by Julie Lawson
Jasmine paced along the bank, searching for some sign of a camp. All around her, men were laying bets on the outcome of the Skuzzy’s struggle: wagers of gold, timber, anything—all against the boat. Seeing the pitiful headway it was making, Jasmine would have bet against its chances, too.
What about her chances? She would bet one hundred to one Keung was somewhere near Hell’s Gate. Maybe in that camp farther ahead, where smoke was rising above the trees. She headed towards it, hoping it was a Chinese tent camp, hoping she wouldn’t have to go any farther.
The chatter of voices told her she was partly right. She stopped the first coolie she came to. “Chan Tai Keung?” She was too tired to say anything more.
The coolie repeated the name. “Young? Same height as you?”
“Yes, yes! Where is he?”
The man pointed to a sagging gray tent at the far end of the camp. “The last time I saw him he was in there. But I don’t think—”
Jasmine didn’t wait to hear the rest. She rushed towards the tent, giddy with relief. Without thinking, she pushed open the flap and burst in.
Chapter 16
The smell hit her with such force she thought she would be sick. She sank against the tent wall, fighting back the nausea, the need to get outside. Hang on, she told herself. Wait till your eyes are used to the dark. Wait to see if he’s here.
It was stifling inside the tent. The air was thick and oppressive, heavy with the silence of opium dreams. Shadowy figures lay still as death, packed in rows upon straw mattresses spread over the dirt floor.
A man sat at a plank table, preparing the pipes. Jasmine watched with a mixture of fascination and repugnance. First, he dipped a long needle into a tin. Then held it up, twirling until the sticky black stuff formed a bead-like pellet. Carefully, he held the pellet over the lamp to heat it. Then he put it into a long-stemmed pipe and handed it to one of the men.
They look like ghosts, she thought, scanning their faces. More ghostly than any I’ve seen in my dreams. She watched as one ghost took the pipe and sucked the vapour deeply into his lungs. It seemed as though he held it there forever. Finally he released it, filling the air with another long plume of smoke. He was about to lie back when his eyes drifted hazily over to Jasmine.
“Keung,” she breathed. In spite of the dim light there was no mistake.
But he did not respond. With a euphoric smile, he floated back to his dreams.
She stepped over bodies and around mattresses to get close to him. “Keung,” she whispered urgently. “Wake up. Please.”
The opium-man approached her. “It’s no use,” he said. “You’ll have to wait until that pellet wears off. Would you like some? One dollar a pipe.”
She shook her head, feeling the sting of tears and the warning heave of her stomach. She stumbled outside and retched violently, over and over again.
A short time later, she spotted a vegetable garden at the edge of the camp. A stream flowed alongside. She staggered towards it and splashed water over her face. Then she returned to the opium tent and sat outside to wait. One hour? Two? It didn’t matter.
Sometime later, she felt a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her awake. “Keung!” Her throat swelled with tears. “What happened to you? They told me you were buried in the explosion. I was so afraid, I thought—”
He patted her arm. “Are you hungry? Come on.”
His camp was close to the stream and garden, away from the cluster of tents. “The stage coach driver found me,” Jasmine explained as Keung lit a fire and put on the rice. “He took me to Yale and I had to wear an ugly dress because his wife threw away my clothes, and I went into Chinatown....” Bit by bit the story came out, right down to her vision of the tiger.
When the meal was ready, Keung handed her a cotton bag on a bamboo pole. “Here, I kept this for you.”
She stifled a desire to hug him. “Thank goodness!” She fished out her bowl and chopsticks and gulped down the food. Nothing had ever tasted so good.
“I remember hearing the blast and throwing you down,” said Keung. “Then I was hit by a falling rock When I came to, you were gone. All that was left was the bag. I thought you had vanished, like before. So I joined a gang heading north.”
“But why the opium?”
“I hoped you would come back in a dream.”
“And did I?”
He paused before answering. “Yes, but in a different way. And in a different time.”
