Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [239]
Six days before Christmas, the list of war dead arrived in Red Deer. Five families had lost their sons to the war in Europe. Christmas that year was a cheerless affair. All down the street, Christmas trees were hung with yellow silk flowers. Carols sounded like dirges for dead loved ones. Not even the Goldpanner could brazen it out and, bowing to pressure, declared that no alcohol would be served on Christmas Day in memory of the fallen.
As she walked towards the tavern, Yin Ling could see the yellow flowers hanging from the door. For some reason it reminded her of her uncle Kam Ho, serving in France. She wondered if her family had had news of him. Her father and grandfather must have been waiting anxiously for the postman’s visit every day.
For as long as she could remember, her uncle had worked for the Hendersons. He came home once a week, arriving late on Saturday evening and setting off first thing on Monday morning. Every Saturday her grandfather would urge her father to get the dinner ready early for him. Her uncle Kam Ho was a man of few words, even when he was drinking. As they ate dinner, her grandfather would ask after the Hendersons, but for every three questions he asked, he got a single perfunctory response. One Chinese New Year, Kam Ho had put Yin Ling on his shoulders and taken her to Chinatown to buy firecrackers. Her grandfather rushed after them, shouting: “Put her down, Kam Ho! If you carry a girl up near your head, it’ll make your luck run out.” Kam Ho just laughed: “But Yin Ling is my lucky star,” he said. “And if she pees, better still. It’ll wash my bad luck away.”
Yin Ling followed Johnny into the Goldpanner where the rest of the staff were busy arranging the tables and sweeping the floor. Fewer and fewer customers came to drink at the tavern these days, so business was poor. Johnny took his guitar out of its bag and began to tune it. Yin Ling sat in the corridor to the kitchen putting on her work overalls. She turned her head and saw Johnny talking to the owner. The owner appeared to be smiling pleasantly, but Johnny was baring his teeth in a strange grimace. Yin Ling was trying to overhear their conversation when suddenly a small hand twisted her gut and a foul liquid flooded her mouth. Before she could bend forward, she had vomited her lunchtime shrimp noodles on her overalls. She had bought the noodles downstairs from their lodging in the Wen Ah Tsun Store. Maybe the shrimp had gone off.
Yin Ling ran to the washroom and was just cleaning up her clothes and shoes, when the little hand began churning her guts again. By this time, her stomach was empty and she had nothing left to vomit except yellow bile. She retched and retched, and finally felt better. Maybe Johnny was right when he said that you never got decent, fresh food from “Chink” shops.
She started making sandwiches in the kitchen. There were so few customers that she did not dare make many. By the time she had finished, her stomach was growling with hunger. She nibbled a corner of a sandwich but it was tasteless and she put it back. Then she heard familiar guitar chords from the front of the house and Johnny began to sing. He sang the songs he always did but today they lacked their usual gutsiness.
Before the last Chinese New Year her grandfather had looked at predictions for the coming year and said they were not propitious. Families should batten down the hatches and not make any changes. He was right. This year really had been a bumpy road full of disasters, tears and grief. It had sapped Johnny’s normally ebullient spirits. Happily, there were only three more days to go till the new year. Yin Ling was excited about what the new year might bring.
When they left work to go home, a thick, wet blanket of snow was falling. The flakes blew horizontally into their faces. It was a struggle to get along in the teeth of the wind, and Yin Ling forgot to ask about Johnny’s conversation with the owner. It was only when they were in bed that