by Ling Zhang
Mak Dau could hold his own with any of the dozen or so residents of the household, except the young Missus. With her, he could hardly get word out. She was perfectly friendly to him, not severe like the old Missus. But Mak Dau was more afraid of the young Missus’s friendliness than the old lady’s severity. Severity was straightforward, and straightforward silence was an adequate response. The friendliness of the young Missus was much more nuanced, so his answering silences had to be nuanced too. All the same, Mak Dau was happy to be accompanying her today.
He looked up now and saw that Six Fingers had exchanged her cottonpadded jacket for a new lined one. It reached to the knees and the mauve fabric was embroidered all over with a design of dark green asparagus ferns. The jacket buttoned slantwise with traditional knot buttons and a light green handkerchief hung from the opening. Now that she was no longer wearing the thick winter jacket, you could see her full figure. The ferns trembled lightly as her jacket rose and fell. She wore a jade hairpin in the bun at the nape of her neck, and an agate pendant hung from one end of it. The pendant tinkled next to her ear every time the young Missus moved. Every tinkle made Mak Dau’s heart skip a beat, and his breathing became a little ragged.
“Shall I carry it for you, Missus?” he asked, indicating Six Fingers’ basket. “There’s no need for that. You look after Kam Ho. He’s not over his cold yet.”
Six Fingers, Kam Ho and Mak Dau joined the others on the riverbank and the party set out. The man and the boy walked in front and the half-dozen women followed, leaving behind footprints of all shapes and sizes in the soft surface of the track.
The talk among the women was of their menfolk. “When’s your Ah-Kyun arriving?” Six Fingers asked Ah-Lin. “Soon. We heard he’s got to Hong Kong. We’re waiting for a letter from the hospital and then someone’ll go and get him.” They were talking about Ah-Kyun’s remains. He had died of consumption in Gold Mountain. That was more than seven years ago so Ah-Lin had been a widow for all that time. The first year she wore a white felt flower of mourning stuck into her bun, but had changed this for a black one in the second year. The black flower of widowhood had remained there ever since and she never went without it.
The truth, however, was that Ah-Lin had been a widow long before she put the white flower in her hair. Ah-Kyun had taken a concubine in Gold Mountain and had only been home once in more than a decade. When he left again, he took his eldest son with him. Ah-Kyun had been ill for quite a few years, and for all those years the concubine had supported his two families through her work in the tea-shack. After he died, she had gone to live with another man, again as his concubine, and after that it was Ah-Kyun’s son who sent dollar letters home. Ah-Lin said that her husband knew he was going to die and that was why he had taken his son to Gold Mountain, to take over responsibility for supporting the family back home. She also said that Ah-Kyun was a kind-hearted man and that was why he would not abandon his family in China. And that he had made it clear to his son that he wanted to be buried at home. And that being a lawfully wedded wife was quite different from being someone’s fancy woman. As Ah-Lin said all these things, the colour rose in her face, so that she looked like a peachy-cheeked bride in a wedding sedan.
“Huh!” said Ah-Chu. “It depends on the man whether he comes back or not. Auntie Cheung Tai exchanged marriage contracts with Uncle Cheung Tai, and even when she died, he never came home for her funeral.” Auntie Cheung Tai had died the year before and it was Six Fingers, as her adopted daughter, who had buried her. Her husband had not shown up. There was a reason for Ah-Chu’s remark: her husband had come home last year and got himself a second wife from Tung Koon. Within four months, he was gone, in a hurry to save enough for the head tax and a boat passage. But he still had not told them which wife he was going to take to Gold Mountain.
“Your Ah-Fat hasn’t been back for years. Has he got a woman over there?” asked someone.
When Ah-Fat last saw Kam Ho, he was only a month old. Now he was going to school and Ah-Fat was still not back. He had been short of money in recent years and though he sent dollar letters every couple of months, they were for much smaller amounts. What had gone wrong? asked Six Fingers in one of her letters. Ah-Fat’s reply had been brief. I’ll tell you more when I come home, he had said. She knew then that there had been some trouble. She imagined all sorts of things, and these imaginings weighed heavily on her. But still she smiled at the women’s questions: “It’s fine if he’s found a woman. At least I don’t have to worry about him.”
