Gold Mountain Blues

by Ling Zhang

  First, Sundance’s father offered up prayers. Although he believed in the Jehovah of the White people, he was unwilling to forget the spirits of the ancestors his tribe had worshipped, so he left it vague as to which spirits his prayers were addressed.

  Oh Great Spirit

  I hear your voice in the wind

  With every breath you take, ten thousand things multiply

  I beg you to give me courage

  Make my eyes keen

  So that I may see the mystery of the rising and the setting sun Make my hands skilful

  So that I can discover the wonder in every thing created by you Make my ears sharp

  So that I may hear your sighs in the sound of the wind

  Make my heart wise

  So that I may know your true essence embodied in every stone.…

  When he squatted down and prepared to strike the first blow with his axe, the Chief gave a slight cough.

  “Are you carving another eagle’s head this time?” he asked, passing over a cigarette.

  Sundance’s father took the cigarette and lit it with a match, but said nothing. He was not going to divulge any details of an unfinished work to anyone, not even the Chief.

  The Chief took a few puffs, then casually said: “Have you heard? The priest’s camera has disappeared.”

  Sundance’s father grunted. He was a man of few words. Though he had been baptized with the Christian name John, he was known to all in the village as Silent Wolf.

  The Chief cleared his throat a few times then glanced towards the house. Lowering his voice, he said: “That guest of yours has been seen taking photographs of Sundance in the woods at the bend in the river.”

  The other man’s eyebrows flickered. Still he said nothing, but he turned and went towards the house. At the doorway he stopped and showed the Chief in first.

  “Any guest of mine is a member of my family. His reputation is my reputation. Please come and see for yourself if there’s anything here which is not ours.”

  The Chief looked embarrassed. He clapped Silent Wolf on the shoulder: “It’s your family, just ask them, all right? If you say there’s nothing then there’s nothing. Even if they don’t believe me, they’ll have to believe you.”

  It was quiet in the room. Sundance’s mother had gone to the knitting workshop and the children were at school. It was very bright outside and silvery dust motes floated lazily in the single brilliant sunbeam that shone through the window. It took a while for the men’s eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom, and then Silent Wolf saw his daughter sitting in the corner teaching Kam Shan to weave a sweetgrass basket.

  Kam Shan stood up as soon as he saw the Chief. Silent Wolf ’s gaze swept over Kam Shan’s body but his waistline looked flat as normal. He knew what the priest’s black box looked like because the priest liked to stroll around the village with it slung over his shoulder, taking pictures. It was big, as big as his two hands put together, and would take up most of a cowhide bag.

  “One day, you could teach me how to use a camera,” he said, looking at Kam Shan.

  Sundance saw Kam Shan go pale at the words, but he said nothing. The atmosphere was oppressively heavy, so that the room seemed to echo with the thuds of their hearts. Sundance felt like a stranded fish opening and shutting its mouth in desperate gasps. She could not stay there any longer and fled outside.

  Silent Wolf tilted Kam Shan’s chin up with one gnarled finger: “Be man and help me clear your name with the Chief.”

  Kam Shan could no longer avoid the man’s eyes. Coal black, they were, cold on the surface but with a fire in their depths. Kam Shan’s own eyes, climbing to those cold black orbs, were blinded by the hidden fire. His mind went completely blank.

  The Chief sighed: “When there was an outbreak of dysentery in the village last year, the priest rid us of the demons and saved us all. He has nothing to amuse himself with apart from that camera. He carries it around with him all day. If you took it, just give it back to him and that’ll be the end of it.”

  Silent Wolf paid no attention to the Chief. His finger still under Kam Shan’s chin, he said deliberately: “Can you or can you not?”

  Kam Shan felt as if his lips had suddenly turned into two immovable stones. No matter how hard he wanted to speak, the words could not force their way through.

  Silent Wolf withdrew his finger and Kam Shan’s head suddenly dropped onto his chest.

  “Get your stuff together.”

