Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [153]
Silent Wolf paid no attention to the Chief. His finger still under Kam Shan’s chin, he said deliberately: “Can you or can you not?”
Kam Shan felt as if his lips had suddenly turned into two immovable stones. No matter how hard he wanted to speak, the words could not force their way through.
Silent Wolf withdrew his finger and Kam Shan’s head suddenly dropped onto his chest.
“Get your stuff together.”
The Chief looked at the other man. “Maybe it’s not him.…” he said hesitantly.
“We’ve never had anyone in our family who couldn’t clear their name.” The words were flinty, steely. There was absolutely no doubt that he meant what he said.
Kam Shan could only go to the corner where he slept and get his things together. They were few and simple: the jacket and gown that he had on when he fell into the water, a pair of cotton socks and cloth shoes. And a cowhide bag. In it there was a belt made of pheasant quills and decorated with brightly coloured feathers. He had bought it in town two days before when he went with Silent Wolf to sell charcoal, and had not had time to give it to Sundance.
The camera was not among these things. He had hidden it in a hole in a tree on the riverbank the day he passed by the children’s school on his way back from chopping wood with Sundance. The priest had taken the children out for midday prayers and the classroom was empty apart from the black box on the teacher’s rostrum. Kam Shan knew straightaway what it was. His heart leapt wildly in his chest. He hesitated, then picked the black box up in both hands—he would just play with it for a couple of days, then put it back again. But before he had time to return it, word got around the whole tribe that there had been a theft. That black box became a heap of shit, which he had to hang onto even though he could smell its stink. If he let go of it, then the stink would get out and everyone would smell it. He was well aware that not even a whole river could wash him clean of a smell like that.
He opened out the gown, put the trousers, socks and shoes in it, bundled it and tied it with a piece of twine. Then he opened it again and rearranged the socks and shoes. He was dilly-dallying, waiting for Sundance. He could not go without seeing her. When he opened his bundle for the third time, Silent Wolf gave a heavy cough. He stood behind him, holding two pigs’ bladders tied at the neck in his hand—one with water, the other with wild rice and smoked fish. It would be something to see the boy on his way.
Kam Shan followed Silent Wolf very slowly outside. Then he stopped. Standing on tiptoe he hung the bag with the feather belt in it from the oak tree by the front door. He walked on, then turned back to check it was in a place where it would catch her eye.
At least he had left Sundance a present.
As Silent Wolf was about to launch the canoe, they heard the sound of running feet. It was Sundance, her braids flying. Trailing far behind came the fat priest, sweating profusely, clasping his bouncing belly in both hands as if to stop it from tumbling to the ground.
It was some time before the priest could catch his breath, safely release his belly and speak:
“The camera … I gave it to … this young man. I’m teaching him … to take pictures.”
His words left the Chief and Silent Wolf mute with astonishment. Silent Wolf looked hesitantly from the priest to Kam Shan, but the boy did not look up or speak. Knowing he would be unable to conceal his surprise, he avoided meeting their eyes.
“Come on, young man. Tell these two gentlemen what make of camera you’re using.”
“Kodak Brownie, Number 2 Model B,” Kam Shan muttered. “How many pictures can it take at one time?”
“One hundred and seventeen.”
“How big are the printed pictures?”
“About two inches.”
The priest nodded and clapped Kam Shan on the shoulder. “I can see you’re really keen on photography, young man. I did the right thing when I gave you the camera.” Then he turned to Silent Wolf: