by Julie Lawson
But she hadn’t imagined the doorway. Cautiously, she peered inside. The dimly-lit room reeked with the smell of smoke, sweat, liquor and kerosene. Men of all ages crowded together, talking, laughing, throwing dice and clacking dominoes. Fan-tan players noisily placed their bets as dealers swept up piles of buttons. Mah Jong tiles clattered with the chatter of voices.
Through the smoky haze Jasmine saw several men clustered around a wicket. As one stepped back, she caught a glimpse of the cashier. Her eyes widened. Surely that wasn’t — No. That other cashier was a dummy. This one was real. But the room in the never-ending store had been a gambling den. This must be the same place. And somewhere, there was a way back.
Unnoticed, she crept past a boy sweeping up bits of debris and broken glass. No, not glass. China. One green piece looked like the curling tail of a dragon.
“Come on, Useless. Sweep it all up.”
This time there was no mistake. It was the voice she’d heard in the alley, speaking the same Chinese dialect. And she could understand the words.
The scar-faced man shook his fist at the boy and scowled. Like the others, he wore his hair in one long pigtail. But instead of the dark pants and quilted jacket worn by the others, this man wore an embroidered robe, along with an air of arrogance and authority. He consulted with the cashier from time to time and strutted from table to table overseeing the various games. Jasmine noticed how the players cowered under his scrutiny, and breathed more easily when he moved on.
Suddenly, without warning, he grabbed an old fellow by his jacket and lifted him out of his chair. “Take this message to your worthless son,” he snarled. “No one tries to trick Blue-Scar Wong. He has three days to pay his debt. Hear that, old man? Three days.”
“Leave him alone!” The boy gripped the broom and boldly faced the older man.
Blue-Scar spun around, his face contorted with anger. “Do not interfere with me,” he said, his voice hard as steel. He drew a knife from the folds of his sleeve and waved it at the boy. “Your time is running out, too.”
Unflinching, the boy stared back. In his eyes, Jasmine recognized something familiar. Or was it someone? She remembered the boy in her dream, standing alone on the crowded ship. Remembered, too, how his eyes had seemed to pull her in. Was this the boy? And if so, was she meant to be here? She slid to the floor, frightened without knowing why.
“Bah!” Blue-Scar spat with contempt. “Get back to your work.”
As he stormed away, Jasmine looked up and found the boy gazing at her with an incredulous look on his face, a look that clearly said: I know you.Then he shook his head as if clearing it of dreams and went back to his sweeping.
The swell of voices rose steadily as the night wore on. Shouts of joy mingled with cries of despair as winners and losers continued to play.
But the presence of Blue-Scar Wong clouded the room. Once, Jasmine felt his eyes burning into her. She buried her face in her arms, terrified that he would expose her as the stranger she was. Maybe he’ll think I’m asleep and leave me alone. Or he’ll throw me out. Or make me get up and gamble. But before he could confront her a fight broke out, demanding his attention. She breathed a sigh of relief and shifted to a pile of crates. Half-hidden, she trembled alone in the dingy room, trying to think of a way out.
When she opened her eyes, the room was quiet and cold. Lamps had been extinguished, leaving behind a thick pall of smoke. Light filtered through the open doorway. Only the boy remained.
He stood in the doorway staring at her, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. Wasn’t this the face he’d seen in his dreams? And if so, it was a girl crouching there on the floor, not another coolie. But how could that be? The face in his dreams belonged to Bright Jade, a spirit from another time. This girl was real. And she was here, in his time. I’ll put her to the test, he decided. Turning abruptly, he bolted into the alley.
Jasmine leaped up and followed. Down the alley, through passageways and courtyards, twisting through a maze enclosed by huts, crudely-built sheds and tumbledown fences. Weathered shacks tottered on pilings or on top of each other, leaning crazily this way and that in a desperate attempt to stay upright. They reminded her of tattered people, supporting each other as they peered warily at the world through tiny, grime-streaked windows.
