Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [255]
Ah-Fat frowned. “Aren’t you going home to retire?” he asked. “I’ve still got family in Vancouver,” Kam Shan said. “What about when Yin Ling comes back?” Ah-Fat’s frown deepened. “But there’s been no news of her for years,” he protested. “You don’t even know if she’s still alive!” Kam Shan swilled his mouth out with tea and spat it on the floor. “Oh, she’s alive all right,” he said confidently. “Like father, like daughter. Yin Ling’s as tough as old boots. When she gets fed up with messing around, she’ll come home.”
Ah-Fat drank his soy milk and put the bowl down. The leftover food was placed in a bag and Ah-Fat picked it up, saying he was heading home. He left Kam Shan to settle the bill.
But he did not go home. Instead, he turned the corner and headed for Canton Street in search of Gold Mountain Cloud.
She was still living in the tiny basement room of the theatre. It had single window no more than a foot square and was so gloomy she had to keep the light on in broad daylight. Ah-Fat knew his way. He went straight down the narrow dark alley and pushed open the door of her room. Gold Mountain Cloud was working on some wool from an old sweater she had unravelled. She had washed it and steamed out the kinks in a wok. Now the yarn was dry and she was winding it into hanks around the back of the chair. This was pure lambswool, bought years ago when she toured Australia, and since she had not worn the sweater much, the wool was still good as new.
The dank chill made Ah-Fat’s teeth chatter and the sweat on the back of his neck evaporated. “This is a rathole,” he said angrily. “It’s not fit for anybody to live in.” “That’s not a very polite way to greet someone,” said Gold Mountain Cloud. Ah-Fat hurriedly turned it into a joke: “Was there ever a rat as fine-looking as you? If there was, I’d have been quite happy to marry it.” “Really!” exclaimed Gold Mountain Cloud. “Just remember to repeat that in front of your son, so you have a witness.” Ah-Fat looked embarrassed and fell silent.
Gold Mountain Cloud took the bag from Ah-Fat’s hand, then measured his waist with a tape, doing sums in her head as she did so. “What are you doing?” asked Ah-Fat. “I’m going to knit you a new vest. The weather’s getting cold, and that vest you’ve got on is full of holes. Not that you’d notice, since they’re all on the back.”
Gold Mountain Cloud was wearing a silver-grey tunic, somewhat worn, with a small darn at the collar, but clean and neat. Her hair was quite grey but still thick. She wore it coiled into a bun, low at the nape of her neck, with a sprig of jasmine stuck in it. When she talked, the fine lines which covered her face rippled outwards in a ready smile.
Ah-Fat stared at her. “What a woman you are.…” he said. “What woman am I?” “You’ve gone from a life of luxury to dire poverty, but you’re still able to make the most of it.” Gold Mountain Cloud laughed. “I’m better off than many people,” she said. “I’ve got food to eat and a roof over my head.” “That’s true,” said Ah-Fat, “and tomorrow I’m going to buy you a coal stove. That little steam heater will never get you through the winter.” Ah-Fat took the snacks out of the bag. “Bring bowls and chopsticks, and we’ll eat them while they’re still warm.” They had just settled down when they heard a puttering sound in the street outside. “It’s gunfire,” said Gold Mountain Cloud. Ah-Fat got up to look and came back saying it was firecrackers. “Firecrackers?” exclaimed Gold Mountain Cloud. “It’s not a holiday!” Ah-Fat stood on tiptoe and craned his neck but all he could see through the tiny window was the corner of the street. A man passed carrying a slender bamboo cane at the top of which were tied a string of firecrackers. They exploded into the air with deafening crackles, and released a shower of red confetti which floated like moths into the sky. Crowds of people erupted into the quiet street from houses and shops.