered curses from his neighbours as he trod on their toes. In the bright sunshine the horizontal banner across the ceremonial arch was clearly visible to him: “Welcome to Your Excellency Li Hongzhang,” but the characters on the four vertical banners were much smaller, and Ah-Fat had to force his way halfway along the street until he was close enough make them out.
The Great Li Hongzhang bestows honour on all the places he deigns to visit
The Great Li Hongzhang has journeyed far at the Emperor’s orders, to establish friendly relations with neighbouring nations The Great Li Hongzhang, in speeding across the Pacific Ocean, shows us the loving concern he feels for the Emperor’s subjects who live in foreign lands
When Your Excellency returns home, we hope His Majesty will suitably reward his loyal elderly minister
He read them several times over from start to finish, until he had rough idea what they meant. Then he heard the sound of stringed instruments, and people singing: With a golden palace towering over, and the grand Purple Pavilion…. It sounded like nothing he had ever heard before, something you might chant to the ancestors or in a temple, with a serene and solemn tune. Much later he found out it was called “Li Hongzhang’s Anthem.” Li commissioned lyrics for the music, and it made do as a Great Qing National Anthem, so they had something to sing to the foreigners.
The carriage came through the arch and drew near them. It was drawn by two fine Mongolian ponies with red harnesses, looking from a distance as if they had been painted gleaming black. Their sturdy hooves kicked up dust and pebbles as they trotted along. They set off sporadic bursts of cheering as they passed by, too. But the ponies had been well trained; they were used to ceremonies like this and took no notice.
Ah-Fat could now see the occupants of the carriage more clearly. There were four of them, two facing forward and two backward. Three of the four were yeung fan, so the Imperial official at the back on the left was, without any doubt, Viceroy Li. The hat on his head seemed to be very heavy and he leaned slightly forward under its weight, propping his arm on the side of the carriage. He had bags under his eyes so droopy they might have contained two walnuts. His chin trembled continuously as if he was trying to master a cough which might burst out at any moment. He held a silver cup in one hand which he used as a spittoon. In the other hand he held a pipe. Ah-Fat had heard somewhere that the Viceroy was a heavy smoker. But the Viceroy did not smoke Chinese-produced tobacco; instead, his pipe was filled with the tobacco used in American cigars.
If you stripped him of his gorgeous attire and took off his ornate feathered hat, Viceroy Li was just a man who had reached an advanced age. The process of aging was gradual—a wrinkle here, a white hair there—and was impossible to tell on which morning, or after which evening meal, a particular wrinkle or white hair had appeared. But when observed together, all of the details of aging suddenly made a person old. After the sea battles of the Sino-Japanese War, Viceroy Li had aged into a truly old man.
Old people like this could be found all over the place in Hoi Ping, sprawled dozing with their heads resting on the customary “stone pillow” in summer or sitting in a cane chair enjoying the sunshine when the weather got colder. Grimy sweat lodged in the multiple folds of their necks, grains of rice and drops of soup from past meals stuck to their chins, and they hissed through the gaps in their teeth as they talked.
But Viceroy Li was different. Court dress and an official hat meant that getting old was regarded as acquiring dignity, slowness of mind was regarded as profoundness and sloth as solemnity. A peacock feather created a gulf between the nobility and the marketplace which could not be breached. Viceroy Li stood on the other side of the gulf, and even in old age, he was separated by thousands of li from the marketplace.
His train of thought scared Ah-Fat.
There was a ripple among the people crowded around Ah-Fat, and he saw the wheels of the Viceroy’s carriage rolling past.
“Peace to Your Excellency!”
Around the carriage, the crowds dipped low like a rice paddy blown by the wind. Some bowed, others lifted the hems of their jackets and knelt on the bare ground. Suddenly the view opened up before Ah-Fat and he saw, or rather felt, the Viceroy’s eyes from behind those thick lenses, boring painfully into his cheek. Out of the thousands of people milling around, Li Hongzhang’s gaze had fastened on this swarthy scar-face who was still standing.
Ah-Fat made a low bow.
“Please, will Viceroy Li convey our best wishes to the Emperor, and wish His Majesty good health. May the Great Qing rise again,” he shouted at the carriage.
His words had scarcely left his mouth when they were swallowed up by the general clamour. Perhaps the Viceroy heard, perhaps he did not. In any case, he signalled to his driver and the carriage slowly came to a halt. A wave of people surged towards it but was stopped by policemen who rushed up and linked arms to form a protective human wall. The water lapped at the foot of the wall but did not break through. Gradually calm was restored and the wave of people rested where it was, peering through the stalwart shoulders of the police at the carriage which had halted so close to them, and the elderly man who sat in it.
