Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [131]
Kam Shan looked more cheerful at this. “I know about Protestant missionaries,” he said. “They’re nice. The ones in Yuen Kai town dressed just like Chinese, in gowns and jackets, and they wore false pigtails too. Twice a month, they prepared three big woks of rice porridge and gave it out for free in front of the church. People lined up down the street for it.”
Ah-Fat frowned unhappily at Kam Shan’s enthusiasm. “You’re not having anything to do with that religion, you’re just going there to learn English.” “What’s wrong with following their religion?” objected Kam Shan. “Everyone does in England, France, Germany and America. They’ve abolished the emperor, and poor and rich are equal.”
Ah-Fat was overcome with a rush of uncontrollable anger. He hurled Kam Shan’s bundle to the floor and shouted: “If you want to be like the foreign devils, with no emperor to rule the country, no patriarch to rule the family, then you just go ahead!” He was rigid with fury and thick, livid veins bulged from his forehead. But Ah-Lam pushed him onto a stool. “Heaven’s high and the Emperor’s far away,” he said. “What’s the point in getting on your high horse because your son’s said something against the Emperor? The porridge and pickled eggs is ready in the pot. Eat it while it’s hot. Kam Shan’ll be hungry after that long journey even if you’re not.”
Then winter was on them, and there were no vegetables to sell at the market. The eggs kept well enough, so there was no need to go to town every day. Kam Shan went to church to learn English in the evenings, but by day he had nothing to do except listen to the two men telling him everything they had picked up about farming, to which he paid little attention.
For the first few months, Kam Shan hung around on his father’s patch of land, until it came time to sow the new crops. The climate on the West Coast was so mild and humid that almost anything would grow. Ah-Fat planted all sorts of things—cucumbers, tomatoes, aubergines, broccoli, green peppers, mint and a variety of cabbages, and more besides. Some of the seeds were imported from Guangdong and these too flourished, in spite of the different soil and climate. He had fruit trees too, apples, peaches, pears and cherries he had grafted himself. Even though the fruit was not ripe for harvesting yet, they had cucumber pickles and jam left over from the previous year, and freshly killed poultry and pork and lamb and eggs to take to market. Every few days, Ah-Fat would load up the cart with their produce, go and sell it in Vancouver, or sometimes New Westminster, and bring back any household items they needed. And Ah-Fat discovered that the son who took no interest in farming had something in his favour after all—he had a very useful face.
Ah-Fat drove the cart to the farmers’ market first, and then put anything that was left over in baskets and hawked them door to door in the neighbouring streets and lanes. So long as he had his son with him, he could get rid of all the remaining produce quickly, and at a good price too.
Kam Shan would not allow anyone to knock him down on prices.
The way he stood up to people who wanted a bargain was both original and simple. He wreathed his face in a big smile. He was nothing like the other Chinese children who had just arrived in Gold Mountain, his father thought to himself with surprise. They were shy and timid, and, when in company, would huddle in the shadow of their elders. They hung their heads mutely and would not look you in the eye. They were rather expressionless—no great emotion ever crossed their faces. Everything about them recoiled from extremes so that they looked almost wooden.
Kam Shan bore no resemblance to these children.
On his first visit to the farmers’ market with Ah-Fat, a yeung fan woman twice his size tried to knock him down on a price. He beamed a smile at her that stretched from ear to ear. He could have bargained but he did not. He simply looked quietly at his customer again. His gaze needled her, but those needles were wrapped safely in the softness