Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [165]
His mother knew that when Ah-Fat came back from a day’s work in the fields, he cooked his own dinner, or ate cold leftovers. If ever his jacket got caught on the cart, there was no nimble-fingered woman to mend it for him. If Ah-Fat had a headache or a fever, there was no one to administer home treatments or mop his brow. When Ah-Fat was young, Mrs. Mak steeled herself to this, but he was getting on in years, and now she could not bear it.
Mrs. Mak was blind and no longer able to see his face but she could still hear her son perfectly well. He only had to call “Mum!” in a low voice as he stepped over the threshold for her to tell instantly that he had changed. His voice sounded as hollow as a worm-eaten hazelnut. He had supported family that had as many members as a tree had branches, yet he had been reduced to a desiccated nut. Ever since her son left for Gold Mountain at sixteen, every ounce of his energy had gone into transforming his labour into dollar letters to send home.
The morning Ah-Fat left Hoi Ping, the porter carrying his suitcases led the way. Behind came blind Mrs. Mak, supported on either side by Six Fingers and Kam Ho. All three were going with him as far as the entrance to the village. Kam Ho looked at his father: “You’ve put on weight, Dad,” he said. “Your jacket won’t button up.” His father smiled. “It’s all the soups your mother’s been giving me. She’s been trying to fatten me up like a soft-shelled turtle. Don’t envy me. Once I get back to Gold Mountain, all this fat’ll soon be gone—there’s no soup for me there.” Six Fingers turned her face away and said nothing. She knew that if she opened her mouth to speak, the tears would flow. Her belly was showing now and she walked more heavily than usual. She took a few more slow steps and managed to swallow the lump in her throat. “Don’t listen to your father’s teasing, Kam Ho,” she said. “There’s plenty of fancy things to eat in Gold Mountain. How could they miss homemade soup?”
Mrs. Mak suddenly came to a halt, scowling. She thumped her walking stick so hard it dented the earth.
“Hurry up and save some money when you get back to Gold Mountain, Ah-Fat,” she said.
“Yes, Mum, to buy more fields,” said Ah-Fat, who had heard this injunction from his mother time and again. Fields, fields, more fields. When Six Fingers and Kam Ho were kidnapped by Chu Sei, their land had to be sold in haste to raise the ransom. Mrs. Mak had never forgotten the painful process of buying back their fields afterwards. She did not believe in money, even when she held the silver coins tight in her hand. She could only be reassured by standing atop the dykes which enclosed her family’s own fields.
“No, not fields,” said Mrs. Mak, waving her stick in the direction of Six Fingers. “Hurry and save enough money to take her away with you.”
Ah-Fat and Six Fingers were mute with astonishment. They had waited and waited for Mrs. Mak to speak these words, and after twenty years, they seemed more improbable than a flowering sago tree.
When Six Fingers found her voice, she said: “Mum, I’ll always be here to attend to you.” “Huh!” came the reply. “As if I don’t know where your heart lies!” The old woman had a sharp tongue and her words could pepper her listener painfully in the face. But Six Fingers had long since grown a thick skin and was inured to such wounding comments.
She merely gave a slight smile and said: “Mum, what will you do if I go?” “Huh!” Mrs. Mak said again. “I’ll live with his uncle and aunt. Ah-Fat’s money has made them as fat as Bodhisattvas. Ah-Fat’s uncle would be a nobody without that money, so he can hardly refuse.