“I am from a different time.”
“Yes, but...” He shrugged his shoulders, unable or unwilling to explain. “It was only an opium dream.”
“And your father?”
“Still nothing. But I’m sure he’s close.”
Throughout the camp, fires crackled and hissed. Night closed in with the smells of cooking and the sounds of tired voices.
“I signed on,” Keung said. “So I can earn money to return to China.”
“Then I’ll sign on too. How do I do it?”
“You can’t do this work!” Keung protested. “It’s ridiculous.”
“No more ridiculous than coming here in the first place. No one even looks at me. I’m dressed like all the coolies, I’m as tall as you and I’m really strong.” And flat-chested, she added silently. “I’ll keep my face hidden and my mouth shut. Just say I’m your cousin and make up a name.”
Keung sighed. There was no arguing with her. Dragon Maker was right, she had a fiery spirit. “Alright,” he said. And realized with a sudden, unexpected flicker that he was proud of her.
“But I need boots,” she said, eyeing his sturdy workboots. “Like yours.”
His dimples flashed in a warm smile. “Tomorrow I’11 take you to the bookman and get you the boots.”
“You want eighty cents a day or a dollar?” the bookman asked.
Jasmine thought. If she took a dollar she’d have to buy all her supplies at the company stores, at high prices. But she didn’t expect to stay long, so how many supplies would she need? She held up one finger.
“Dollar it is,” he said. “But if you buy something from another store, you’re discharged immediately. And whenever we move, you pack all your belongings and set up your own camp.”
“A dollar a day isn’t much,” Jasmine said as they hiked to the worksite.
Keung looked at her with surprise. “It’s less than a white man makes, but it’s a fortune compared to China. There, a peasant only makes seven cents a day.”
“Seven cents?” Jasmine gasped. “Everyone who works here must go home rich!”
“That’s what I thought, too,” he said. “But the men who were hired before leaving China have to pay back the cost of their passage. So every month there’s money taken away for that. And every month they send money home to support their families. Many thought they could save enough to buy land. Now they know it’s just a dream.”
An hour later they reached the worksite. A tunnel was being dug into the mountain. Near the roof of the tunnel, a gang of Chinese coolies was already at work. On galler-ied platforms at several different levels they drilled blasting holes, inserted the dynamite, lit the fuses and ran for cover. When the explosion settled, a gang armed with pickaxes smashed the rock into chunks and removed the debris.
Outside the tunnel, more rock had been drilled and blasted, then broken into fragments to fill up the roadbed. “That’s our job,” Keung said, handing Jasmine a shovel. “Load the loose rock into a wheelbarrow and dump it into the cuts and hollows. Once the roadbed’s finished, the tracks are laid.”
Pile after pile of shattered rock had to be moved. Soon every muscle in her body was screaming. And she’d thought digging the garden was back-breaking work Bend, lift, bend, lift. Her body was one long, deep groan. And this had been her idea? Mrs. Jenkins was right. Something must have happened to her head.
After forever, the straw boss told them they could stop for tea. “Is it quitting time?” she asked, collapsing in a heap beside Keung. She hardly had the energy
to lift her cup.
He laughed. “It’s only been three hours! There’s seven more to go!”
At the half-way mark they stopped for a meal of dried salmon and rice. The coolies grumbled about the Siwash chicken while their huge tea kettles simmered over fires all along the line.
Bend, lift, heave, groan. She shovelled smaller loads now, hoping no one would notice. She moved more slowly, cursing the new boots and the blisters on her feet. She wished the day would end. She wished the tiger would come and spirit her away.
Every so often a warning shot would go off and everyone would scramble out of the tunnel to escape the blast. Inch by inch they were drilling their way through the mountain, although the granite wall seemed endless and progress unbelievably slow.
She pitied the men inside the tunnel. All day long, breathing in loose dirt, their eyes stinging from the fumes of blasting powder. And a whole mountain looming above their heads. One fuse improperly lit, one moment’s hesitation.... She filled her lungs with cool, fresh air, thankful she wasn’t hidden from the light and sky.
