Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [96]
When they had put the shutters up, Ah-Fat and Ah-Lam spruced themselves up and changed into the long gowns and mandarin jackets that normally only came out for New Year. They walked to the Vancouver Hotel through the darkening streets, their blue cloth shoes kicking up fine dust which bore the faint smell of new grass, feeling an excitement which gradually rose to fever pitch.
They arrived in good time at the hotel. At the door, Ah-Fat saw a familiar face—familiar yet strange, as if the man had changed out of his usual clothes and did not look like himself any more. Ah-Fat stared for a moment. Then the man smiled at him and a black mole at the corner of his lips migrated up his face. Suddenly he knew who it was.
Ah-Fat lifted the folds of his gown and knelt down in a respectful bow: “Mr. Auyung! When did you come to Gold Mountain? No wonder Ah-Yin wrote and told me she couldn’t get in touch with you. We wanted our son Kam Shan to become your pupil last year.”
Mr. Auyung pulled him to his feet. “Two years ago, I wrote some articles on constitutional reform and the government put a price on my head. I had to leave my home. I first went to Japan, but then I heard that Mr. Kang Youwei and Mr. Liang Qichao were in North America so I came here too.”
Auyung pulled the two men to one side and they talked for a long time. When they finally went into the hotel lecture hall, there were no seats left and the aisles were full of people standing, both Whites and Chinese. By the time Ah-Fat and Ah-Lam had squeezed themselves into a small corner, they realized they had missed the beginning of the speech. In any case, the tenor of Mr. Liang’s speech was high-flown in the extreme; these grand, distant phrases seemed to fall like boulders in a disorderly heap. Even for a man who had some education like Ah-Fat, negotiating this boulder-strewn road cost him a good deal of effort. Fortunately, Auyung had smoothed the way for them beforehand and, having heard his simplified version, it was easier to make sense of what Liang Qichao had to say.
It was midnight before they got home from Liang Qichao’s lecture. Neither of them could sleep, so they sat on the bed smoking one cigarette after another. The laundry boys were already asleep, and rhythmic sounds of snoring filled the room like a chorus of cicadas. In the darkness, all that could be seen was the glinting light from two pipe bowls. Ah-Lam kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed picking out the grime from between his toes. “A woman’s made herself the boss of the Emperor and the boss of our whole country. Mr. What’s-it Liang—what the hell was he going on about? I say we should simply hire someone to stick a knife into her. I’ve never heard such a boring lot of shit.” Ah-Fat did not answer. There was more swearing from Ah-Lam but then he got tired of it, and grabbing his pillow, he lay down. Immediately, his breathing became heavy.
Sometime in the early hours, Ah-Lam was woken by the need to piss. Opening his eyes, he was astonished to see a will-o’-the-wisp glinting by the bed. “Ah-Fat! You still not asleep, you little sod? It’s almost dawn!” The light shifted position and he heard a low, muffled voice:
“I’m sorry, Ah-Lam. I’m going to have to do you out of your rice bowl. I’ve decided to sell the laundries, both of them. The Qing Empire can’t be saved without educated men like Kang and Liang,” Ah-Fat went on. “We can only help by giving money; we don’t have enough education to help any other way.”
A gasp caught in Ah-Lam’s throat. But, astonished though he was, he knew that once Ah-Fat had made up his mind, nothing would make him budge.
“Once I’ve sold them, you and I will go and get work in the fish cannery. You won’t starve while I’ve still got a mouthful to eat.”
“I won’t starve but what about your wife and kids? Their eyes are going to pop out of their heads, waiting for your dollar letters.”
Ah-Fat was silent. Then he said: “I won’t be able to go home for a while. Ah-Yin’ll just have to wait.”
Two months later, Ah-Fat sold his laundry business to a greengrocer who