Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [220]
With no men in the house, the women let their hair down, drinking two bottles of Shaoxing rice wine between them. Cat Eyes’ face was flushed deep pink. She improvised a posy of flowers for her hair out of her folded apron, and launched with gusto into the opera aria “Peach Blossom Red,” making “orchid finger” gestures with her hands. Yin Ling was astonished that her mother could sing so beautifully. She never uttered a sound when Granddad put his Cantonese opera record on. Cat Eyes sang herself hoarse. Then the women sat down to play mahjong. Cat Eyes was on a winning streak that day and she swept the board. At the end, she tied her winnings into a handkerchief and sent her daughter out to buy snacks for her friends to eat. To Yin Ling, her mother had seemed like a flower squashed under a boulder, bursting irrepressibly forth as the sun’s rays touched it.
But Yin Ling never saw her mother laugh like that again.
When her mother’s expression relaxed, and she sat down, she was good-looking woman. But she did not get a chance to sit down often. She was on her feet all day at the restaurant, and over the years had developed an unattractive slouch, making her look old and droopy.
Yin Ling noticed that her mother had changed into something different this evening. Normally when she was at home, she wore a grey cotton tunic buttoned down the front. She had two of these, so when she had one on, the other hung on the clothesline. But today she wore a green dress with dark-coloured flowers, and her waved hair was tucked neatly behind her ears and fastened on one side with a silver hair clip. It must mean she was going out tonight. And that could mean one of two things, either she was happy or she was depressed. Yin Ling watched her mother scooping the last grains of rice from her bowl. Finally she took the plunge.
“Mum, I want a new coat,” she muttered into her bowl.
The words seemed to bounce off the sides of the bowl, scaring her with their mighty echoes.
Her mother looked as taken aback as if Yin Ling had asked her for a mountain of gold or silver. She shot her a hard look and Yin Ling felt herself shrink like a snowman in sunshine.
“And I’d like a mink coat. Are you going to give me the money?” Cat Eyes finally said coldly.
“Why not have a look in the Christmas sales?” said Kam Shan, his head buried in his bowl as well. It was not clear whether he meant Yin Ling’s coat or her mother’s mink.
Cat Eyes put down her bowl. “Did you hear that, Yin Ling? Come Christmastime, you just need to ask your father for the money.”
Yin Ling knew there was absolutely no hope. She would have to wear that old overcoat to Miss Watson’s etiquette class for the whole winter and sit in front of Johnny, who would eye her shiny worn coat cuffs and mutter: “She’s just another Chink, they never change!”
Yin Ling felt her eyes burn. She had to leave the table this instant or tears of disappointment would start to roll down her face. She put down her bowl and chopsticks and flew up the stairs to her room.
She turned on the bedside light, a twelve-watt bulb which threw a tiny circle of yellow light into the darkness of the room. To save on electricity, they used these dim bulbs in every room. Yin Ling sat down. Do I really want to spend the rest of my life in a house like this? she wondered to herself. How long was a lifetime? Was it as long as the Fraser River, or ten times longer? A hundred? Would a thousand do it?
Yin Ling felt utterly dejected.
Money, money, money. Everyone in the house was busy doing sums with her mother’s paycheque. Everyone kept their sums a closely guarded secret, but none of them included her in their calculations.
Yin Ling heard footsteps on the stairs. She hurriedly turned out the light, lay down and