  The Chief looked at the other man. “Maybe it’s not him.…” he said hesitantly.

  “We’ve never had anyone in our family who couldn’t clear their name.” The words were flinty, steely. There was absolutely no doubt that he meant what he said.

  Kam Shan could only go to the corner where he slept and get his things together. They were few and simple: the jacket and gown that he had on when he fell into the water, a pair of cotton socks and cloth shoes. And a cowhide bag. In it there was a belt made of pheasant quills and decorated with brightly coloured feathers. He had bought it in town two days before when he went with Silent Wolf to sell charcoal, and had not had time to give it to Sundance.

  The camera was not among these things. He had hidden it in a hole in a tree on the riverbank the day he passed by the children’s school on his way back from chopping wood with Sundance. The priest had taken the children out for midday prayers and the classroom was empty apart from the black box on the teacher’s rostrum. Kam Shan knew straightaway what it was. His heart leapt wildly in his chest. He hesitated, then picked the black box up in both hands—he would just play with it for a couple of days, then put it back again. But before he had time to return it, word got around the whole tribe that there had been a theft. That black box became a heap of shit, which he had to hang onto even though he could smell its stink. If he let go of it, then the stink would get out and everyone would smell it. He was well aware that not even a whole river could wash him clean of a smell like that.

  He opened out the gown, put the trousers, socks and shoes in it, bundled it and tied it with a piece of twine. Then he opened it again and rearranged the socks and shoes. He was dilly-dallying, waiting for Sundance. He could not go without seeing her. When he opened his bundle for the third time, Silent Wolf gave a heavy cough. He stood behind him, holding two pigs’ bladders tied at the neck in his hand—one with water, the other with wild rice and smoked fish. It would be something to see the boy on his way.

  Kam Shan followed Silent Wolf very slowly outside. Then he stopped. Standing on tiptoe he hung the bag with the feather belt in it from the oak tree by the front door. He walked on, then turned back to check it was in a place where it would catch her eye.

  At least he had left Sundance a present.

  As Silent Wolf was about to launch the canoe, they heard the sound of running feet. It was Sundance, her braids flying. Trailing far behind came the fat priest, sweating profusely, clasping his bouncing belly in both hands as if to stop it from tumbling to the ground.

  It was some time before the priest could catch his breath, safely release his belly and speak:

  “The camera … I gave it to … this young man. I’m teaching him … to take pictures.”

  His words left the Chief and Silent Wolf mute with astonishment. Silent Wolf looked hesitantly from the priest to Kam Shan, but the boy did not look up or speak. Knowing he would be unable to conceal his surprise, he avoided meeting their eyes.

  “Come on, young man. Tell these two gentlemen what make of camera you’re using.”

  “Kodak Brownie, Number 2 Model B,” Kam Shan muttered. “How many pictures can it take at one time?”

  “One hundred and seventeen.”

  “How big are the printed pictures?”

  “About two inches.”

  The priest nodded and clapped Kam Shan on the shoulder. “I can see you’re really keen on photography, young man. I did the right thing when I gave you the camera.” Then he turned to Silent Wolf: “You keep this young man with you.
He’s got a good head on his shoulders, and he’s a quick learner.” Before Sundance’s father could respond, the Chief said with a laugh, “It’s getting late and I’m hungry. You’re all invited to my house to eat. I killed an elk yesterday, and it’ll take us all spring to eat it. Bring the boy too.”

  But Sundance was paying no attention, because she had seen the bag hanging from the oak tree by her door, swaying gently in the breeze. “Oh, Dad!” she cried in a voice choked with happiness.

  By the time Kam Shan walked out of the door with his cowhide bag hung from a stick over his shoulder, he could already hear the beating of the powwow drum. He had seen the elkskin-covered drum before; it was housed in the big teepee where the ancestors were worshipped. It was huge, bigger than the banqueting table they dined on when his father was home in Spur-On Village, big enough for twelve drummers to sit around it. He felt, rather than heard, its thunderous reverberations beneath the soles of his feet.