She kept the boy in sight as he dashed between pilings, over rickety bridges held up by stilts, over muddy ground soaked with rain and waste water, over narrow passages clogged with garbage and reeking with the stench of sewage.
How will I ever find my way out of here? she wondered, wishing she’d left a trail of crumbs like Hansel and Gretel. And where is he going, to the witch? Or worse? She felt a prickle of fear, but there was no question of turning back. Something was pulling her, some force she couldn’t explain.
The boy darted into another courtyard, with a chicken coop and a patch of dirt for growing vegetables. A rooster crowed and hens began clucking. Somewhere a dog barked. Someone shouted. Jasmine ducked under several lines of laundry and followed the boy up a staircase that snaked its way along the back of a wooden building. Up one flight, then another and another, until finally he stopped in front of a red door, panting and out of breath.
“Whew!” Jasmine gasped. She brushed past him and leaned against the door. Two faded posters partially hid the peeling red paint. “Door Guardians,” she said, recognizing the fierce warriors she’d seen in a book. “To keep away evil spirits and unwanted guests.”
Then she smiled, her eyes bright with wonder. For the words sliding over her tongue were Cantonese, and she was speaking it as easily as if she’d spoken it all her life.
The boy gaped, his thoughts in a turmoil. She had passed the test, had followed him around all sorts of sharp angles and curves when everyone knows spirits can only travel in straight lines. So, she wasn’t a spirit. But if she wasn’t Bright Jade, who was she? How was it she could speak his dialect? And where had she come from? Perhaps Dragon Maker would know. He opened the door and stepped in.
Jasmine followed, her nerves tingling with excitement. The room smelled of incense. A pot-bellied stove stood in one corner, its crooked chimney climbing precariously through a hole in the ceiling. Dragons danced along the shelves and tumbled across the battered table. A man stood with his back to her, bent over—
Déjà vu. Her aunt’s words came back She knew the man was old, knew his skin was burnished the colour of copper. She knew he held three lighted sticks of incense, knew he would place them in a cup of earth before a small altar. And so he did. Then he turned and said, “Welcome, Jasmine. Welcome, Dragon Girl I am the one they call Dragon Maker, as you can see.” His weather-beaten face cracked in a slow smile.
Jasmine drew back, puzzled. “How did you know my name?”
His eyes pierced deep inside her, as if looking for something. “I have known you in another time,” he said, his voice warm as velvet. “And you have been expected.”
“Expected for what?”
“You will know in time.” He turned to the boy. “Keung, give her some soup. She needs to eat something and rest awhile.”
Jasmine breathed in the aroma of herbs, surprised at how hungry she felt. When she finished the soup, Dragon Maker handed her a cup of fragrant tea. Delicate white petals floated on top. She took a sip, remembering the first time she had tasted it, the night before her father went away. “I bought some jasmine tea for you,” he said, “so when you drink it you’ll think of me in China.” She refused to speak or even look at him. As soon as he left the room, she’d poured it down the sink.
A wave of exhaustion washed over her. Had the boy put a sleeping potion in her soup? Some herbs caused drowsiness. Maybe powdered crickets were in the soup, or worse. Maybe Dragon Maker’s voice had hypnotized her, put her in a trance. Her head drooped. Her eyelids felt unbearably heavy.
The boy took her arm and led her into a room no bigger than a closet. A mat lay on the plank floor. She curled up on it as the boy covered her with a quilt. “Who are you?”
she asked sleepily. “Why are you here?”
“I’m Chan Tai Keung. I’ve come to find my father.”
“I’ve lost my father, too,” she said. “And my mother.” Her face crumpled and she felt the sting of tears. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Bright Jade was waiting in the garden. “It has been a long journey,” she said. “But remember, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
“And a journey of a thousand years begins with a single dream,” said Jasmine.
“This was my tiger,” Bright Jade said, holding out the amulet. “But I have lost him and cannot rest until he is found.” Tears streamed down her face as the white jade turned to dust in her hand. “There have been many deaths and there will be many more. Such is the curse of the white jade tiger. I am so sorry.” Slowly she turned and walked away.
