Gold Mountain Blues (21 page)

It also occurred to her that Six Fingers had quite a few merits. She was capable, upright and had a mind of her own. When it came to important family affairs, there was no way that blind old Mrs. Mak or her weak and helpless sister-in-law could cope. What they needed, when her son was not there, was someone like Six Fingers to be the mainstay of the family. She had not permitted Ah-Fat to marry Six Fingers as his senior wife because she was afraid of losing face in the village. Yet face was only a veneer on the surface of their lives. Face without life was no face at all.

Besides, Six Fingers did not have six fingers any more. With the stroke of a knife, Six Fingers had altered her fate.

“Ah-Fat, tell Ah-Choi to get Third Granny here. I want Third Granny to say to Auntie Cheung Tai that providing Six Fingers pulls through, we'll scrap the other betrothal, and you'll make Six Fingers your first wife,” she said. “All this trouble can only be sorted out by the person who caused it. And she was born tough, that girl. Who knows, when she hears the news, it may bring her back to life.”

Mrs. Mak heard her son's footsteps slow down.

“Right,” he said. “But I'm not calling Ah-Choi. I'll take you to see Third Granny.”

Mother and son hastily left the house, Mrs. Mak hobbling so fast that Ah-Fat could scarcely keep up with her.

Third Granny went into Auntie Cheung Tai's house and Ah-Fat and his mother waited outside. Mrs. Mak was gripping a handkerchief, which had been brand new and crisply starched but was now wringing wet. She could hear Ah-Fat's big feet pacing up and down on the tamped mud pavement in front of the house and the sound not only grated on her ears but seemed to grate slivers of flesh from her heart too. She was as anxious as her son.

A long time later Third Granny came out. She seemed downcast and instead of her usual glib manner, she spoke awkwardly.

“She didn't say a word, didn't even give a flicker of her eyelids.”

“Did you ask Auntie Cheung Tai to tell her, or did you tell her yourself?” asked Mrs. Mak.

“Of course I told her myself. I spoke right into her ear. Too bad it doesn't look like I'll be enjoying your matchmaking gifts. The herbalist says it'll be tonight.”

On the way home, Mrs. Mak could not keep up with her son. She felt as if the heavens above had caved in on her. She could hardly drag her little “lotus” bound feet along and the walking stick in her hand seemed to groan mournfully under her weight.

“Ah-Fat, if you really want to leave, I can't stop you, but at least wait until Six Fingers is buried,” she shouted hoarsely after him.

In the middle of the night, Auntie Cheung Tai went to relieve herself in the backyard and heard a strange sound. It was something like a draught whistling through cracks in the wall or the earth drinking in a fine drizzle. She looked up at the frangipani tree but it was not moving; she felt its trunk but it was not wet. It was a dry, still night. Holding up her trousers, she groped her way to where the sound was coming from—and arrived at Six Fingers' bed.

“Porridge … porridge.…” the girl mumbled.

2004

Hoi Ping County, Guangdong Province

In the morning, Amy was woken by the phone. Confused about where she was, she sat up and opened her eyes. White spots like flowers or butterflies seemed to be dancing on the walls. She finally realized it was the sun's rays filtering in through the curtains.

She had a splitting headache, and the relentless ringing of the telephone seemed to hammer away at the cracks in her skull, pounding tiny sparks from it.

“How's the hangover?” asked a man's voice.

Amy had no idea who it was.

“This is Auyung from the Office for Overseas Chinese Affairs. We met yesterday,” he said.

Amy began dimly to recall the previous evening.

“Did I have a lot to drink?” she asked.

“You could say that! Not to put too fine a point on it, you got blind drunk.”

Amy jumped out of bed. “Impossible!” she exclaimed. “I never drink with strangers.”

“Then maybe you don't regard me as a stranger,” said Auyung with chuckle.

“Maybe not. But how are you going to make me believe that I got really drunk?”

“You sang a song. In English. Over and over again.”

“No!” yelled Amy. “Impossible! I never sing. Certainly not in public.”

“It's a wonderful thing, alcohol,” said Auyung. “
In vino veritas
, as they say. The song was ‘Moonlight on the River Colorado.' In English. Shall I sing a bit?”

