Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [167]
He regretted throwing his son out. The boy was trouble whether he was at home or not. But at least if he was home, Ah-Fat could keep an eye on him. If he was away, Ah-Fat had no idea what he was doing and never stopped worrying about him. He used to believe that what the eye did not see, the heart did not grieve over. He did not believe that any more. His son’s misdeeds were a thorn in his side when he could see them. But now that Kam Shan was gone, he found himself entangled in a bramble bush from which he could not extricate himself. No sooner had he pulled one thorn out than he discovered another. It would have been better to have him close by.
The thorns hurt when they stabbed him and they hurt when he pulled them out. But Ah-Fat shared his pain with no one and, in consequence, no one mentioned Kam Shan in his presence. It was as if he had never had a son—though if he did hear Kam Shan’s name on someone’s lips, his eyes flickered for days afterwards.
“Kam Shan rents a corner of a shop and does a roaring trade taking people’s photographs. Most of his customers are Redskins,” Loong Am was saying. “They pose with boots on, with guns at their waists, like cowboys.”
“Just him … alone?” Ah-Fat asked after a moment’s silence. This was the first time since Kam Shan’s departure that he had asked after him.
Loong Am knew what his boss was getting at. He gave an apologetic cough, then said reluctantly: “That woman, she’s there too.” He looked up to see if Ah-Fat was angry, then went on: “My brother says her English is better than Kam Shan’s. The White women and the Redskin women all want to talk to her.”
Ah-Fat’s face darkened like a storm cloud.
Loong Am pulled a knotted handkerchief out of his pocket and put it in Ah-Fat’s hand. “My brother told Kam Shan that his mum was coming out to Vancouver, and Kam Shan asked when. He wanted to go and meet the boat. My brother told him not to, in case it made you angry. Kam Shan just stood there like an idiot, then he went upstairs and brought down this handkerchief and asked my brother to give it to Auntie so she could buy herself some clothes in town. Kam Shan said not to let you see.”
Ah-Fat threw the bundle onto the bed without looking at it. Loong Am coughed again. “You’ve got a fierce temper, Uncle!” he said. “Kam Shan did nothing wrong, after all. What would you do if a girl hung onto your coattails like that? Wouldn’t you take her in? Kam Shan must have got his good nature from you. Besides, why look a gift horse in the mouth? He’s got a girl without you having to buy wedding gifts or pay the head tax. If you don’t like her, get him another woman as his first wife and be done with it. Why get in such a temper about it?”
Ah-Fat still said nothing but his expression softened.
When Loong Am had gone, Ah-Fat shut the door and opened the handkerchief. It contained a pile of small change and a bundle of crumpled low-value notes, damp from grease or sweat. Ah-Fat counted the money: twelve dollars and eighty-six cents.
That boy! He was still his flesh-and-blood son. Ah-Fat’s eyes welled up. At least now he knew that Kam Shan had settled down. Ah-Fat had sent him away and he could not call him back. But once Six Fingers arrived, perhaps she could bring them back together.
Ah-Fat drove his horse and cart to the docks, his head filled with longing for Six Fingers—and Kam Shan too. He could not bring himself to think of Kam Shan directly, only by way of Six Fingers. She was the bridge between father and son. Neither could reach the other except through her. Without her mediation, they would only ever look at each other from opposite banks.
But it was not Six Fingers who disembarked that day. It was Kam Ho.
He was the last off the boat. He staggered under the weight of a carrying pole with two enormous suitcases, inching his way along like an ant burdened with a lump of mud. Ah-Fat nearly buckled at the knees with astonishment.
“What’s happened