Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [259]
Six Fingers clasped her basket over her belly and laughed so hard she was almost bent double. Finally, she composed herself. “Leave the weepy poem,” she said. “Just read me the rest of the letter.”
The remainder was much more straightforward and Mak Dau’s reading speeded up:
Now that I have heard that the Japanese have surrendered, I will get the boat times by tomorrow at the latest, and buy my passage home. Then we can be together. After so many years apart, my heart speeds like an arrow to yours. There is just one thing I need to tell you: I have come to know a woman here called Gold Mountain Cloud and we have enjoyed a deep friendship over the years. Cloud has no family and I cannot bear to leave her behind alone. For this reason (Mak Dau stumbled slightly) I am bringing her with me. I hope you will understand and will treat her as a sister, so that we can all live in … harmony.
When Mak Dau had finished reading, Six Fingers said nothing. Her face looked as taut as cotton stretched on an embroidery frame. Mak Dau tried, and failed, to think of something to say. Finally, he turned to Kam Shan’s letter and began to read.
His hand started to tremble with the words, and the letter fluttered to the ground like a pigeon with a broken wing.
“Well? What does it say?” asked Six Fingers. Mak Dau’s lips trembled but no sound came out. “Oh, spit it out, will you?” she demanded impatiently. “And do stop looking so miserable.”
“Kam Sau’s dad is dead,” said Mak Dau. “It was a stroke. There was nothing they could do.”
Six Fingers screwed up her face. Mak Dau thought she was going to cry, but she did not. Then the muscles gradually relaxed into an expression of calm as complete as water unruffled by any breeze.
Mak Dau was panic-stricken. He tugged her sleeve. “Cry,” he urged her. “It’ll make you feel better.”
She turned to him but her eyes looked right through him and focused on somewhere far in the distance.
“He was an old man. His time had come,” she finally murmured.
Year thirty-five of the Republic (1946)
Vancouver, British Columbia
As thirty-six exhausted but excited troops stepped on shore, they were met by deafening cheers and the welcoming notes of the military band. This was yet another group of soldiers returning home to their families, but with one difference; every single soldier was Chinese. These young men have returned from secret missions against the Japanese in the jungles of India, Burma and Malaya. Observe their uniforms covered in the dust of foreign soil and their faces and hands burned dark by the tropical sun. They accepted their mission with the knowledge that their chances of a safe return were slim. And although America’s atomic bombs put a stop to the war before they could begin their operation, they nevertheless received a hero’s welcome home today, just like any other troops returning from the battlefront in Europe. This is the first-ever occasion on which the citizens of Vancouver have accepted these young people as their own. As well they should. These Chinese soldiers volunteered to fight under the Canadian flag on the battle fronts of Europe and Asia but are still not permitted to take Canadian citizenship. These men, who have fulfilled every duty owed to their country by its citizens, will soon be in Ottawa, demanding those long-withheld rights and a repeal of the 1923 Exclusion Act.
The Vancouver Sun, 15 December 1945 After lunch, Kam Shan began to rifle through cases and cupboards for something to wear. He owned only one Western-style suit, one he had bought thirty years ago when he was running the photographic studio in Port Hope.
He found it at the bottom of a camphorwood chest and, when he took it out, the smell of old mothballs nearly made him sneeze. He used a dampened handkerchief to smooth out the creases in the suit but they were stubborn. He rubbed so hard the dye in the fabric came off on the handkerchief and he had to give up. It was something of a battle to get his arms into the jacket sleeves after all these years; he won, but the