Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [184]
Six Fingers was burning sagebrush to fumigate the house. When she reached the passageway, she came upon Mak Dau cleaning a revolver he had purchased from a local militiaman a few weeks ago. He was sitting on the floor, having placed it on the stool. When Kam Ho’s last dollar letter arrived, Six Fingers gave half to Mak Dau to buy it. Mak Dau said it was lightweight and convenient, and could be tucked discreetly into his waistband on long journeys. Six Fingers was a thrifty woman but she did not mind spending money on guns, since her husband and sons were away. A household without men looked weak and defenceless and a defenceless house was a target for robbers. The guns were her defence. This revolver was the third they had bought; the other two were shotguns.
“When you’ve bought it, wrap it in red silk and lay it on top of the box. We’ll celebrate its arrival with firecrackers,” ordered Six Fingers. Although she was keen to avoid attracting unwelcome attention to the family’s wealth, she was perfectly happy to show off the acquisition of a new weapon.
“You put it back together exactly the way you take it apart,” Mak Dau instructed his son. “Anyone can take a gun apart but you have to have good head on your shoulders to be able to put it back together.”
“Why ever are you teaching things like that to such a little kid?” Six Fingers scolded him.
Mak Dau chuckled. “It’s a wicked world,” he said. “Anything a boy can learn about defending himself is going to come in useful.”
Six Fingers squatted down with them. “What new subjects are you going to study when you go up into the next grade?” she asked Ah-Yuen. The boy coughed and spluttered from the sagebrush smoke. He took handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose before answering: “Nature, geography and music, and we’ll carry on doing Chinese, math, English and history like before.” Six Fingers looked at the boy approvingly. “He wipes his nose on his handkerchief,” she said to Mak Dau, “not on his sleeve the way you do.” “We’ll be doing etiquette too,” Ah-Yuen piped up. “What to wear, and how to eat and behave, and we’ll get marked on it too.”
Mak Dau tapped his son on the head. “An empty kettle makes the most noise,” he admonished him. “You don’t want the Missus laughing at you.” Six Fingers threw down the brushwood. She began to comb Ah-Yuen’s hair with her fingers, lost in thought.
Mak Dau knew she was missing her own sons. He checked there was no one around before lowering his voice and asking: “Have there been any letters?” She shook her head. “Not since last New Year. That’s more than twelve months. Not a single one. Has something happened that they’re keeping from me?”
“What about the two young masters? Why don’t they write?” “You know what a temper he’s got,” said Six Fingers. “Both the boys are afraid of him. Neither of them would dare write and tell me if he doesn’t want them to. Kam Ho has written, but just to say that Kam Shan is back in Vancouver and has moved in with his dad.”
“Don’t worry, Missus,” said Mak Dau. “The dollar letters keep coming. I’m sure nothing’s happened to the master. You must miss the boys, though … one gone twelve years, the other seven years. I miss them too.”
Six Fingers bent her head and tears fell on her shoes. With sole responsibility for a substantial household, she could never let herself go in front of the servants. She knew how easy it was to appear weak before