Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [101]
Ah-Fat knew that opera singers liked to indulge in this or that new fashion but did not expect to see Gold Mountain Cloud in male costume when she was offstage. She looked strikingly handsome in it. His astonishment was audible when he managed to speak:
“Your natural voice, troupe leader, is truly big-hearted.”
Gold Mountain Cloud said nothing, but just stared fixedly at Ah-Fat. Ah-Fat rubbed the scar on his face. “I got it years ago, when I worked on the railroad,” he said. “Don’t worry, I haven’t robbed or murdered anyone.” Gold Mountain Cloud chuckled: “I’m an opera singer. There’s nothing haven’t seen. What I’m interested in is the fact that you came yesterday too and sat in the same place.”
Ah-Fat laughed, and then asked: “Did you study martial arts? In the scene when the Seventh Fairy weaves a length of cloth for Tung Wan, your moves were so skilfully executed.” The actress was clearly delighted that Ah-Fat knew what he was talking about. “When I studied opera as a child,” she said, “the master made everyone, no matter what role they played, learn martial arts for a year and a half. He taught us that everything was in the footwork, and that opera only carried force if you got the footwork right. He made us do somersaults every day and if you didn’t get them right, you went to bed without any dinner.”
Ah-Fat gave a sigh. “There’s no profession that isn’t hard to learn, is there? The dialogue could have done with a bit of polishing though.” Gold Mountain Cloud sighed too. “We’ve put on ten plays in a month, there isn’t time to rehearse properly. This one is completely new and some scenes we’ve improvised. That makes it interesting. We’ll be more familiar with it by the time we get to Victoria.” “Is that where you’re stopping next, Victoria?” “New Westminster first, then Victoria. Then we’ll take the train east to Toronto and Montreal.”
“Do all the places you go in your travels have theatres, troupe leader?” asked Ah-Fat. There was another laugh. “Don’t keep calling me troupe leader. Cloud will do fine. South-East Asia is not bad, there are big stages. But in some places in Gold Mountain there aren’t even any stages, let alone theatres. We heard the Monarchist Reform Party is going to build a theatre in San Francisco, which will at least be a base for travelling players.” Ah-Fat checked there was no one within hearing. He lowered his voice and asked: “Are you in with the Monarchists, Cloud?” “We sing opera, we don’t belong to any party or faction. But having a proper theatre would be better than nothing. What about you?”
Ah-Fat was tempted to say: “No, I’m not. But I sold everything I had to help the Emperor, and look what a miserable state I’m in now.” But remembering Ah-Lam’s warning he swallowed his words and merely replied: “Lots of Chinese in Vancouver have joined the Monarchist Reform Party. How long are you staying in Vancouver, Cloud?” he went on. “Ten more performances.” Ah-Fat hesitated. “Then I’ll come every day.”
In the flickering light of the last gas lamp they talked on. Suddenly Ah-Fat said: “Wait just a minute, I’ll be right back.” He hurried away, then returned holding lotus-leaf dumplings in his hand. “You’ve been singing all evening, you must be hungry. It’s late and all the shops are shut now. I just got a few sausage and rice dumplings. Have some. I’m afraid they’ll have gone cold.” Cloud took them from him. A scrap of warmth came from them, probably from the man’s hand, she thought. Almost all the men in the audience were there to stare at the girls. This was the only one who had seemed to appreciate the opera, too.
The acrobat took down the last lamp. All at once, the illumination was reduced to a single small circle, spotlighting Gold Mountain Cloud and giving her a ghastly pallor. The boy got down off the stage and came their way. “Big sister, Mr. Wen’s been waiting ages for you at the door.” “I see,” said Gold Mountain Cloud and gave the dumplings to him. “Share these between