Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [117]
Just then, Mak Dau come running in, his face gleaming with sweat. “Missus, I’ve carried out your instructions.” He did not look at Six Fingers as he spoke but kept his eyes fixed on the tops of his blue cloth shoes. He was referring to the position of the shrine for the ancestral tablets; in the original plans, these had been positioned under the roof so that their protection would extend to the entire building. However, Six Fingers, knowing that her blind, elderly mother-in-law would never manage all those stairs when she wanted to light incense and worship the ancestors, had ordered the builders to move it down to the second floor. The builders had not been very happy about having to go back down and make changes.
“Did you see Mr. Lau from the Sincere Company?” asked Six Fingers. “Yes.” “Did you talk about the alteration?” “Yes.” “Did Mr. Lau agree to it?” “Yes.” “Did Mr. Lau say when the work would be finished?” “He said, as soon as possible.” “Keep an eye on it, will you? The completion date is fixed. It’s the last market day of the first month next year—that’s the twenty-second. It’s an auspicious day for moving home, and it was fixed when the groundwork was started on the building last year. The Daoist monk has been paid the retainer to sacrifice to the ancestors and drive out evil spirits that day.”
Mak Dau said nothing.
Six Fingers laughed shortly. “Has the cat got your tongue? Normally you can’t stop talking.” Mak Dau carried on staring silently at his toecaps. After a moment, Six Fingers went on: “Is there anyone who trusts me in this house? You’re just the same as the rest.” Mak Dau reluctantly looked up, and saw a film of tears in Six Fingers’ eyes. A wave of tenderness flooded over him and his tone softened. “Has she given in about moving to the diulau?” he asked. Six Fingers knew he was talking about Mrs. Mak who, even though the fortress home was her son’s initiative, was refusing to budge.
She was quite clear about her reasons. She said she had lived in this house for decades and this was where she had waited on her in-laws and cared for her children. She was used to it, and she had no intention of moving. Besides, the diulau was too high, how would a blind old woman with bound feet climb all those stairs? Six Fingers said she would hire someone specially to carry her up and down on her back. There was moment’s silence, and then Mrs. Mak retorted: “I’m not like you. I don’t let just anyone carry me around.” Six Fingers’ heart sank. She realized that her mother-in-law had other, hidden reasons for not wanting to move.
Since the groundwork started the previous year, Mrs. Mak had not been well. Hers was a strange illness: she had no vomiting or diarrhea, no fever, no ague or pain. But she had no appetite and spent all day dozing. She grew thinner and thinner. They had called in a number of herbalists and she had drunk dozens of decoctions, but nothing made her better. As she got worse, she was alternately lucid and confused. When she was lucid, she would stare silently at the ceiling; when she was confused, she talked on and on. Two days ago, she had eaten breakfast and then sat up, her hair in disarray, and thumped the bed, swearing at Ah-Fat. “I’m going to take you before the county magistrate, you disobedient, undutiful son of mine, you blackhearted wolf! You never came home for my sixtieth birthday!”
Six Fingers hurriedly helped the old woman back onto her pillows. “Mum, Ah-Fat’s money’s all gone on the new house, but he’s built it to make you happy.” Mrs. Mak gripped Six Fingers’ palm, digging her pointed fingernails in. “He built that house for you, not me,” she said, “and that’s why he has no money to come home. If you hadn’t been kidnapped, he would have spent the money on buying land. Why would he want to build a diulau?” “Mum, once the family’s moved, we can sell the old house and buy fields with the money,” said Six Fingers.
Mrs. Mak opened her sightless eyes wide and stared dully at