Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [174]
Finally Mr. Henderson opened the bathroom door and emerged. He came face to face with his magnificently dressed wife. She looked down at her toes, and her cheeks glowed a faint pink, like a girl waiting to be asked to dance by a boy at a promenade.
“Uh, very nice. The colour suits you,” Mr. Henderson muttered indistinctly, patting his wife on the shoulder as he walked past her.
She stiffened momentarily, and the soft satin folds of her gown stiffened with her. She said nothing, but continued to stare down at her toes. The pink glow on her cheeks gradually receded, exposing an expanse of gaunt pallor underneath.
Kam Ho trembled. There was a soft pattering in his ears—Mrs. Henderson’s tears hitting the floor.
“Have you invited guests tonight, dear?” Mr. Henderson asked his wife, leaning over the banister and wafting a scent of Lux soap down the stairs.
My dear mother,
Your letter arrived a few days ago. I was very happy to hear that Granny is in good health and my little sister can walk now. There has been fighting all over Europe in the last few years and a lot of men from Gold Mountain have joined up. With no one to work the land, Dad has been able to buy a lot of it cheaply. Mr. Henderson says the war will be over soon and then prices of land and farm products will go up. Dad says that there is a lot we can do with such good land in the future. I have been at the Hendersons’ a year now and still want to go home and help Dad with the farm, but Mrs. Henderson’s health has not got any better. Dad says he owes Mr. Henderson a debt of gratitude for all his help in the past and has told me to stay another year. I have learned to cook and wash and clean around the house and when I am free, Mrs. Henderson teaches me a little English. Please do not worry about me. I am making progress in everything. My brother, Kam Shan, has been here a few times. He lives in Kamloops now, quite a way from Vancouver, and has opened a photographic studio. There are a lot of Redskins living out there and they love having their pictures taken so it is easy to make money. Dad and Kam Shan are still not speaking, but now that all three of us are earning, we will be able to pay back the debts on the diulau sooner. Then we can put money by so you and my sister can come to Gold Mountain and we can all be together.
Most humbly, your son, Kam Ho
Year five of the Republic, the eighth day of the ninth month, Vancouver, British Columbia
According to Mrs. Henderson, this was the coldest of all the ten years she had spent in Canada.
Kam Ho had never worn a hat but this winter he did. It was an old one of Mr. Henderson’s, checked, with a broad brim. Mr. Henderson had a big head, and on Kam Ho, the hat was constantly slipping right down over his eyes and nose so he had to stop and push it back.
One crisp morning, Kam Ho looked out the front door and saw long transparent sticks hanging from the eaves. The morning sunshine glinted feebly off the strange spiral shapes hidden inside them that resembled water weeds. Kam Ho had no idea what icicles were, and he knocked one down with the old broom kept in the front hall, and poked one end into his mouth. The coldness made his jaw drop open, but the ice soon melted on his tongue and the water began to trickle down his throat, stabbing his gullet as it went. He licked his numb lips and found grains of dirt stuck there. He spat the dirt out with a “pah!” and then remembered he had an urgent errand to run.
He had been taking this route once a week for a year by now and knew it well. He knew all the trees on all the corners and the cracks in all the paving stones.
After going out of the Hendersons’ garden gate, it was a short walk to a middling-sized street, just big enough for pedestrians and carriages. Of course, a street this wide in Hoi