Halfway to the school, the women grew tired. They looked for a shady spot to sit down, and took out the cakes. Kam Ho had been asleep on Mak Dau’s back and had dribbled on his shoulders. Mak Dau set him down and gave him to Six Fingers. He found a spot to sit some distance away, took off his jacket and sat down on a stone to let the sweat dry in the sun. Next to him a big yellow butterfly with black markings rested on the leaf of a shrub. The black and the yellow reminded him of the border of a paper window covering, standing out so clearly they could have been cut out with a knife. In the bright sunshine, the butterfly’s wings fanned gently.
Pity I didn’t bring a cricket cage, Mak Dau thought. It’s so pretty; could have caught it and given it to the young Missus to hang from her bed curtain.
The wind got up but the warmth of the sun mellowed it, and smoothed its sharp edges. The wind blew the smell of Mak Dau’s sweat over to where the women were sitting. He was wearing a rough cotton vest under his jacket. It had shrunk through much washing and now his muscles threatened to burst out of it. “How many head of cattle are you buying this year?” Ah-Chu asked Six Fingers. “None,” she replied. “We bought them all last year and the year before.” Ah-Chu pursed her lips and nodded towards Mak Dau. “But haven’t you just bought a bull? Look at those muscles. He’d plough a fine furrow!” There was much ribald laughter at this. At a safe distance from their in-laws, the women’s talk got quite smutty.
Kam Ho pulled at his mother’s sleeve. “I need a poo, Mum.” Six Fingers was strict with her children, and they were not allowed to piss and crap wherever they wanted outdoors. Now she looked around her at the land, which was open and flat, and she could not see anywhere for him to go. But there were a couple of trees not too far off which, at a pinch, afforded some sort of cover. Next to them were the ruins of a wall a couple of feet high. Six Fingers took Kam Ho by the hand and they walked over to the wall.
Kam Ho went behind the wall, pulled his jacket up and his trousers down and squatted. Suddenly, there was a gust of wind in his ears and darkness covered him. First, he thought he must have dropped into a deep pit, but then he felt his body moving, even though his feet were not touching the ground. He seemed to have grown wings and to be soaring like a bird. “Quick, someone’s coming,” he heard a gruff voice say in an accent which was not local. He realized he had fallen into the hands of bandits.
Six Fingers heard a movement and turned around. Her cry of alarm was cut short and her mouth flooded with a salty taste. She tried to scream but the sound died in her throat as if muffled in cotton wool. Someone had gagged her with a smelly sock. Much later, when she thought back to that day, she realized that what she had shouted was “Mak Dau!”
Ah-Chu was the first to realize that Six Fingers and Kam Ho had disappeared. She looked around to see where they had got to, and saw three burly black-clad figures running away with two bundles on their backs. They looked like three giant bats flitting away along the field bank, but from the bottom of one bundle an embroidered shoe could be seen, twisting and kicking.
“They’ve been kid … kidnapped!” Ah-Chu’s lips trembled so much she could scarcely get the words out.
Mak Dau, who had been snoozing on the rock in his vest and trousers, was on his feet in an instant and streaking after them. When she recounted the story afterwards, Ah-Chu would swear that Mak Dau’s legs took leave of his body that day and simply took off after the bandits on their own. Mak Dau had almost caught up with them when he suddenl
y remembered the freshly sharpened knife that he had hastily stuck into his waistband that morning. He touched it to the jacket of the black-clad figure next to him and the man sagged like a half-full sack of potatoes. As he fell, he grasped Mak Dau tightly round the ankle. Dragging this heavy sack of potatoes, Mak Dau ran on but more slowly than before and could only stare after the two figures as they disappeared into the distance with Six Fingers and Kam Ho.
Mak Dau dragged the injured bandit back to the house. He tortured the bandit’s name out of him: Kam Mo Keung. He was a stooge for the outlaw Chu Sei. Chu Sei and his band had gone into hiding in the area, and were making forays out to kidnap and rob, especially from the families of Gold Mountain men. His ransoms were high and he did not negotiate. He was a cruel man.
When Mrs. Mak heard this her eyes darkened and she fainted. Ah-Choi managed to bring her round with a glass of pepper water, but she could not stand. “We should tell the local officials,” said Ha Kau. “At least we’ve got Kam Mo Keung in our hands.” “Kam Mo Keung’s just small fry,” said Mak Dau. “Chu Sei doesn’t give a shit about him. He could die a hundred times but he still wouldn’t be worth what Chu Sei can get for the Missus and the young master. We’ve got to be quick and get the ransom together.”