“Do you live well here?” the old man asked with a languid gesture towards Ah-Fat and the men standing around him.
They all looked at each other, wondering how to answer and not daring to speak. Eventually someone mumbled: “We’re fine.” “That’s rubbish,” said someone else, pulling at the speaker’s sleeve. Ah-Fat glanced at the Mayor, then said: “Your Excellency, times are hard for us here. We can’t get decent government jobs. We can only do dirty jobs the Whites don’t want to do, and we earn half of what they do. If we open up a small business, we have to pay high taxes so there’s precious little profit left at the end of the year.”
As Ah-Fat spoke out, the men plucked up courage. A young man pushed himself through until he stood right in front of the carriage. “The Canadian government is discussing a bill to raise the head tax. We won’t be able to afford it even if we save every cent for years. We’ll have to spend our whole lives as bachelors and never have a wife and family.”
An older man interrupted: “I’m married but what good has it done me? I can’t raise enough for the head tax so my wife can’t join me. I might as well be single. When do I ever get a leg-over?” Some of the men sniggered at the coarse language. The expression on Viceroy Li’s face tightened. “I see,” he said. Then he shut his eyes and fell silent.
The carriage wheels creaked and the ponies set off, their hooves stirring up little eddies of dust which filled the air with a haze.
In the blink of an eye, the autumn day had grown old.
Ah-Fat watched as the carriage receded into the distance, and gave little sigh.
Year twenty-six of the teign of Guangxu (1900) Spur-On Village, Hoi Ping County, Guangdong Province, China
Six Fingers got up and dressed, and pulled back the bamboo curtains. She startled at the sunshine which streamed into the room. They had had five continuous days of rain that seeped into their houses and through their clothes until it felt as if everything was coated in layers of slime. Yet now, without warning, the weather had suddenly cleared, revealing a perfectly cloudless sky. There was not a breath of wind. The sun shone on the raindrops so that the banyan tree in the courtyard appeared to be covered with glistening golden gems. Autumn had roared in like a lion this year, but in weather like this the cicadas still filled the trees with their fullthroated calls.
Her mother-in-law, Mrs. Mak, had been up for hours, and sat neatly dressed in the courtyard, fanning herself with a cattail fan. “Have you bought the moon cakes for tonight?” she asked Ah-Choi. The servant had just finished the washing and was giving the drying poles a wipe before hanging out the clothes. “The young mistre
ss got them in yesterday,” she said. “There are four kinds: double-yolk lotus cakes, milk cakes with coconut flakes, walnut and apricot cakes, and jujube paste and osmanthus cakes.”
Kam Shan had been squatting by the tree, pouring a big bowl of water into an ants’ nest. When he heard the word “cake” he dropped his bowl with a clang and flung himself at Ah-Choi. Grabbing the front of her jacket, he begged loudly for cakes. “These are cakes for the Moon Festival,” she told him. “I don’t give them out. You’d better ask your granny.” He pushed her away and threw his arms around Mrs. Mak’s knees. “I want a cake, Granny!” he shouted. She wiped the sweat from her five-year-old grandson’s forehead with her jacket and shook her head. “These are Mid-Autumn Festival mooncakes. You can’t have them till this evening when Old Lady Moon comes up.” “How long will that take?” Kam Shan asked. “The time it takes to have two more meals,” said Mrs. Mak. Kam Shan opened his mouth and wailed, the tears running down his face like two rows of peas. The sound of his crying grated painfully on a tender spot in Mrs. Mak’s heart. She grasped her walking stick and stood up. Holding the little boy’s hand, she felt her way to the kitchen.
“You can have a piece of double-yolk cake, and that’ll fill you to bursting. You won’t need any lunch or dinner.”
Kam Shan immediately stopped crying and his face lit up in a radiant smile.
Six Fingers tried to keep a straight face. Mrs. Mak normally had a flinty exterior, she thought to herself. It was only that naughty Kam Shan who knew how to worm his way into her heart.
Six Fingers sat down on the bed and leaned over to look at Kam Ho who was sleeping sweetly. The evening before, he had puked up his milk, and she had not got him to sleep till after midnight. When Kam Ho was asleep, he frowned so that a small pink knot formed between his eyebrows. A knot like a skein so tangled you could not find the end of the thread. Six Fingers went to smooth it out gently with her finger, but withdrew her hand hurriedly when the baby jerked awake. Kam Ho gave a few quavering cries of protest and gradually quietened again until his little snores filled the room like the buzzing of a fly.