Bend, lift, heave, groan. Hey Dad, remember how you used to say I wasn’t afraid of hard work? Well, guess what I’ve been doing. Building the railway for the CPR, that’s what, with the Chinese coolies. Yes, really. Who me, delirious? Not a chance. Yes, I’d like to take a train trip through the Fraser Canyon when I get back to my time. No, I don’t know how long I’ll be. However long it takes, I guess, unless Bright Jade and the tiger have other ideas. Bright Jade and the tiger? You mean I haven’t told you? Well....
The day was over. They trudged back. No one spoke.
After the first few days, her muscles stopped aching. Or had she stopped feeling altogether? A numbness had set in. Eventually the monotonous grind of work would end, but she didn’t know when. Or how.
Meanwhile, the Skuzzy was still trying to get through Hell’s Gate. After four days, the crowds from Yale had returned home. It was obvious the Skuzzy was getting nowhere. Eight days later, the situation was the same. After ten days, Onderdonk made a decision.
“What are all those herders doing here?” Jasmine wondered as several white bosses rushed into their camp. “What’s happening?”
The bosses began rounding up the coolies. “Let’s go, John. Big job, very important.” They herded them to the riverbank where coolies were lining up on both sides of the canyon.
“There must be 150 here,” Jasmine said. “What’s going on?”
Keung could only shrug. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be easy. Otherwise, why would they have rounded up 150 Chinese? And what were the thick ropes for, twisting along the banks?
“Oh god,” said Jasmine, pointing to the Skuzzy.A dozen men were securing the ends of ropes around the ship’s capstan. “I think we have to pull it through the rapids.”
She was right. Ring-bolts had been driven into the rock walls of the canyon. The heavy ropes passed through the hands of the coolies, through the bolts and down to the Skuzzy.
She closed her eyes and tried not to think of the river raging below. To make matters worse, a steady rain had started to fall. One faltering grip, one false step on the slippery ground meant certain death. She dug in the heels of her cotton shoes, wishing she’d had time to change into the boots.
The rope was slick with sweat and grime. She grasped it as tightly as she could, loathing the feel of it, like the knotted sinews of some horrible monster that would squeeze the life right out of her.
“Pull!”
She pulled until her arms ached, pulled until her stomach coiled in knots as twisted as the strands of rope. Through the rain and wind-whipped spray she could see the steam pouring from the Skuzzy’s smokestack, the boilers close to bursting.
As she strained and pulled, she could hear the groans of the others, feel them seeping inside. Or were they the groans of the ghosts, returning from her dream? What did it matter? They might as well all be ghosts.
“Pull!” the herders shouted.
As if we weren’t already pulling our guts out, she thought. What do they think? That we want to let go and fall into Hell’s Gate with their stupid Skuzzy?
Anger made her pull harder. Her mind blocked out everything but the feel of the rope, burning in her hands. After awhile, it seemed as though a darkness came over her. Not the terrifying darkness of the tunnel, but a welcoming darkness, lit by the dream ghosts, urging her on.
Later, she sat by the campfire, nursing her sore hands, too exhausted to move. “The amazing thing is,” she said, “we actually did it. We pulled the boat through.”
“They’re having a holiday in Yale to celebrate,” Keung said.
“How about here?”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Not for the coolies.”
In the stillness just before dawn the opium-man crept over and shook Keung awake. “Someone is looking for you and your cousin,” he whispered. “A man in a long robe. A wealthy merchant.”
Keung shot up. “Does he have a scar on his face?”
The man nodded.
“What did you tell him? Where is he now?”
“In the opium tent. I said I haven’t seen you, but others may tell a different story. He’s asking about your father, too. Do you know this man? What does he want with you?”
“I can’t explain now. Jasmine, wake up. We have to leave quickly.”
“Where are you going?” the man asked. “What should I tell him?”
