Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [215]
Six Fingers sat down on Kam Sau’s bed and rubbed her daughter’s feet. “You don’t get enough good food at the school,” she said. “You’re getting skinny.” The truth was that Kam Sau, at seventeen, was just like a younger version of Kam Shan. She was stocky and strong, and had never had a day’s sickness in her life. But Six Fingers could not help being protective.
Six Fingers flicked through the book Kam Sau was reading, The Guide. She looked at the page Kam Sau had marked and saw words like “imperialists … feudal comprador class … helping the warlords … suppressing the people’s revolution.” Six Fingers was none the wiser. The books her daughter read were nothing like the ones she had read as a child. She knew every word, but they made no sense to her. “Does ‘imperialists’ mean the foreigners?” she asked.
Kam Sau did not answer. Instead she said: “Mum, didn’t you hear about the British and the French machine-gunning Chinese in the Shamin Concession a few years ago?” “Of course I remember,” said Six Fingers. “So many were killed.” “But, Mum, do you know why they died?” Six Fingers shook her head. “It started with the Japanese killing textile workers in Shanghai,” said her daughter. “Then the people of Shanghai rose up in protest, and the British killed thirteen of them. The people of Hong Kong and Canton were supporting the workers from Shanghai when they got shot. The Japanese and the Westerners are all law-abiding in their own countries, but as soon as they get here, they think they can do whatever they like.”
Six Fingers sighed. “Poverty is to blame—a poor country like ours doesn’t stand a chance against the world powers. It’s always the poor and the weak at the bottom of the heap that get kicked.” “Poverty is not the problem,” said Kam Sau. “It’s ignorance. That’s why I want to set up the school. When everyone goes to school, they’ll wake up and won’t let these foreigners ride roughshod over us.” “But if it wasn’t for the foreigners, how would your father and brothers earn enough to buy all the land we’ve got and build a house like this?” Six Fingers objected. Her daughter’s eyebrows shot up and her voice rose in indignation: “If it wasn’t for dad and his friends risking their lives building that railroad, Gold Mountain would still be a wilderness!”
Six Fingers could not help laughing ruefully. “And how did you get so much knowledge into that little head of yours?” “Mr. Auyung told me. He knows everything.” Mr. Auyung Yuk Shan taught Chinese and was greatly admired and respected by Kam Sau, Ah-Yuen and the other students whom he taught. “When your father was young, he knew a Mr. Auyung Ming. He knew everything too. I wonder if it’s the same family,” said Six Fingers.
As they talked, it gradually grew light and the cocks started to crow. “Are you hungry?” Six Fingers asked. Kam Sau shook her head. “Just wait till I’ve heated the braised pigs’ trotters in ginger,” said her mother. “Then you’ll be hungry.” At the mention of pigs’ trotters in ginger, Kam Sau’s appetite was suddenly whetted, making her mouth water and her stomach rumble in anticipation. She got out of bed and looked out the window. In the courtyard outside, she saw an older man and a younger one seated on stools by the well cleaning the family’s guns. It was Mak Dau and his son, Ah-Yuen.
Mak Dau was a gun fanatic and was always urging Six Fingers to buy more. They were expensive but Six Fingers, a thrifty woman in everything else, did not bat an eyelid when it came to guns. They had started with an antiquated rifle, then added a carbine rifle and a revolver. Two months ago, Mak Dau purchased a Browning. Now they had two long-barrelled guns and two pistols.
Mak Dau spent every spare moment cleaning and polishing