Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [261]
The soldiers formed up and set off down the street, with Kam Shan bringing up the rear. They marched smartly in unison, the rhythm of their feet as regular as someone scything grass for pig fodder.
The street was the water and they were the ship. The water parted at the ship’s approach. Right around the ship, it was especially turbulent. People wound down their car windows and tooted their horns, and passersby applauded as they marched.
Kam Shan was aware that the car horns and the applause were intended for the eleven men who marched in front of him. He was but a shadow following behind; his footsteps were out of kilter with their steady strides.
It was getting dark, and one by one the lights of Granville Street flickered on. There was no mistaking the neon illuminations of the Orpheum Theatre. It was a moon to the streetlights’ stars and outshone them all. Tonight’s film was spelled out in hundreds of bulbs: Lady Luck. Kam Shan had no idea what it was about, or who the lead actors were. He didn’t even care. All he wanted to do this evening was go in and sit down.
The queue for the box office stretched down the street. The war had shattered the old, familiar world, but even when the planes were flying low over Hollywood producers’ heads, you could not keep them quiet. They made films full of froth and fantasy to persuade people that nothing in the world had changed. Just so long as Hollywood was not bombed, the Orpheum Theatre could count on doing good business.
Kam Shan had heard all about the Orpheum Theatre from his brother, Kam Ho.
Many years ago, when Kam Ho was still a houseboy at the Hendersons’, they had taken him there. It was a proper theatre in those days, putting on top-class orchestral concerts and musicals. Kam Ho could not remember what the orchestra was playing that day, what he did remember was being in a rage the whole evening.
When the three of them arrived at the entrance, they were stopped by a doorman in a maroon uniform.
“Chinese are only allowed in side seats,” the man said in low tones to the Hendersons.
He did not even glance at Kam Ho.
The eleven soldiers and Kam Shan fell into place at the end of the ticket queue—but they did not stay there long. With exclamations of surprise, the people in the queue gave way before them and closed in behind. They were waved along with invitations to “Go right on in, please!” Before they realized what was happening, they were standing at the box office.
All except Kam Shan. He was spat out into the queue again like a plumstone when the fruit has been eaten. It was, he knew, because he was not in uniform.
It was not until they were already inside the building with their tickets that they realized that Kam Shan had been left behind.
Kam Shan stood for a long time as the queue snaked forward, the big bag in his arms. Finally, he got to the front. He pulled out a dollar bill and gave it to the cashier. “Give me the best seat, in the middle,” he ordered. The man shot him a look, and pushed out his ticket and thirty cents’ change. Kam Shan took the ticket and left the change. “You have it. As a tip,” he said. He smiled at his look of astonishment and the smile lingered on his face all the way to the auditorium.
A man in a black suit and tie stepped out from the shadows and barred Kam Shan’s way. He stretched out his hand but did not touch him, merely appearing to guide him to the side door.
“This way please.…”
Kam Shan felt his head spin. He searched in the recesses of his memory for words to suit the occasion. The much-used “Sorry” came to his lips but he swallowed it back. Instead he said “Never.” It was a word he had not used in his life before and did not slide smoothly off his tongue. In fact, he was so unused to it, he did not know