  He could hear singing too. Sundance called it singing but he thought of it more as the sounds of wild beasts—the roar of a tiger or the howl of a wolf. He did not know what the singing meant; it may have been a war chant, a song of jubilation, an invocation of the spirits of heaven and earth, or an expression of anger. When he was not with Sundance, they were just ear-piercing shrieks or earth-shattering growls.

  He wondered if Sundance had started to dance. At the powwow, the men sang and drummed. The women danced, although they were only allowed outside the circle. The men sang, drummed and danced in the middle.

  Sundance and her mother had been eagerly waiting for the powwow. Her mother had been sewing Sundance’s dance cape for ten years, beginning the work when Sundance was just five. On her birthday every year, her mother sewed on another ten bells, making one hundred bells this year. Sundance had tried it on for the first time the evening before, filling the house with a tinkling of bells clearer than the sound of gems falling into a jade dish. Once she had her cape on, Sundance did not stop smiling all evening. Kam Shan had not slept well that night, and he knew that she had not either. He kept hearing her reed mattress creaking as she tossed and turned. When he got up to go out and piss, he found her sitting on the ground with her back against the wall, her teeth glinting in the darkness. She was still smiling.

  She was happy because the cape was so beautifully made it put all the other mothers in the tribe to shame—and because this was her coming-ofage powwow. But Kam Shan knew that there was another reason why she was happy.

  Yesterday evening at dinner, Sundance’s father had told her mother that he would ask the Chief to preside over Sundance’s wedding. Kam Shan started so violently in astonishment that the rice leapt out of his bowl.

  “Sundance … getting married?!”

  He tried to catch her eye, but she bent her head to her food, and bore his gaze silently.

  “When Sundance marries, she’ll carry on living with us so she can help me with her younger brothers and sister,” said her mother.

  “You won’t need to chop wood and make charcoal,” said her father. “You can keep Sundance with what you earn from taking pictures.”

  It was some minutes before Kam Shan realized this remark was directed at him, and even more before he realized their import. His lips began to tremble: “M-me?” he stammered.

  “Sundance accepted the belt you gave her, so of course it’s you,” laughed her mother with a glance at Silent Wolf.

  Kam Shan’s head seemed to explode into tiny fragments. He could not put all the bits together though he tried all evening, and all night when he was in bed. Only with the first glimmer of light in the sky did he feel that he had got his head around this whole complicated business.

  Sundance was out of bed before the cock crowed a second time. She woke the little ones. Soon afterwards, her father got up. He was not normally up this early but today he had to wear his ceremonial dress as the lead dancer at the powwow. He put on a long blue gown with bears’ paws sewn around the hem. On his chest he wore a decorative woven strip of yellow pheasant quills. He looked imposing, but the stateliest part of his outfit was yet to come; he donned a headdress of the finest eagle feathers, grey around the crown, white down his back. The feathers had dulled a little over the years, but Silent Wolf liked to wear feathers which had seen a bit of life. It was only young men who were seduced by freshly gathered feathers. The headdress was large and heavy and Silent Wolf needed help putting it on, so Sundance’s mother rose early too.

  Kam Shan was up last of all. He watched Sundance’s mother paint her husband’s face. Sundance had dressed the younger ones and was now changing her own clothes. She looked at him without speaking; her words were written on her clothes, in the bells which tinkled in eager expectation when she moved.

  The powwow was held half a mile or so from their village, and attracted people from all the villages around. In addition to dancing and drumming, the powwow included a marketplace. Sundance’s mother took charcoal and reed mats to sell and with the proceeds planned to buy a “hundred family quilt,” a new set of wooden bowls, two deerskin tunics and two pairs of lightweight boots. The tunics and boots were for Sundance and Kam Shan to wear at the wedding. She also wanted to buy two big pouches of the best tobacco to give the Chief, who would preside over the wedding.

