Master Chow Yong Fat announced that he would retire to their host’s lodgings to attend to the children. Sing Fat was to make their environment as habitable as possible in his absence.
Before leaving, Jung San Choy pulled two kerosene lanterns from a wall box and handed them to Sing Fat with the undeviating Chinese caution against the fire devils that tormented the negligent and unwary.
The devils enjoyed a wicked appetite for hay-filled barns. Jung San Choy laughed cynically, winked at the elder Fat, and claimed the fire devils often chose Chinese barns when the barbarians were in a dither about one thing or another. Sing Fat bowed and agreed to be particularly vigilant.
While his master was gone, Sing Fat set about creating a comfortable bivouac. The storm’s winds had grown in strength, and the rain had begun a rolling tattoo across the roof. In an attempt to create greater protection from the strong drafts, Sing Fat retrieved the spare canvas from the cart and, with the use of straw sheaves, built a sheltered enclosure that included the rear portion of the leveled cart. Moving the medicine chest to one side and fashioning straw and canvas into a clever simulation of a mattress, Sing Fat managed to convert the bed of the cart into a comfortable snuggery protected from the blustering gusts of intrusive winds.
In the center of his straw stockade, Sing Fat cleared a space free of all combustibles, rolled out bamboo mats about a central hearth, and set up their small cast-iron charcoal brazier.
Within twenty minutes Sing Fat had boiled water for tea and was feeling quite pleased with himself.
Then the gale struck in force. There was no doubting the sincerity of its intention, which as far as Sing Fat could tell, was to blow everything upright off the coast of Monterey.
Every joint and board in the barn began to twist and groan, and the wind, which up until that point had been a chilly inconvenience, now shrieked, whistled, and moaned through the myriad gaps in the walls. The strength of the gusts actually piped generous portions of rain through the chinks in the boards to soak everything within three feet of the walls. The mantle of storm clouds had vanquished the last of the daylight, so Sing Fat lit and hung the kerosene lanterns and waited for his teacher in the meager cheer of their glow.
The sounds of the storm had lulled Sing Fat into a drifting slumber when the barn door crashed open with the wind and a cloaked specter entered. The vision, having appeared on the heels of a dream, frightened Sing Fat. The figure released a black oilskin cloak and revealed the elder Fat carrying a wrapped stack of bamboo steamers.
They all contained something hot and delicious, if the aromas stood up to scrutiny. Despite the escalating howl of wind, roar of rain, and rattle of shingle and board, master and student managed to share a most enjoyable meal sheltered comfortably about the glowing brazier.
When the drafts blew and it became even colder than anyone might have expected, the elder Fat felt obliged to use his arts to contest the elements. Searching through his satchel, he came up with a squat bottle of his own special elixir. It was a concoction that he claimed would, after a few small cups, render one immune to the frosts of winter even if one were stark naked. And so it did.
As the temperature dropped, two thimble-sized cups became four, then six, and so forth until both men at last could honestly attest to the fact that they felt little of anything at all, including the cold.
Indeed, even the strident hammering of the storm against the sieve-sided barn seemed to take on less importance. An aura of safety, warmth, and confident security appeared universal despite the constant crash of thunder and the occasional cannon report of a snapped tree. All might be chaos and tumult without, but within their shelter of straw sheaves and canvas all was warm, safe, and remarkably comfortable.
Another collateral immunity imparted by the elixir soon took effect, and after a while Sing Fat felt emboldened enough to speak to his teacher about the most delicate subject possible, Sue May Yee.
The elder Fat was caught off guard, though he should have known his concoction might have just such an effect since it contained a goodly portion of Chinese brandy.
Though he did not wish to appear unsympathetic, Chow Yong Fat did not wish to be drawn into a matter that would obviously move against his own interests in time. The thought of his promising young friend wedded to Sue May Yee and immersed in the life of a Point Alones squid fisherman was far from attractive, or necessary. In any event, it was not a subject he wished to discuss at the moment.
