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By Root 1208 0

and the men were playing cards in intense silence. They had no table, so two bedrolls, one on top of the other, served as a card table. The floor was littered with empty liquor bottles. Back when he lived at Ah-Sing’s store, Ah-Sing had told him that the yeung fan drank something with a strange name, “wee-skee,” and a peculiar smell. Now that Ah-Fat could smell it for himself, he thought it had a smell like mouldy cloth shoes. It tickled right inside his nostrils and nearly made him sneeze. It was still early in the morning, and the sun had only just started to brighten the tops of the trees. But the foremen had already drunk enough to turn the tips of their noses bulbous and red, and the sleeping mats were not rolled out. Ah-Fat guessed they had been up all night drinking. He knew that camp rules prohibited alcohol, so it was odd that they were flouting them today. Then his foreman brought the fanned cards in his hand together with a swish and waved at the record-keeper to get out. The record-keeper and Ah-Fat were both startled—the foreman normally communicated through the record-keeper and had never spoken directly to a navvy before.

The record-keeper made a respectful bow and exited through the tent flap, leaving Ah-Fat alone. The three foremen finished their card game. Ah-Fat’s boss appeared to have lost—he grimaced and frowned grimly. Then he stood up, brought a sack out from a corner of the tent and said something. His face formed complicated creases as he spoke and Ah-Fat was puzzled. Were they an expression of annoyance or of sadness? But he had worked for almost five years with this foreman and, if the man spoke slowly, Ah-Fat could understand about half of what he said without needing the record-keeper’s help.

“This is for you.”

Ah-Fat undid the twine tied around the sack and opened it. It held crispy rice cakes. Ever since the time when the team nearly died from starvation, food supplies consisted mostly of rice sheets imported from Hong Kong, with only small amounts of loose rice. The rice was cooked in a dry wok till crispy on the bottom, then compressed and cut into sheets a foot square. Once they were dried out, they were much lighter than rice so the supply teams could bring more supplies in one trip. Plus the rice in the rice sheets was already cooked and, at a pinch, could be eaten without further cooking. Once the men had pitched camp, the sheets could also be soaked in water and boiled up into rice or rice porridge.

Ah-Fat reckoned at a rough glance that the sack held about a hundred sheets. Generally, the supply teams would hand over supplies to the cook in each work team. They had never given them directly to the navvies. Ah-Fat thought he must have heard wrong. He pointed to the sack and then to himself. “Give … me?”

The foreman nodded. “The railroad’s soon going to be finished. We’re letting you all go. Understand? Let go. I mean…” The foreman flapped his hands dismissively and Ah-Fat suddenly understood.

“What time?”

“Now.”

The saddled horses, the card table, the liquor. Ah-Fat’s head was spinning but all these disparate fragments gradually began to make up complete picture. Like a thunderbolt, the realization came to him that all the men in the camp were being abandoned in the wilderness.

“This … each person?” he asked, pointing at the sack.

“No, just you.” The foreman pointed at Ah-Fat’s chest.

“Contract, contract…” Ah-Fat was trying to say, “What about the compensation stipulated in the contract?” but his English was not up to it. All he could do was repeat the word “contract.”

The foreman understood anyway. He started to speak, but the only words that came out were a repeated “Sorry, sorry.”

Ah-Fat ran out of the tent and said to the record-keeper, who was standing at the entrance: “Call the men, all of them, quick!”

The record-keeper looked at the foreman who had followed Ah-Fat out and dared not move.

“You afraid of that dickhead? They’re trying to dismiss us on the spot! If you don’t go, the whole camp will starve. Quick!” Ah-Fat gave the record-keeper a savage kick and the