  The powwow did not start until midday but no one could wait that long. “When are we leaving?” asked Sundance’s father, once his face was painted. He sounded like an impatient child. “It’s too early,” her mother replied gravely after a moment’s consideration. “The sun’s not fully up yet.” But she could not keep up the severity for long. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” she said with a laugh. “What are we waiting for?”

  Then she noticed Kam Shan sitting on the edge of his bed. He was neatly dressed but in his everyday clothes. And he was holding his head in his hands as if it was so heavy it might fall off. His hands hid his expression, and he had not said a word all morning.

  “What’s got into you, wooden-top?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry. The wooden-top will dance as soon as the drumming starts,” said Silent Wolf.

  They set off with her father leading their pony in front. It was loaded up with two large sacks containing things they would sell at the powwow and three bladders full of food for their breakfast. Sundance’s mother walked beside her father, the children followed and Sundance and Kam Shan brought up the rear.

  The three young ones competed to see who could throw a stone the highest. The stones startled the birds who squawked in protest. The stocky little pony had been fed before they left, and clip-clopped along the track in a spirited manner, its head held high. Even the village dogs sensed the excitement, and set up an unbroken chorus of barking which accompanied them all the way out of the village. The sights of this powwow morning were like a scroll painting unrolling itself before Kam Shan’s eyes. But he heard only one sound—the jingling of the bells on Sundance’s cape.

  The bells knocked against his eardrums, and his temples began to throb. In a sudden fit of irritation, he shouted: “Sundance!” His voice sounded strange—brittle like a dead twig. She looked at him: “What’s wrong?” She had started to sweat and her forehead was beaded with drops of moisture. Kam Shan looked at her in a daze and saw that in the space of a few months she had become a beauty.

  His lips trembled. “Sundance, I … I.…” But the words stuck and he could not go on. “What’s the matter?” she asked. He shook his head. “Let’s go. Your mum’s waiting.”

  They walked on silently.

  About fifteen minutes out of the village, Kam Shan suddenly slapped his forehead. “I’ve forgotten the camera,” he said. “I can take pictures of people in the market and charge each person a few cents.”

  “Go back and get it and be quick,” said Sundance’s mother, beaming in satisfaction. “We’ll wait here.” She had known he was a smart boy from the first time she set eyes on him. But he replied: “Don’t wait. I know the way to the powwow. We’ll meet up
there.”

  Kam Shan tossed his straw hat to Sundance. “It’s hot, you’ll catch the sun,” he said as he started back. After a few paces, he looked back and watched as the little procession wound its way along the country track until the figures became tiny and faded into the distance. They turned a corner and disappeared from view completely, leaving only the tinkle of the bells wafting on the breeze. Kam Shan felt a great hollowness in his heart. It was only many years later, when he was middle-aged and had experienced life’s ups and downs, that he was able to put a name to his feelings that day. Desolation.

  He went back to the house and retrieved his cowhide bag from under his pillow. He had not opened it since the day he was almost sent packing. He took off his leather boots and put them by Silent Wolf’s bed, then put on his old cloth shoes. He tied the bag shut, hung it from a stick over his shoulder and set off. The village was empty; everyone was at the powwow. The cloth of the shoes wrapped itself around his feet with such light weight that, strangely, he felt as if he were walking on puffs of air. By the time he got used to the feeling, the village was well behind him.

  He had to hurry. The sun was well up by now and he needed to reach the nearest settlement before dark. He was not really worried; the bag still had the water and food in it that Silent Wolf had given him. And so long as he had the camera, he could beg a crust to eat and a place to sleep wherever he found himself. Now that the Whites had brought their cameras to the Redskins’ land, the latter, after some trepidation, had come to like the strange idea of having their images shut into the black box. He did not know where the next settlement was or how far he would have to walk to reach it. His hair brushed his shoulders. In another six months, he thought, just another six months, he could face his father again.

  He got to the bend in the river and stopped, rooted to the spot. His bag dropped with a thud. Someone was sitting on the stone where Silent Wolf tied his canoe. The silence was shattered with a jingling of bells.