It was his belief that deliberations of the romantic variety should always be postponed until the last possible moment. One never knew what changes of fortune might transpire in the interim. So rather than offend his optimistic pupil and possibly wound his spirit, the elder Fat chose the lesser of two evils and pretended to fall asleep during Sing Fat’s disjointed overture characterizing Sue May Yee’s unique attributes.
It didn’t take long for Sing Fat to realize that he had lost his audience. He would have to broach the subject at some other time if he still possessed the courage. He decided to let it pass for the moment and proceeded to help the elder Fat to his bed in the cart. After carefully extinguishing the kerosene lanterns, Sing Fat made his own pallet on a mattress of straw that was screened from the elements. There he lay in the last light of the brazier’s glowing coals, listening to the clamor of the storm.
That night the surf crashed on the rocky shore with such force that Sing Fat could feel the ground shiver through his straw mattress. The howling whistle of the wind through the gaps in the boards changed pitch and timbre as the agitated gusts altered direction.
The rain had not settled into a steady cadence, but rather grew or lessened in intensity as conditions varied. Sing Fat’s last thoughts, before sleep overtook him, were of Sue May Yee. Perhaps it was his own depth of feeling, singularly reinforced by his master’s extraordinary tonic, but Sing Fat had conceived a certainty about his future, and the keystone of his vision was the incomparable Sue May Yee.
No matter what happened, or who objected, Sing Fat knew that one day they would be married. Drawing these happy thoughts about himself like a quilt, Sing Fat went to sleep while the storm pressed on through the night.
The morning, which came early for master and pupil, witnessed the gale’s bruising fidelity of purpose. It was a wonder that everything was still standing upright. Through a space created by a wrenched board, Sing Fat watched and marveled while the ocean shattered itself about the little bay like a maelstrom in a bucket.
Stillwater Cove, normally temperate in stiff conditions, had become an affliction of wind and waves. Vigorous, frothing breakers collided with the shore and churned back on the next incoming waves. It was chaos incarnate.
The gully just south of the Choys’ garden and toolshed, which was dry most of the year, had matured into a respectable river with currents running in both directions simultaneously. The resultant collision of runoff, tides, and waves inundated part of Foo Chong’s property on the southern point. Yet for all the superficial damage caused by wind and rain, clusters of incense burned at every household shrine in gratitude for all the lives not taken. Pescadero Village was still safe for the moment, though the storm showed little sign of abating quickly.
* * *
Since continued travel was out of the question, the elder Fat decided that another day’s confinement would best be served with a period of review, instruction, and study.
In part the elder Fat wanted to gauge his pupil’s level of distraction. It was hardly uncommon for young men in his condition to forget their own names when a woman clouded their purpose.
He was pleasantly surprised when Sing Fat recited the twenty-six principles of diagnosis, the forty-eight primary and the thirty-two secondary pressure points of nerve distraction, and the formulas for compounding medicines beneficial to the treatment of female postnatal melancholia.
In fact, every question the old man posed, Sing Fat answered with sure and confident responses. This pleased and reassured his teacher. If indeed
his apprentice was besotted with the comely Sue May Yee, at least it had not addled his brain beyond the point of usefulness. Perhaps there was still some room for hope and aspiration. At least Sing Fat exhibited a healthy glow of intelligence. Even if his pupil was truly infatuated, it was to be hoped that he wasn’t moronic enough to let it hobble his future. The signs looked good, but who could tell with the young?
The storm passed on to the north sometime after one in the afternoon. An hour later, Chow Yong Fat decided it was an appropriate time to continue their errand of mercy. After saying farewell to Jung San Choy and receiving a gift of food for the journey, the elder Fat directed the cart toward the highland mines. The roads were not heavily littered with debris and there were no downed trees or deep mud to block the way, so they suffered only minor inconveniences here and there. The sky grew clearer and brighter as the track climbed up into the hills.
