Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [185]
“You’ll be a granny in no time at all, Missus,” said Mak Dau. “But to me you still look as young as a new bride.” Six Fingers gave a little snort. “You’ll have wasps sticking to that honeyed tongue of yours if you don’t look out! And don’t you dare make fun of me!” Mak Dau felt so aggrieved that the veins bulged on his forehead. “Oh no, Missus!” he exclaimed. “I’d never be so bold as to make fun of you. It’s really true—you haven’t changed. You look just the same as when I first entered the household.” Six Fingers’ eyes had a faraway look in them: “I made the bridegroom’s shoes for Ah-Yuet to give you. It seems like just yesterday. But look how big the kids are now. In all this time, of course I’ve changed.”
There was a loud knocking from the ceiling above—Mrs. Mak’s walking stick, signalling to Six Fingers that she wanted to come downstairs. “I’ll come and carry you down, Mum,” she shouted. But as the tempting smell of dumplings wafted up the stairs, the old woman became impatient. “All that wealth my son’s earned,” she wailed fretfully, “and I haven’t even had a bite. You’d rather feed the rats than me.”
“What a way for the old Missus to talk to you, Missus,” Mak Dau said disapprovingly. “It sets a bad example to the servants.” Six Fingers only smiled. “She gets confused sometimes. But sometimes she’s as bright as a button.” “Then let me carry her,” said Mak Dau. “She’s too heavy for you.”
“No, I can carry her. She’s as light as a feather nowadays.” Mak Dau sighed.
“You have such a lot on your shoulders, Missus. I’m just a rough sort and I can only do heavy work, but do let me help you out in any way I can.” Six Fingers was touched, and did not trust herself to speak for a few moments. Then she said: “The thing is, I’m the only one she’ll let carry her.” Mak Dau gave one of his dazzling smiles. “Just watch how I do it then,” he said and stomped off up the stairs.
After a moment, there was more stomping, heavier this time, as he came downstairs again with Mrs. Mak on his back.
Six Fingers fetched a wicker chair for Mrs. Mak to sit on. The dumplings were ready, and the old woman sniffed: “You didn’t put enough ash into the water.” Six Fingers smiled: “No one’s got a nose sharper than you, Mum.” She got out a large dish and a small dish. “Ah-Yuet, put two of each flavour into the big dish, nice neatly made ones. And one of each flavour into the small dish.” The larger portion was an offering to the ancestors, the smaller one was for Kam Sau’s great-aunt upstairs. She was a widow now. The great-uncle had died a year ago and she shared her rooms with her son and his wife, as her daughters had married and left home. After the old man’s death, she began to suffer from heart trouble and was too frail to come downstairs.
Ah-Yuet was ladling oil into the large bowl when her hand slipped. The bowl dropped with a crash to the floor. It was a porcelain offerings dish which Ah-Fat’s father had bought in an antique shop in Canton when he became rich overnight—it had been in the family for a long time. There was an appalled silence in the room. Mak Dau smacked his wife across the face. “I’ve never seen a clumsier woman than you!” he raged. “You’ve been with the Missus all these years, and you still haven’t got any better!”
Mak Dau often corrected Ah-Yuet but only behind closed doors. She had never before been disgraced like this in front of the rest of the household. Mutely, she held her hand to her cheek and her lips trembled like leaves. Six Fingers frowned at Mak Dau. “It doesn’t matter how clever you are, you should never hit your wife in front of the old Missus.” At that, Ah-Yuet burst into noisy tears.