Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [138]
Ah-Fat could not bring himself to say that the money he had in his pocket was not enough to buy even one corner of an emerald ring. So he just laughed and said: “One day, we will, one day.…” He suddenly felt much more cheerful. Nine suns seemed to be shining down on him, making the roadway glint and sparkle. As the cart rolled on, he found himself humming a little song. He had forgotten some of the words and sang out of tune, but his happiness gave it a rollicking rhythm.
You say words of love, but love must be sincere
Do not spread your love all around
The snares of love have fallen … ta-ta, ta-ta
You’ve got to … ta-rum, ta-rum … wake up
They arrived at the market to find business unusually brisk. Within an hour or so, they sold all their produce. They still had some time before they were due to meet Rick, so Ah-Fat took his son to Chinatown, where they could buy some pastries to take home. Ah-Fat went into the cake shop to choose. “Dad,” said Kam Shan, “I want to go and read the papers at the stand.” Ah-Fat let him go, knowing how much his son loved the newspapers. “Just don’t be long. I’ll wait for you here.”
But Kam Shan did not come back.
Kam Shan had not been to Chinatown on his own for a while. There were some new broadsheets on display on the stand. His eyes raked over every item—art and culture, wars, home and overseas news—looking for a particular name, Freedom Fung. It was not there.
Two long articles took up almost all of the politics pages—the Monarchists and the Revolutionaries were waging a rhetorical war. The article from the Revolutionaries’ perspective was by a supporter he did not know; he read it cursorily but thought little of it. It was disjointed and crudely expressed. The only person who could write a decent piece of this sort was Mr. Fung, thought Kam Shan; his articles were lucidly argued, and no matter whether he was expressing indignation or sarcasm, they were all powerful stuff.
He left the newspaper stand to return to the cake shop to meet his father. Halfway there, he passed a sign for the offices of the The Chinese Times, and found himself stepping inside. An old man who did odd jobs around the office shouted over to him: “Kam Shan! We haven’t seen you for ages! Been making your fortune, have you?” Kam Shan did not answer the question, but asked instead: “Where’s Mr. Fung?” “He’s not here today. He’s got guests.” “They must be very important guests if he’s not writing for the paper any more!” exclaimed Kam Shan. “Without his articles, the paper’s no good for anything except wiping your arse with!” The old man burst out laughing. “Don’t let the boss catch you talking like that or he’ll wallop you,” he said. Then he pulled the boy aside and whispered: “The Cudgel’s here from the States, he’s raising money for some big plan of his, and he’s taken Mr. Fung around with him on his lecture tour.” The Cudgel was boss of the Hung Mun, a Chinese secret society.
Kam Shan knew everyone at the Times. After reading Mr. Fung’s articles, Kam Shan had been filled with curiosity and admiration and had gone to pay his respects to Mr. Fung at his office. Later still, when he heard the man expound his views on the political situation in East and West, he grew to believe that Mr. Fung was the only man in Gold Mountain worthy of his respect and friendship. From that moment on, every time he went into Vancouver to sell their produce, he sent Loong Am off to the theatre and took himself to the Times to see Mr. Fung.
Mr. Fung was not only highly educated, he was eloquent and charismatic as well. As he put it, the Manchu (Qing) dynasty took resources that properly belonged to the Chinese people and used them to appease the Western powers. The dynasty’s days were numbered. According to Mr. Fung, the most important task facing them—destroying the Manchu barbarians and returning China to the Chinese—could not be accomplished without the support of overseas Chinese living all over the world.