“How much?” asked Mrs. Mak. “Anything less than five hundred dollars and you won’t see your young master again,” said Kam Mo Keung. “Chu Sei’s never accepted anything less than that. He doesn’t normally bother to kidnap women. Women are worth nothing, because most families won’t bother to buy them back. Six Fingers only got bundled away with her son because she cried for help.”
Mrs. Mak ground her teeth and fainted again. They carried her into her room and Ha Kau went to speak with Ah-Fat’s uncle and aunt. But the pair hummed and hawed so indecisively that Ha Kau had no option but to turn to Mak Dau. Between them they arranged to sell off the family fields.
Forced to sell in haste, they had to accept the derisory amounts they were offered. It was not enough. They made Ah-Fat’s uncle and aunt sell some jewellery, and finally bundled up all the money and prepared to ransom Six Fingers and Kam Ho.
Mak Dau went with Kam Mo Keung. “You’ll have to leave any weapons behind when you see Chu Sei,” said Kam. “Before they let you into the stockade, they’ll search you from the hairs on your head to the soles of your feet. If they find anything, they’ll have your head off on the spot.” Mak Dau squatted down without a word and smoked half a pipe. After a few moments, he pulled Ha Kau to one side. “Go and buy some firecrackers from the village store, the more the merrier,” he said. “Are you mad? The sky’s falling in and you want to mess around with firecrackers?” “You listen to me, Ha Kau. Wrap them up good and tight and put them in the pigpen. And whatever you do, don’t let anyone see you.”
Ha Kau did as he was told and threw the bundle into the pigpen. Mak Dau went into the pen. “Watch the door and don’t let anyone in,” he told Ha Kau. A little while later, he came out with his pipe in his hand. Ha Kau went in behind him to have a look. The ground was littered with scraps of red paper, but he had not heard any firecrackers go off. “What kind of a prank is this?” he said. Mak Dau held up the pipe. “They’re all in here, all your firecrackers,” he said. “I can’t be sure of blowing up the whole stockade and everyone in it, but I can guarantee I’ll get one or two.” Ha Kau went pale. “You … you … you trying to get yourself killed?” he stuttered. “Your mum gave you to me to look after and I’ve got to give you back to her in one piece.” Mak Dau laughed. “Don’t worry, Uncle, I’m going to bring the Missus and the young master home. If I die, how’ll they get back?”
Mak Dau set off at dusk. No one dared go to sleep. They lit a votary lamp and waited. In the dead of night one day later, a bedraggled Mak Dau came into the courtyard carrying a dark bundle on his back. They peered at it; it was the Missus. Her hair had come loose and dark masses of it cascaded down her back, enshrouding her body. Mak Dau put her down and she sagged to the ground. Kam Shan threw himself on her, grabbed the front of her jacket and shook her. The distraught family burst into sobs.
After a while, a dusty ball of a figure tumbled in—it was Kam Ho. Mrs. Mak enfolded him so tightly in her arms that her long pale fingernails gouged deep dents in his flesh. Ah-Choi brought out a bowl of rice gruel; only when Six Fingers and Kam Ho had both drunk a little did she allow herself a little sigh of relief. Six Fingers got to her feet and stumbled a few paces to Mrs. Mak. Kneeling before her, she cried, “Mum!” Mrs. Mak’s eyes stared sightlessly at her but the old woman said nothing. Six Fingers kowtowed three times before her. “I’ve been an undutiful daughter-in-law. I’ve caused you such a lot of distress.”
Mrs. Mak grunted. “Would I make so bold as to fret about you? Since the day you married into the Fong family, have I had any control over where you went or what you felt? You go where you want; you do what you want to do. Ah-Fat spoils you and you just run rings around me. If you’d listened to me that day, if you hadn’t insisted on going to see that devil-play at that school run by foreign devils, none of this would have happened. Every cent Ah-Fat’s worked so hard to earn these last twenty years in Gold Mountain, all the land we’ve bought with that money, it’s all gone because of you. You’ve cost my son dear, you have.”
