Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [21]
The ship had been docked for hours, but still they could not disembark. A rumour circulated that they were waiting for someone. Eventually, three people turned up. They were dressed in white garments, with white gloves, and wore squares of white cloth over their mouths. The masks covered more than half of their faces. Only their eyes were visible, sunk deeply into their sockets. Ah-Fat had seen Christian missionaries with eyes like these men in his hometown so their appearance did not strike him as particularly strange.
The three men divided up the crowd on the deck into two rows and ordered them all to stand straight, side by side, with their hands palm up, face to face and eye to eye with the man opposite. Red Hair shot meaningful glance at Ah-Fat, which he knew meant that he must remember to say he was eighteen years old to anyone who asked him a question. But no one asked him any questions. Instead, the shortest of the three made straight for Ah-Fat and, opening a small leather bag, took out a variety of shiny bright metal objects. His eyes were of an intense grey-blue, like “goose egg” pebble on a stream bed worn smooth over time by the waters. Shorty gripped Ah-Fat’s ear and thrust a long, icy-cold implement into it. He twizzled it around a few times as if he was stirring up night soil, then took it out. It tickled and shivers ran through Ah-Fat. Then the man pulled his eyelids up and leaned in close to peer into his eyes. They were eye to eye, and Ah-Fat could see his irises glimmering blue like two will-o’-thewisps. He finally let go but forgot to pull the lids down, and Ah-Fat had to force himself to blink a few times. They still prickled, as if a grain of sand had stuck inside, and the tears began to run.
Shorty pried open his mouth, and pressed down on the root of his tongue with a stick. Ah-Fat retched and his mouth flooded with brownish saliva. He spat it out, but his mouth still tasted foul.
The man pulled out a piece of cotton cloth and rubbed at the droplets of saliva which flecked his sleeve. Then he pulled off Ah-Fat’s jacket and pinched and tapped his chest and stomach. Ah-Fat had always been ticklish. When he was little and fought with Ah-Sin, his younger brother only had to get up close and puff a few breaths at him to reduce Ah-Fat to weak, helpless laughter. This time, of course, Ah-Fat did not dare to laugh; he just kept shrinking backward, until he had gone as stiff as a turtle. The man put his snowy-white head right in the middle of Ah-Fat’s chest. His hair was very sparse and he had a pink bald patch on the crown of his head with a black mole in the middle of it, like a woman’s nipple. Ah-Fat tried so hard not to laugh that he began to quiver violently all over.
When Shorty had finished tapping his belly, he turned Ah-Fat around, made him stand against the wall and undid Ah-Fat’s trouser string. Ah-Fat did not resist and his trousers slipped down onto the deck, revealing bare legs as skinny as sticks. Shorty pulled his buttocks apart and peered between them, and then he loosely pulled the trousers up and gave them back. Before Ah-Fat could tighten his belt, the man turned him around to face him and, reaching inside, fished out the wrinkly thing which hung between his legs. He laid it in the palm of his hand and turned it this way and that, inspecting it. The skin of Shorty’s hand was silky