“Wait,” called Jasmine. “What does this have to do with me?”
Bright Jade did not answer. Jasmine followed her out of the room, down the staircase, through the tangled maze of shacks and into the alley. There, the spirit vanished.
Chapter 9
“Here she is! Jasmine, what happened?” Voices floated through the fog. Voices coming closer, calling her back.
She looked up to find a group of classmates standing over her, their faces creased with worry. “What happened?” asked Becky. “Did you fall or something?”
“Get up, Jasmine,” said Krista. “It’s 2:00, time to go.”
“2:00? It can’t be. There wasn’t time for all that to happen. I couldn’t have spent the night—” Their bewildered looks made her stop abruptly.
“What are you talking about? What night? For all what to happen?”
“Nothing.” She tried to stand, steadying herself against the brick wall, but fell back, overcome by dizziness.
“Are you OK?” Becky leaned over and helped her up. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”
“My head feels funny, that’s all.” She blinked a few times, trying to focus on her surroundings. She was definitely in Fan Tan Alley. There was the glass doorway. And there was a passage leading off the alley. Was that where she had gone? “My backpack,” she remembered suddenly. “I left it behind some crates, but—”
“Relax, it’s right here,” Krista said, handing it to her. “You must have dropped it when you fell. Now come on. Your aunt’s waiting.”
Jasmine took one last look around, hoping to see— what? She wasn’t sure. But before leaving the alley she thought she heard a voice calling her name. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a dark figure staring in her direction. Although it was partially hidden by mist, she couldn’t help but notice the outstretched arm entreating her to stay.
Keung was frantic. He had seen the girl steal out of the room and down the stairs. Desperately he followed as she skimmed through the labyrinth of shacks and passages, back to the alley. “Jasmine, come back!” he cried, holding out his hand. But before he could say another word, she had vanished.
“Where did she come from?” he asked. “And how could she vanish like that if she wasn’t a spirit? Was it all a dream? Did you put opium in my tea?”
“No, no,” Dragon Maker assured him. “You have not been dreaming.”
“Why does she look so foreign? She wears the same clothes I do, yet she is like—”
“A barbarian!” Dragon Maker chuckled. “Like the dragon, Bright Jade’s spirit can take many forms. Who can foretell the kaleidoscope of changes over two thousand years? A spirit changes and seeks many different homes. Do not worry. All is as it should be.” He continued shaping a new dragon that leaped in the clouds.
“Will she come back?”
“Of course. But only when you least expect it. So get back to the restaurant before Blue-Scar takes a stick to you. Go on, now. Go!” Gently, he shoved the boy from the room and returned to his clay.
“So, how was Chinatown?” Val asked as they were driving home.
“Well...different from what I’d expected.”
“It is different, isn’t it.”
“Do you spend much time there?”
“Oh yes, I’ve always loved Chinatown. That’s one of the reasons I bought this condo. It’s so close. How did your clothes work out, by the way?”
“Great. I blended right in.”
“There were others wearing the same thing?”
“Lots,” she said, smiling. “And they all had one long braid.” Well, it was true. She had blended in. She could have been invisible, for all the attention they’d paid her. Except for Keung. And that horrible man with the scar. “Have you ever—” She was tempted to tell her aunt, but something made her pause.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing.” She wouldn’t say anything yet. Not until things were clearer in her own mind. Better let Val get used to her, before thinking she had a crazy kid on her hands.
Back in the room, she took off the coolie clothes and placed them on the window seat. It wasKeung she’d seen in her dream, she was sure of it. But why hadn’t she talked to him? All that time wasted. She’d have to go back. But how?
She took out the quarter. Maybe the coin triggered her passage into 1881. Or was it the old man with the key? Or the dragon? She dusted it off with the corner of her shirt and set it on the dresser. Tomorrow, she’d go to Chinatown and try again. Meanwhile, she’d browse through her aunt’s books, then work on the quilt. And try to figure out the new puzzle in her life.
