Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [25]
Red Hair thought a bit more and finally continued: “‘I’m still living at Ah-Sing’s house, and I haven’t been ill. Next time I send a dollar draft back to you, look after it carefully. The streets of Gold Mountain are full of “piglets.” There are too many people and too little work, and when the winter snows come, there’s fuck-all to do. You look after Mum and young Loon at home. And don’t let your sister Six Fingers slack off. Send her out to do lots of work.’”
Ah-Fat laughed at this. “How big’s Six Fingers then? You’re not telling me a child of three can do real work!” “Pah!” Red Hair snorted: “When I was three, I used to go with my dad to catch loaches. Write this for me too, ‘Before I left, Wet Eyes from Bak Chuen village came and borrowed three measures of rice grain. Get a move on and press him to repay it. But he’s a loser with fuck-all to his name, so if you really press him and he doesn’t repay, then wait a bit. That way he won’t go throwing himself in the river or hanging himself. And for Mum’s back pain, there’s a good decoction that’s made in Gold Mountain. Next time someone goes home, they can take some. Brew it up for Mum.’”
“Finished?” asked Ah-Fat. “Yes, yes, I’ve finished!” So Ah-Fat wrote out the letter:
Dear Suk Dak:
I hope that you have no worries at home, and that all the family are at peace. I think of you a great deal. I assume you received the twenty silver dollars which Uncle Kwan Kow from Bak Chuen village took with him for you the last time he returned. I am still living at the same address as before, at ease in body and soul, so do not worry about me. The weather is gradually getting colder and it is not easy to find work, so I hope you are making careful plans for the dollars I send and spending as little as possible. Please take all possible care to look after Mum, our son Loon and Six Fingers. You do not need to press for repayment of the three measures of rice grain owed by Wet Eyes’ family in Bak Chuen village. I have found an excellent prescription for Mum’s back pain and will send some with someone in a few days. I send you my best wishes for a peaceful winter,
Your husband, Red Hair, the nineteenth day of the first month, 1880, Victoria, Canada
Ah-Fat finished writing, sealed the letter and threw down the pen. He put his hand to his mouth and gave an enormous yawn. The storekeeper, Ah-Sing, brought him some tea. “Drink a nice bowl of tea, Ah-Fat,” he said. “And use the rest of the ink to write a letter for me too. It’s been two months since I got my old mum’s letter, and I haven’t replied.” But Ah-Fat flung himself dejectedly down on the bed board without taking off his clothes. “Ask me another day,” he said. “I’m sleepy.” Red Hair swore at the boy as he gathered up the ink stone, quill and paper. “You think you can put on airs just because you know a few characters!” But before the words were out of his mouth, Ah-Fat was asleep and snoring. They all sighed. They were not surprised he was tired: he had left at five o’clock in the morning and had only just got back. He had not yet bought a pair of shoes and the sores on his feet were so deep, you could see the bone through them.
The oil lamp was extinguished and the men lay down. But they could not sleep, and a desultory conversation started up. Someone said that a few days ago a kwai mui, a young White woman, had gone into the opium den at one end of Fan Tan Alley, the street of gambling dens. She was dressed in black, with a black hat and black skirt, and was such a fine-looking woman that she gave the owner a real scare. He had no idea how to address her and could scarcely get a word out. To his surprise, she knew exactly what she was doing. She lay down on the smokers’ couch and, without waiting for anyone to attend her, faced the opium lamp, held the pipe in the palm of one hand and the bodkin in the other, let the opium bubble up, scooped it