The cart was but a short distance from the mines when Sing Fat noticed a two-horse freight wagon coming down the track from the opposite direction. It was obvious that both vehicles could not pass at once, so the elder Fat suggested that they pull the cart off to one side and let the larger wagon pass. As the wagon came closer, the elder Fat recognized his friend Han Foo Yeung, the man who had called him upon this particular errand.
Han Foo Yeung appeared totally preoccupied. A dark, introspective sadness hung about him like a mourning cloak. The elder Fat hailed his friend, who instantly came to life with a start as he looked about for the caller. When he noticed Chow Yong Fat, his eyes lightened for a moment and then fell back in upon his preoccupation. He pulled his wagon to a stop next to the cart and shook his head.
When the elder Fat asked what had happened to cause his friend’s distress, Han Foo Yeung almost cried. Though deeply troubled, Han Foo Yeung said that the purpose of his friend’s generous attendance no longer existed. His prospective patients had all died, expired like so many diseased dogs.
He turned and spoke something toward the bed of the wagon. From under a soiled tarpaulin two Chinese laborers appeared, looking frightened and bewildered. Han Foo Yeung looked back to his friend and said that only these two men had escaped the deadly illness. He was now helping them to flee the mines and find refuge among their own people, possibly in Watsonville. He admitted that he was afraid the miners would discover his complicity in the escape. They would do anything to see that the story did not circulate. He expected grave trouble in any event.
Han Foo Yeung apologized for any inconvenience the elder Fat might have endured on his journey and reached behind the wagon bench to retrieve a large bundle and a big, wicker hamper. He passed them over to Chow Yong Fat. He said that these were the items he had mentioned in his letter, but that now the venerable apothecary was to consider the articles as gifts in compensation for his compassionate but fruitless journey.
Han Foo Yeung said that he had intended to deliver them personally when he came through Salinas, but now was as good a time as any since he didn’t know when they should next meet.
Sing Fat could not put his finger on the exact reason, but there was something in the man’s story that didn’t exactly ring true. It was more a quality of voice than a point of fact, as if the story had been rehearsed for believability. But since he had no justifiable cause to doubt the account, he kept his suspicions to himself. After all, he had never met Han Foo Yeung, and he certainly had no wish to cause trouble for a stranger. Sing Fat looked to his teacher for a response and was surprised by his reply to the situation.
The elder Fat thought for a moment and suggested that he take the refugees back north with him. They could hide in his cart until Salinas and then make their way to Watsonville without the worry of pursuit. Relieved of his dangerous burden, Han Foo Yeung could return to the mines with no one the wiser. He thanked the apothecary profusely and promised to send on important discoveries as they came into his hands. He then instructed the two laborers to hide in Master Fat’s cart and to do as they were instructed. Safety depended upon instant obedience to their benefactor.
The miners bowed, shouldered their meager bundles, and complied immediately. Then Sing Fat turned the cart around, not without some difficulty, and headed back in the direction from which they had come. Han Foo Yeung did the same with a parting wave and a blessing.
At an accessible but otherwise hidden clearing three miles down the road, the four men made camp for the night. The elder Fat gauged their distance from the mines to be sufficient to avoid notice for one night. Sing Fat hoped he was right.
The two frightened Chinese miners fabricated a shelter for themselves from a piece of spare canvas Sing Fat always carried in the cart; then they were instructed to gather firewood for the night. While they were occupied, Sing Fat prepared a simple meal from the rations they carried. The apothecary sat by the little charcoal brazier opening the basket Han Foo Yeung had given him. Suddenly Sing Fat heard a deathly moan and looked up to find his teacher, head in hands, obviously the victim of some emotional distress.
A small sheet of paper he had been reading had fallen to the ground. At first Sing Fat thought his mentor had succumbed to some ailment. When his apprentice asked what pained his master, the elder Fat just shook his head and pointed to the paper. Sing Fat retrieved the handwritten note, but could not decipher what it said. The penciled characters were Chinese, to be sure, but not written in a manner he understood. It might just as well have been code, which in fact it proved to be.
