Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [112]
The wind got up but the warmth of the sun mellowed it, and smoothed its sharp edges. The wind blew the smell of Mak Dau’s sweat over to where the women were sitting. He was wearing a rough cotton vest under his jacket. It had shrunk through much washing and now his muscles threatened to burst out of it. “How many head of cattle are you buying this year?” Ah-Chu asked Six Fingers. “None,” she replied. “We bought them all last year and the year before.” Ah-Chu pursed her lips and nodded towards Mak Dau. “But haven’t you just bought a bull? Look at those muscles. He’d plough a fine furrow!” There was much ribald laughter at this. At a safe distance from their in-laws, the women’s talk got quite smutty.
Kam Ho pulled at his mother’s sleeve. “I need a poo, Mum.” Six Fingers was strict with her children, and they were not allowed to piss and crap wherever they wanted outdoors. Now she looked around her at the land, which was open and flat, and she could not see anywhere for him to go. But there were a couple of trees not too far off which, at a pinch, afforded some sort of cover. Next to them were the ruins of a wall a couple of feet high. Six Fingers took Kam Ho by the hand and they walked over to the wall.
Kam Ho went behind the wall, pulled his jacket up and his trousers down and squatted. Suddenly, there was a gust of wind in his ears and darkness covered him. First, he thought he must have dropped into a deep pit, but then he felt his body moving, even though his feet were not touching the ground. He seemed to have grown wings and to be soaring like a bird. “Quick, someone’s coming,” he heard a gruff voice say in an accent which was not local. He realized he had fallen into the hands of bandits.
Six Fingers heard a movement and turned around. Her cry of alarm was cut short and her mouth flooded with a salty taste. She tried to scream but the sound died in her throat as if muffled in cotton wool. Someone had gagged her with a smelly sock. Much later, when she thought back to that day, she realized that what she had shouted was “Mak Dau!”
Ah-Chu was the first to realize that Six Fingers and Kam Ho had disappeared. She looked around to see where they had got to, and saw three burly black-clad figures running away with two bundles on their backs. They looked like three giant bats flitting away along the field bank, but from the bottom of one bundle an embroidered shoe could be seen, twisting and kicking.
“They’ve been kid … kidnapped!” Ah-Chu’s lips trembled so much she could scarcely get the words out.
Mak Dau, who had been snoozing on the rock in his vest and trousers, was on his feet in an instant and streaking after them. When she recounted the story afterwards, Ah-Chu would swear that Mak Dau’s legs took leave of his body that day and simply took off after the bandits on their own. Mak Dau had almost caught up with them when he suddenly remembered the freshly sharpened knife that he had hastily stuck into his waistband that morning. He touched it to the jacket of the black-clad figure next to him and the man sagged like a half-full sack of potatoes. As he fell, he grasped Mak Dau tightly round the ankle. Dragging this heavy sack of potatoes, Mak Dau ran on but more slowly than before and could only stare after the two figures as they disappeared into the distance with Six Fingers and Kam Ho.
Mak Dau dragged the injured bandit back to the house. He tortured the bandit’s name out of him: Kam Mo Keung. He was a stooge for the outlaw Chu Sei. Chu Sei and his band had gone into hiding in the area, and were making forays out to kidnap and rob, especially from the families of Gold Mountain men. His ransoms were high and he did not negotiate. He was a cruel man.
When Mrs. Mak heard this her eyes darkened and she fainted. Ah-Choi managed to bring her round with a glass of pepper water, but she could not stand. “We should tell the local officials,” said Ha Kau. “At least we’ve got Kam Mo Keung in our hands.” “Kam Mo Keung’s