Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [61]
The man helped her back up and greeted her politely with hands pressed together. “Your husband was my father’s cousin, Auntie,” he said. “He was like an uncle to me.” From the front opening of his gown, he extracted two small paper packets and gave them to her. “Something foreign for you, Auntie, from Gold Mountain.”
Auntie Cheung Tai wiped the corners of her gummy eyes with her sleeve, making it wet. “Ah-Fat, are you really back? Oh, look at your face.… Well, at least you’re alive. Do you have any news of your uncle Cheung Tai?” Ah-Fat shook his head. “No. I went to the Chinese Benevolent Association, but they didn’t have anyone of that name on their lists. He went to Gold Mountain so long ago, maybe they didn’t have lists back then.” “The year before last, two men from Sai Village came home,” she said. “They said they’d seen someone the spitting image of uncle Cheung Tai in Fan Tan Alley, with a Redskin woman.” “They must have been mistaken,” said Ah-Fat. “If he was still alive in Gold Mountain, surely he would have been in touch with you, Auntie.” She clamped her mouth shut and was silent. Finally, she said icily: “It makes no difference who he was with. The marriage documents were exchanged with me.”
Her lower jaw trembled so hard that her teeth chattered. Ah-Fat could think of nothing to say to comfort her. Uncle Cheung Tai must have gone a long time ago. If he was still alive, he would at least have come back to pay his respects to his ancestors. But Ah-Fat could not think which was worse—the old man dying or marrying another woman. So he bit back the platitudes that had been about to trip off his tongue.
Auntie Cheung Tai held the two packets to her nose and sniffed, then sneezed. “Whatever’s that strange smell?” she asked. “How do I get my teeth into that?” Ah-Fat burst out laughing. “It’s not to eat. It’s soap to wash your face with. Once you’ve washed, you’ll smell nice all day.” She laughed too: “Who’s going to smell this old woman’s fragrance? This is for a young woman.” Ah-Fat hesitated then said: “Auntie, if you really think it has an odd smell, why not give it to Six Fingers? If you can smell it on her, that’s as good as if you were using it yourself.” Auntie Cheung Tai shouted for Six Fingers to bring some tea for the guest. Ah-Fat heard an indistinct murmur of response but there was no movement. He glanced towards the back door and saw Six Fingers standing under the overhanging eaves, feeding the pigs. There were three of them, two white and one spotted. They were still young, and pressed around Six Fingers’ trouser legs eagerly, squealing for food. Six Fingers splashed some pig swill into the trough with a ladle, but it was too thin for the piglets’ liking. They nuzzled the liquid and then left it. Six Fingers got a bunch of dried grass and mixed it into the feed with a piece of wood, then whacked the piglets on their rumps by way of encouragement. The squeals quietened and turned into chomping sounds. Six Fingers had on a cotton tunic today, loose-fitting with wide sleeves, buttoned slantwise across the front, and decorated with piping round the edges. It had faded almost white probably through repeated washing. It also concealed all her curves, until she bent over—then the hem at the back rode up, revealing sturdy round buttocks under her trousers.
When Six Fingers finished feeding the piglets, she went into the kitchen. They could hear her applying the bellows to the stove. The tea was ready almost before the smell of burning grass and twigs reached their nostrils, and Six Fingers brought in a tray with a bowl for Auntie Cheung Tai and