Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [155]
Kam Shan was up last of all. He watched Sundance’s mother paint her husband’s face. Sundance had dressed the younger ones and was now changing her own clothes. She looked at him without speaking; her words were written on her clothes, in the bells which tinkled in eager expectation when she moved.
The powwow was held half a mile or so from their village, and attracted people from all the villages around. In addition to dancing and drumming, the powwow included a marketplace. Sundance’s mother took charcoal and reed mats to sell and with the proceeds planned to buy a “hundred family quilt,” a new set of wooden bowls, two deerskin tunics and two pairs of lightweight boots. The tunics and boots were for Sundance and Kam Shan to wear at the wedding. She also wanted to buy two big pouches of the best tobacco to give the Chief, who would preside over the wedding.
The powwow did not start until midday but no one could wait that long. “When are we leaving?” asked Sundance’s father, once his face was painted. He sounded like an impatient child. “It’s too early,” her mother replied gravely after a moment’s consideration. “The sun’s not fully up yet.” But she could not keep up the severity for long. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” she said with a laugh. “What are we waiting for?”
Then she noticed Kam Shan sitting on the edge of his bed. He was neatly dressed but in his everyday clothes. And he was holding his head in his hands as if it was so heavy it might fall off. His hands hid his expression, and he had not said a word all morning.
“What’s got into you, wooden-top?” she asked.
“Don’t worry. The wooden-top will dance as soon as the drumming starts,” said Silent Wolf.
They set off with her father leading their pony in front. It was loaded up with two large sacks containing things they would sell at the powwow and three bladders full of food for their breakfast. Sundance’s mother walked beside her father, the children followed and Sundance and Kam Shan brought up the rear.
The three young ones competed to see who could throw a stone the highest. The stones startled the birds who squawked in protest. The stocky little pony had been fed before they left, and clip-clopped along the track in a spirited manner, its head held high. Even the village dogs sensed the excitement, and set up an unbroken chorus of barking which accompanied them all the way out of the village. The sights of this powwow morning were like a scroll painting unrolling itself before Kam Shan’s eyes. But he heard only one sound—the jingling of the bells on Sundance’s cape.
The bells knocked against his eardrums, and his temples began to throb. In a sudden fit of irritation, he shouted: “Sundance!” His voice sounded strange—brittle like a dead twig. She looked at him: “What’s wrong?” She had started to sweat and her forehead was beaded with drops of moisture. Kam Shan looked at her in a daze and saw that in the space of a few months she had become a beauty.
His lips trembled. “Sundance, I … I.…” But the words stuck and he could not go on. “What’s the matter?” she asked. He shook his head. “Let’s go. Your mum’s waiting.”
They walked on silently.
About fifteen minutes out of the village, Kam Shan suddenly slapped his forehead. “I’ve forgotten the camera,” he said. “I can take pictures of people in the market and charge each person a few cents.”
“Go back and get it and be quick,” said Sundance’s mother, beaming in satisfaction. “We’ll wait here.” She had