Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [262]
He began to stammer an apology. After thirty years in the country, he still spoke broken English and in moments of stress it went completely to pieces. There was nothing for it but to pull the wooden box out of his bag. The usher could not understand his English but he immediately understood the significance of the engraved box:
Private Jimmy Fong (1900–1945)
Died on French soil in the cause of freedom
The usher looked taken aback, skeptical and hesitant by turns, but his expression finally resolved itself into a friendly smile.
“Come with me,” he said.
By the time Kam Shan had settled in his seat, the lights were dimming and the film was about to begin. Before it went completely dark, he caught a glimpse of the great round dome of the auditorium above, with its host of winged cherubs and the dazzling chandelier that hung from its centre, brighter than all the stars in the sky.
“Kam Ho, you’re finally in the best seats,” he said to the box in his hands.
The box contained a uniform and a military cap.
Year thirty-eight of the Republic (1949)
Hoi Ping County, Guangdong Province, China
Today in Canton Ah-Yuen had come close to losing his life.
The Progressive Teachers’ League had called a meeting of members from each county, to prepare to celebrate the Liberation. He and a teacher from Pak Sha had left the meeting to buy fried rice with snails for everyone’s dinner. As they walked along the road by the river, they heard a deafening boom. Ah-Yuen felt as if someone had cracked him over the head with a stick. When he regained consciousness, he put his hand to his forehead. It came away sticky with blood. He looked up. Only half of Hoi Chu Bridge was still standing, the other half was submerged in the water, stained blood red by the rays of the setting sun. A cluster of wooden boats moored under the bridge had been crushed like matchsticks. Brightly coloured rags hung from the branches of the overhanging trees; as he went closer he saw they were human limbs and articles of clothing. The air was filled with the despairing cries of the wounded.
The locals reckoned that the Nationalists knew they had lost, so they blew up Hoi Chu Bridge to stop the Peoples Liberation Army troops from pursuing them.
He was excited at the news; his heart leapt and his head wound began to pulse with pain. The Peoples’ Liberation Army was very close. There had been constant rumours that the PLA was soon to enter Canton, but no one thought it would happen so quickly. He forgot about getting his wound dressed or about the fried rice. He even forgot to look for his colleague from Pak Sha. He rushed back to tell the other League members the news. It was only when he arrived that he realized he was barefoot. He had no idea when or where he had lost his shoes.
It was midnight by the time his head was bandaged and he had eaten his dinner. He went to bed but he could not sleep. Then he heard on the radio that Canton was liberated. Throwing back the covers, he ran outside. PLA soldiers thronged the whole city, even down to the side streets and alleyways. They had arrived quite silently, as if they had drifted in on sandstorm.
Ah-Yuen stood in the street staring at soldiers who lined the walls fast asleep. Their faces were thin and waxen in the glow of the street lamps, and they looked as if they had not had a decent meal or a good night’s sleep for a very long time. They were equipped with an assortment of puttees and belts, some new, some old, all of different colours, as if they had collected them randomly from the battlefield. But every face bore a smile, as if they were enjoying the same sweet dream. The soldier nearest him was just boy, smooth-cheeked and with a little drool running from the corner of his mouth. If his Wai Kwok had lived, he would have been the same age.
Ah-Yuen stood under the street lamps for a long time, unable to tear himself away. He thought back to the evening when Mr. Auyung left. If he had gone with him, he might have been among these