Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [136]
And there was the house too, of course. The Italians had done a good job building it. The upper floor was of wood, but the ground floor was solidly constructed of red brick. It would have been hard to find even one sturdy, well-built house like this in the whole of Chinatown. It would not stay empty for long. He would write to Six Fingers, reminding her to get the matchmaker to find a bride for Kam Shan. In the not-too-distant future, this would be Kam Shan’s new home.
But just for once, Ah-Fat did not send the money left over from buying the house and land back to Six Fingers. He put it aside for Ah-Lam, who was now a broken old man. Only the husk of the man remained; he was rotting away on the inside like a worm-infested apple. Who knew how much longer he might last? He did not want Ah-Lam to die in Gold Mountain so he planned to take him home after the coming harvest, and to get Kam Shan betrothed at the same time. He would use the leftover money for Ah-Lam’s passage and pocket money. Without it, Ah-Lam would lose the respect of his son and grandchildren forever. Ah-Lam had not had an easy life, and if he could, he would ensure that Ah-Lam died in peace and dignity.
Then, just as Ah-Fat had carefully constructed his plans, a whirlwind reduced them to a heap of sand. There was absolutely nothing Ah-Fat could do to gather them up—no matter how big his hands.
It happened a week later.
Ah-Fat went to the farmers’ market in Vancouver that day, taking a pig and a sheep and some eggs. Selling his goods was not his sole intention. He planned to take Kam Shan on a trip to Vancouver. When he was not at the market, or eating or sleeping, his son sat by the stove in their shack, scooping handfuls of pumpkin seeds into his mouth. He already had little nicks in his front teeth from cracking them. He said little to his father, and sometimes went for days at a time without uttering a single complete sentence. Ah-Fat was beginning to worry that he might be growing ill. Today’s trip was intended to give Kam Shan a day out.
Ah-Fat had planned the day carefully. They would sell what they could in the morning market, and then leave. The weather was not so hot that the meat and eggs would spoil. Any leftover meat could be salted down and the eggs pickled for them to eat at home. The market was not far from the city centre and they could be there in under half an hour. He would not bother with Chinatown; they would go and look around the yeung fan part of town instead. They were meeting Rick for lunch at a fish and chips restaurant near the Vancouver Hotel.
He had not seen Rick since he left Vancouver. According to Rick, the restaurant was run by Irish people and the food was not bad. Ah-Fat did not have much faith in this recommendation because yeung fan and Chinese tastes in food were a million miles apart. He guessed the fish would probably have cheese and onions in it, as this was the sort of ranktasting stuff that was added to all yeung fan food, and that they would get two tiny slices of fish reposing on a thick layer of greens, only enough to fill a bird’s belly. All the same, Ah-Fat was willing to eat it, however disgusting it was, because Kam Shan had not yet tried foreign food. Nor had he met Rick. Ah-Fat packed two pork ribs with a nice mixture of fat and lean, and a basket of eggs as a gift for his friend.
It did not matter if they did not get enough fish to eat. Ah-Fat was going prepared—with a bottle of tea wrapped in a thick cloth to keep it warm, and some green bean cakes, so that his son would not go hungry. After lunch, he planned to take Kam Shan to the Hudson’s Bay Company Department Store. If a couple of things took Kam Shan’s fancy, so long as they were not wildly expensive, Ah-Fat could buy them for him.
The pig and the sheep had been butchered the night before. The piteous squeals of the pig and the bleating of the sheep grated on Kam Shan’s ears as painfully as a nicked and rusty knife and he could not get