“Tell him we’ve gone back to Victoria,” Jasmine said. Shakily, she packed their belongings while Keung went to collect their pay. Her mouth felt dry, her legs weak and watery. Blue-Scar Wong had found them.
Chapter 17
They headed north as the light of a chill autumn morning filtered through the canyon. “If Blue-Scar’s in the opium tent, he’ll be there for awhile,” Keung said. “Even if he doesn’t believe we’ve gone to Victoria, we’ll have a head start.”
“How far are we going?” Jasmine wondered.
“As far as it takes. We’ve got to find my father, especially now that Blue-Scar is here. We’ll try every camp along the way. What else can we do? He isn’t in Yale, he isn’t in Spuzzum. Maybe Boston Bar. Maybe Lytton.”
“Did the bookman pay you?”
Keung grinned. “Yes, although he grumbled when I woke him up so early. But he was too sleepy to ask any questions. Here. I’ve counted out your share.”
“Keep it. What would I do with it anyway? It’s as useless in my time as my five dollar bill is in yours.”
“But you’ll need it for the boat, if you go back to Victoria without me.”
“There’s no way I’m going back without you,” she said, her mouth set in a determined line.
She shivered as they strode along, hoping they would find Chan Sam before it got much colder. On the mountainsides, above the splashes of red and yellow, she could see the snow line creeping lower and lower.
A sudden thought snapped in her mind, a thought she hadn’t considered. What if she were still here in winter? What then? It was already the end of September. She had assumed that once they found the white jade tiger she would be whisked back to her own time. But— Her stomach twisted sharply, as if she’d just swallowed a splinter of glass. What if it didn’t work that way? What if she were stuck here and couldn’t get back?
Another tunnel brought her sharply back to the present. One step at a time, she told herself. Worry about the rest later. Or don’t worry. Just wait and see. She took a deep breath and plunged inside.
“Do you feel the ghosts?” Keung whispered. “They’re restless because they haven’t been properly buried. All Chinese want to be buried with their ancestors. Then their spirits can be at peace. In Victoria, their bones are dug out of the graveyard after seven years and shipped back to China.”
Jasmine grimaced. “That’s awful!”
“After seven years the body is decomposed,” Keung continued. “It’s bones, nothing more. And the spirit is happy to be going home. Would you like to stay forev
er in a foreign land that didn’t want you?”
“No.” She couldn’t imagine being dead, let alone unhappy with her burial place. All she wanted was to get out of the tunnel. And as for being in a foreign land, she was, wasn’t she? Or might as well be. A pattering sound made her heart beat faster. Footsteps pursuing her in the dark? No. Only water dripping from the ceiling. “Why are the Chinese so concerned with the dead?” she wondered.
“We gain strength from our ancestors,” Keung explained. “And hope they will be proud of us.”
She quickened her step as they neared the end of the tunnel. “Your ancestors must be proud of you,” she said. “You were brave to come all this way by yourself, especially since you’re so young. And brave to go looking for your father.”
Keung smiled. “I’m not so young. I’m sixteen, and a Tiger Boy. People born in the Year of the Tiger are supposed to be fearless, courageous and powerful. But sometimes I haven’t felt very brave. Tiger people also think too deeply and are too sensitive. But they can be quick-tempered and fierce like a tiger.” He roared playfully as they burst into the light.
Jasmine laughed. “I’m a Dragon Girl. I’m sensitive and short-tempered, too. Energetic and stubborn.”
“Dragon people are also very brave. I’m sure your ancestors will be proud of you. You’ve come a great distance too, but in a different way.”
“I hope they’ll be proud of me.” It suddenly struck her— she knew very little about her ancestors. A bit about her grandparents, although they had died before she was born. But before that? It wasn’t something her parents had talked about. And she’d never thought to ask. “I wish I knew who my ancestors were,” she said.
“Perhaps you’ll discover them one day. If you keep travelling back in time, you may even meet them.”
She smiled happily, pleased with the thought.