When the elder Fat had recovered his composure, he took back the paper and looked at it again as though he thought he might have misread the message. Again he shook his head. An expression of profound melancholy settled on his brow, and he moaned sadly once more. Again Sing Fat asked the cause of his teacher’s distress.
With a voice broken by emotion, the elder Fat said that Han Foo Yeung had written to say that the ailing miners had indeed died, but not in a manner he could have spoken of openly. He stated that the Italian and Portuguese miners, an ignorant, suspicious, and dangerous gang of barbarians, had not understood the cause of the illness afflicting their Chinese counterparts and feared imminent contagion. As a result they had perpetrated a terrible villainy that would more than likely go unpunished. Since the Chinese had been illegally imported, no one even knew the victims existed, so the barbarians were hardly likely to report the incident. It appeared the miners, fearing a foreign plague at their doorstep, had callously herded the ailing Chinese down an abandoned shaft into what they believed to be safe isolation. There had supposedly been an accident, according to the barbarians, and a mysterious explosion had collapsed the tunnel. The Chinese had all been killed or buried alive. No one knew for sure which.
The implication was so obvious that Han Foo Yeung felt no need to address the sorrowful circumstances further. He wrote that he was in the process of helping some of his compatriots to escape. He feared for their lives as witnesses to the crime.
For safety’s sake the note was not signed. The elder Fat committed the evidence to the flames just as the two mine coolies returned with arms full of firewood. As an aside, the elder Fat cautioned his pupil to speak about this matter with no one.
Han Foo Yeung had written his message in code for a reason. If the information it contained fell into the wrong hands, misery and bloodshed would most certainly ensue.
These were special circumstances and required a veil of silence. Ignorance was the best defense against suspicion. If the miners surmised that outsiders knew the truth, the lives of the Chinese wouldn’t be worth the price of a pauper’s prayers. Sing Fat vowed never to speak of the matter without permission.
At first light the cart was on its way once more. Happily, there was no one on the road to take any interest in their movements, and a day later they made the outskirts of Monterey. It was there, and against all sound advice, that the two coolies decided to part company with the elder Fat and his apprentice.
The older laborer said that he had been a fisherman in his youth. He fe
lt he could make a better living for himself jigging squid than he could hoeing weeds in a sugar beet field.
His young companion chose to follow his friend rather than endure hardship alone in a strange community where he knew no one. Life among the barbarians was difficult enough, but to labor without friends was more than he was willing to contemplate.
The elder Fat allowed his own arguments to fall away. These were men who retained their long-braided queues, which meant that they expected to return to China one day with money for their families. They had a right to choose their own destinies, but the apothecary reminded them that life in the fishing camps was hardly a step toward longevity.
The two men acknowledged this fact, but begged the elder Fat’s indulgence and advice all the same. Chow Yong Fat agreed to write a short introduction to a friend who owned squid boats that worked out of McAbee Beach and Point Alones, but beyond that he was unable to make any promises. The two coolies agreed this was the best course of action and thanked the venerable elder for his assistance. They said that if it was at all possible they would repay the master’s kindness one day.
Sing Fat, though he kept his sentiments to himself, had been deeply moved by the plight of these men. He remembered the perpetual suffering of his fellow laborers in the placer mines. He knew the loneliness that came from facing death every day without the support of friends or family. He too had become determined that this would not happen to him. He would not, if the fate could be avoided, allow his line to wither in lonely servitude. He needed a family if his line were to survive the cruelties of an uncertain future, and thus visions of Sue May Yee came flooding back into his thoughts once more.
After they had deposited the two men near McAbee Beach with a note of introduction to Ng Tung, the fishing master, Sing Fat turned the cart east toward Salinas. He had wanted to ask the elder Fat for permission to visit Sue May Yee at nearby Point Alones, but his teacher seemed so anxious to return to his business that Sing Fat did not press the point.
Down to a Soundless Sea Page 22
