Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [149]
His mother had made the tailor cut every garment several sizes too big. “Kam Shan’s still growing. And after these clothes are worn out, the next ones we make for him will be a bridegroom’s clothes.” As she’d said the words, her voice cracked suddenly, like a dry branch thrown on the fire. His granny had sighed: “Too bad you’ll lose your son when you get a daughter-in-law,” she said. Kam Shan knew this remark was directed at his mother; it was the sort of thing his granny often said to her, but his mother always turned a deaf ear.
His grandmother sat with the tailor too, staring with unseeing eyes and propped against the wall, her hand-warmer clasped in one hand, the other hand holding a box of snacks. The box held green bean cakes and sweetpotato pancakes, freshly made and gently steaming. Still, she was worried they would get cold so she held the box on top of the hand-warmer and fed them to Kam Shan in the intervals when he was not trying on clothes.
“Poor boy, poor boy,” she sniffed, showing almost toothless gums every time she opened her mouth.
“You won’t get anything to eat once you’re in Gold Mountain,” she went on. His grandmother did not cry. Recently her eyes had become as desiccated as two dried-up wells, so that she could not squeeze out a tear. Instead, her tears issued from her nostrils, like leeches sliding in and out of two sepulchres.
That had been their way of showing him that they did not want him to go. But he still had to go, whether they wanted him to or not. The responsibility for their home comforts rested on one man’s shoulders, his father’s. His mother hated for him to have to bear all that responsibility and had waited all these years until he, Kam Shan, was big enough to share the burden. But before he had time to help, he had abandoned him. He felt sick when he thought of his father, frantic with worry. And did his mother know?
Kam Shan suddenly missed his parents terribly.
He buried his head between his knees and pulled fiercely on the spiky tufts of his hair as if he was trying to pull his scalp off. Sundance saw his shoulders begin to shake. The hairs sticking out from between his fingers quivered as if they hid a sparrow. She could tell he was upset, but did not understand why. She threw down her hatchets and went into the forest. A little while later, she emerged holding a bunch of grasses. By now, Kam Shan had calmed down and was staring blankly at a watery blue sky. She kneaded the grasses together into a poultice which she applied to Kam Shan’s palm. “This is a herbal remedy from the ancestors. It’s called Squirrel’s Tail and it’ll stop the bleeding.” Kam Shan felt as if a leech was crawling across his palm. The sensation was cool, moist and slippery and soon his palm did not hurt any more.
“Let’s stop chopping,” said Sundance. “We can come back tomorrow.” They picked up the hatchets, bundled the firewood and balanced the thicker branches on their shoulders. They made their way home, single file, through the forest. They were not in a hurry, and Sundance stopped frequently to pick herbs and grasses and to explain their uses to Kam Shan.
“This is called Indian carpet and it cures colds and chills.
“This is mare’s tail and it heals wounds and bleeding. Once the God man’s husky got mauled by a brown bear. It was bleeding badly but Dad cured it with mare’s tail.
“These are rosehips. Good for children when they’re constipated.
“This is red clover. It cleans out your guts, and then it revives your appetite.”
Kam Shan tired easily after his recent ordeal and they stopped talking. At the riverbank Sundance put down the bundle of firewood and kicked away a pebble with one foot to reveal a yellow flower growing underneath.
“This is St. John’s wort. We’ll take it home and I’ll make a tea for you. It’ll make you better.”
“Better from what?”
Sundance looked Kam Shan straight in the eyes, and then said: “From going around in a trance, that