Six Fingers had nothing to say to that. The iron had entered Mrs. Mak’s soul all those years ago, when Ah-Fat had broken off his engagement to his betrothed and married Six Fingers instead. She now knew the bitterness still festered. Mak Dau felt for his pipe and went to light it. “You want to die?” shouted Ha Kau, grabbing it from him. Mak Dau froze for an instant, then smiled. “This is another pipe,” he said, lighting it and taking a couple of leisurely puffs. Then he said: “Don’t get angry, old Missus. You know, Chu Sei has had his eye on our family for a long time. Even if the young Missus had stayed at home every day to look after both the young masters, he would have come knocking.”
Mak Dau’s teeth lit up the whole room, but sadly Mrs. Mak could not see it. She shouted furiously: “And who might you be? Who gave you the right to speak in the Fong family?” And she hurled her walking stick blindly at him. Mak Dau easily dodged the stick, which hit one of the pillars and snapped in two. There was dead silence, not a cheep or a rustle to be heard. Even the banyan leaves were still. Everyone knew that Mrs. Mak was strict, but they had never seen her humiliate the young Missus in public or beat a servant with a stick.
After a moment, Kam Shan knelt down in front of his grandmother: “Please don’t be angry, Granny. Mum and Kam Ho are back safe and sound now. When I’m big, I’ll buy back the fields for you, and we’ll have even more than before.”
Mrs. Mak allowed his words to touch her heart. Her eyes moistened and, wiping them with the front of her jacket, she sighed. “Take Six Fingers and Kam Ho to their rooms,” she told Ah-Choi. “Wipe them down and give them some lotus-seed soup. They shouldn’t eat till they’ve had the soup. People who’ve gone without food for a long time mustn’t eat solids straightaway.”
When everyone had left, Mrs. Mak called to Ah-Choi. “From now on, you keep an eye on her for me. You report to me if she wants to go out.” Then she added: “That Mak Dau, he’s more use than your husband. You keep a good lookout for a suitable woman servant. They can marry and then he can stay with the family.” “Yes, Missus,” said Ah-Choi. She was about to go, when Mrs. Mak coughed, and said a few words in a low voice into her ear: “I want you to take a good look and see if she’s got any injuries.” Ah-Choi looked blankly at her, and then finally caught on. “Yes, Missus.”
For a couple of weeks afterwards, Mrs. Mak kept to her room, burned incense and prayed to the Buddha. Every corner of every courtyard echoed to the rhythmic striking of the wooden fish as Mrs. Mak intoned her prayers.
One morning, Ah-Choi came into the room just as Mrs. Mak was kneeling to kowtow before the yellowing portrait of her husband on the wall. “She … she.…” she began. Ah-Choi was a woman who flustered easily, and when that ha
ppened, she stammered. Mrs. Mak straightened up. “What is it? Spit it out if you’ve got something to say.” Ah-Choi hesitated, then started again: “The young Missus, she … her … her period’s come.”
Mrs. Mak clasped her hands over her heart and her body went as limp as a boned fish.
“Merciful Buddha,” she muttered to herself.
It was several months before Ah-Fat found out that Six Fingers had been kidnapped. He heard it from some of the men who had gone to visit their folks back home. He wrote to his wife straightaway:
My dear Ah-Yin,
I suppose you did not tell me about this grave family event because you did not want to worry me. I have now decided to build a fortified diulau for you to live in so you will be protected from bandits. I have got an architect to draw up plans based on the instructions I gave him. I will buy all the materials here in Vancouver and in a few days will dispatch them home via Hong Kong. The Sincere Company from Canton will contract the builders to do the work. They have agents here and have worked with Canadian firms for some years, so I know they are completely honest. I will manage the funding myself. However I cannot afford the passage home to oversee the work so Mak Dau and Ha Kau must supervise it very carefully. Please tell Mum that I am sorry not to be able to come home for her sixtieth birthday as a dutiful son should. Have you any definite news on when Kam Shan’s boat sails? I await his arrival eagerly. Do not send Kam Ho to school any more, in case any further accidents should befall him. Look for a suitable teacher who can teach him at home. Ask Mak Dau to find servants who can handle weapons, buy some Western and Chinese arms and keep the front gate guarded. Please take very good care, wife, and do not go out without taking men as bodyguards. I mean this most seriously.
Your husband, Tak Fat, the twenty-seventh day of the seventh month, 1910, Vancouver, Canada