The room had a pine bookcase along one wall, stuffed with hundreds of books, carefully organized by subjects. Trust Val, Jasmine chuckled. She could hear her father saying, “She’ll probably make you sign them out, issue you a card.” Well, she’d been a librarian, after all. Mythology, Superstitions, Canadian History, shelf after shelf of adventure and travel, and books on China: history, art, folktales, dragons. She pulled one off the shelf, sat on the window seat and began turning pages.
In no time she was lost in dragon lore. There were five types: a heavenly dragon that guarded the mansions of the gods, a spiritual dragon that controlled winds and rains, an earthly dragon that cleared rivers and deepened seas, an imperial dragon with five claws, and dragons that guarded hidden treasure. Which one are you? she asked her blue-glazed dragon. She stared at it intensely, willing it to respond in some way. Just when she was sure it was going to, Val called out from the kitchen, “Dinner’s ready.”
Jasmine looked at her watch in disbelief. 6:00 already? There was no way to figure the passing of time.
Val’s eyes lit up when she saw the dragon. “Where did you get this?” she asked, running her fingers over the rippling tail.
“In that never-ending store in Chinatown. It was in the museum room, the one that used to be a gambling den.”
“Were there any others?”
“A whole shelf, up above the display case. They were really dusty, like they’d been there a long time.”
Val sat on the edge of the bed, examining the dragon closely. “I’ll bet you ten to one this was made by the Dragon Maker.”
Jasmine tried to hide her excitement. “Dragon Maker?”
Val nodded. “He lived in Chinatown around the turn of the century. Made dragons out of clay and sold them. Apparently, he used to hide things inside his dragons, so if one got broken, the owner would find something else. To make up for the loss, I suppose.”
Jasmine remembered the broken china in the gambling den, the piece that resembled a dragon’s tail. That must have been why it was smashed. Someone was looking for something. “What did he put inside?”
“Nothing of value, really. A tiny clay fisherman, a piece of silk. Once someone found a cotton slipper wedged inside. Maybe your dragon has the other one.”
“But wouldn’t the stuff burn up when the clay was fired?”
“No, because after he shaped the dragon he cut it in half, hollowed it out and fired the halves separately. Then he put the secret inside and joined the pieces together.” S
he pointed to a faint line. “See? There’s the join.”
Jasmine shook the dragon. “Wouldn’t you be able to hear something rattling?”
“Not with our Dragon Maker. He didn’t want to give away any secrets, so he’d wrap things up in scraps of cloth.”
“How do you know all this?”
“It’s a story that bounced around Chinatown years ago. All the old-timers knew it. Not anymore though, not since the dragons disappeared. Funny you should have seen them. Someone must have unearthed them from somewhere, I suppose.”
“Did you ever see one before?”
“Nope. Yours is the first. I spent a lot of time in Chinatown when I was a kid, way back in the 40s. My parents didn’t like it but I went anyway. I even learned to speak a bit of Cantonese. My dad almost hit the roof when he found out.”
Jasmine looked at her aunt with surprise. A rebel! “Why didn’t your parents like you going there?”
“It was different in those days. Forbidding and mysterious. Alleys and twisted passageways, strange sights and sounds and smells. I loved it! I always felt I was looking for something in Chinatown, but I never knew what it was. So I never found it.”
“Maybe it was the dragon,” Jasmine said. “We could go tomorrow.” A thought struck her. “It’s already tomorrow in China, isn’t it? Will Dad be OK, do you think?” Even though I still hate him, she added silently.
“Of course. And I’m sure he’ll call soon.”
“Maybe I’ll send him a postcard from Chinatown, once I know where he’s staying.” In spite of her anger it was a horrible feeling, not knowing. She thought of Keung, alone in a strange land, looking for his father. He must have felt empty, too. As if a little piece of himself had been cut away.
Val set a brisk pace across the Johnson Street Bridge. Jasmine was glad she had long legs, otherwise she’d never be able to keep up. Her aunt was turning out to be a human dynamo as well as a former rebel.
