Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [190]
He was too late to prepare Mrs. Henderson’s breakfast.
Mrs. Henderson. The name made his heart thump, and memories of the night before came flooding back. That dream. It was just a fantasy, wasn’t it? He comforted himself with the thought that he had been having very strange dreams lately. But when he threw back the covers, he found a stain about the size of a Buddha’s hand. He traced its soft edges with finger. It was still wet. He slumped down onto the bed, his heart in his mouth.
It was no dream. It had happened.
He sat on the edge of the bed. The moments passed. When he could not sit there any longer, he got to his feet and, as he did so, he saw the corner of something sticking out from under the pillow. A piece of paper. On it, the crowned head of the old English Queen.
A five-dollar bill.
It seemed to burn his hand, raising a blister on his palm.
He dressed and quickly packed his belongings. There wasn’t much— three or four outfits, a pair of shoes and some letters from his mother. He still had his old bag, faded with washing. He put everything into it, tied it shut and slung it over his shoulder. How small it was.
He did not know who his next employer would be, or where his next meal would come from. He was even less certain how he was going to tell his father. But he could work that out as he went along. The most important thing was to leave without delay.
He had just stepped out of his room when he heard Jenny give a shrill wail: “Mummy!”
He threw down the bag and flew back up the stairs. Mrs. Henderson was lying on her back in the bath, her hand dangling over the edge, a fat, red worm crawling across her wrist. Kam Ho was rooted to the spot in horror. He peered at the floor. A crimson pool was spreading across it.
Mrs. Henderson’s blood.
Kam Ho tore up his shirt and tied the strips tightly round Mrs. Henderson’s wrist.
“Why? Why?”
Mrs. Henderson’s eyes were shut as if in sleep. Her nightgown ballooned in the water; the butterflies’ wings were soaked through and floated lifelessly on the surface.
“Are you trying to frighten me to death?”
Kam Ho was not aware that he was crying. But he felt something scouring his cheeks as painfully as a caustic burn.
Mrs. Henderson opened unseeing eyes, then shut them again.
“I know you want to go. You, Jenny, and him too. You’ll all leave and I’ll be left alone,” she murmured.
He tried to get her to sit up, gripping her wrist with its improvised bandage with one hand, and holding her by the nape of her neck with the other. But she stiffened up and gave him no help at all. His clothes were soon soaked and the water slopped over the edge of the bathtub, making puddles on the floor.
“If you sit up and let me call Dr. Walsh, I swear to God I won’t leave,” he said.
As Kam Ho walked down the street, he admired the sky overhead—it was a beautiful blue. He had not been outdoors for a month. Since Mrs. Henderson had returned from hospital, her health had declined even further. She would not let him out of her sight. Today he had finally been granted a day off to go home. Unbeknownst to him, summer was already upon them. The lilacs had come and gone, and so had the cherry, apple and pear blossoms. All along the branches of the trees which lined the street, tiny green fruits had set, looking as if they might leak drops of acid. Crows cawed as they flew overhead, but he was used to them now. They were so common here that if they really were birds of ill omen as folks said back home, disaster would befall all the inhabitants of Gold Mountain. Disaster would not single him out. Nothing was going to dampen his spirits today.
Kam Ho had one hand in his pocket, tightly clutching a heavy cloth bag. Through the thin fabric, the banknotes seemed to stick out tiny tongues which licked his palm eagerly. He had counted and recounted them. He remembered how he acquired each one. The ten-dollar bill on which someone had scrawled an obscenity was from his first wages. The five-dollar bill with a bit of one corner