Amy said nothing. She used to sing that song a lot when she was student at Berkeley. She had not done a lot of studying in those days. In fact, she had spent most of her time on sit-ins in City Hall Square with her friends. All kinds of sit-ins, pro or anti one thing or another: anti-war, antidiscrimination, anti-exploitation. Pro-women's rights, pro-draft dodgers, pro-gays. Sometimes, after a day sitting in the town square, she had forgotten why she was there. When she and her fellow students got bored, someone would strum a few chords on the guitar and they would all sing. The most popular song was “Moonlight on the River Colorado.”

That was all such a long time ago. How strange that a bottle of liquor should unlock those long-repressed memories.

“I must have made a horrible noise. When I was a kid, I only had to open my mouth and my mother would yell at me for singing out of tune.”

“It depends what you're comparing it with. Compared to me, it was music to the ears.”

“What other embarrassing things did I do? Better have it all out in one go. It's less scary than finding out in bits and pieces.”

“Actually I think you should have it in instalments. Otherwise, seeing me might send you right over the edge.”

Amy burst out laughing. Under that droopy exterior, Auyung was quite a character, she thought.

“So, Mr. Auyung, did you get drunk too?”

“I certainly felt like drinking, if I hadn't had today's duties ahead of me.…”

“What duties? Surely not another evening's drinking with your bosses?”

“That's only one duty. There are lots of others, for instance clearing all the remaining antiques out of the Fongs'
diulau
with you, and persuading you to put your signature on the trusteeship document. Of course, the most urgent problem facing me right now is getting you up and dressed so we can go and have breakfast. The hotel stops serving breakfast in half an hour.”

“Ten minutes … give me ten minutes.”

Amy hurriedly showered—then discovered there was no hair dryer. No iron either. She rifled through her suitcase looking for the painkillers, but in vain. In the end she dug out a T-shirt that was not too crumpled, and a pair of jeans. She pulled a rubber band off her wrist and tied her wet hair roughly in a ponytail and flew down the stairs.

From a distance she saw Auyung sitting on a sofa in the hotel lobby, his eyes narrowed and with a foolish grin on his face. She waved at him but there was no reaction. It was only when she was up close that she realized he was asleep. Amy had never seen someone look so silly in sleep. She could not resist pulling out her camera and taking a close-up shot. At the flash, he woke up with a start. Wiping a drop of saliva from the corner of his mouth he put his head on one side and looked at Amy. “Yesterday you were a prof. Today you look like a student,” he said. “I prefer the student.”

Amy cocked her head and looked back at him. “Now you're awake, you look like an old man. When you were asleep, you looked like a kid. I like you better asleep.”

Auyung put his finger to his lips. “Shhh. Best not to say things like that in a public place. People might get the wrong idea.”

They both roared with laughter.

“How come you're sleepy at this time in the morning?” asked Amy. “One person's morning is another's midday,” he said. “I've already done two hours' work.” He looked at his watch. “Right. We're too late for the hotel breakfast. Let's go straight to the
diulau
and then I'll get the driver to go and buy some soy milk and a sticky rice cake for you.”

They got into the car. “What was my great-grandmother's name?” asked Amy. “Her full name was Kwan Suk Yin,” he replied. “But when she was young, everyone called her Six Fingers, and when she was old, it was Granny Kwan. Hardly anyone knew her proper name.”

Amy thought for a moment. Suddenly, light dawned. “My great-grandfather was Fong Tak Fat and my great-grandmother was Kwan Suk Yin. The name of the
diulau
is Tak Yin House—they must have put the two names together.”

“Nowadays it's no big deal to call a house after a woman,” said Auyung. “But in the countryside of Guangdong in 1913, it was considered very avant-garde. In those days, no one outside the family knew the names of unmarried girls. When a girl reached marrying age, the full name would be written out properly on a piece of paper, sealed inside a red envelope, laid on a gold-painted tray together with her horoscope and given to the matchmaker to take to the boy's family. That's why asking for a girl's hand in marriage was also called ‘asking the girl's name'.”

“Was she pretty, my great-grandmother?” asked Amy, remembering the eyes she had seen in the wardrobe mirror the day before.

“There should be a photo of her in Tak Yin House. You can see for yourself.”

Years twenty to twenty-one of the reign of Guangxu (1894–1895) Spur-On Village, Hoi Ping County, Guangdong, China

The wedding took place at the end of the first month of year twenty of the reign of Guangxu. For many years after, the elders of Spur-On Village still remembered that day, even though they had only been children then.

The banquet began when the sun had just risen to the tops of the trees and continued till midnight with guests dropping in and partaking as they pleased … a “running water” banquet, it was called. The chef and his assistants had been commandeered from the famous Tin Yat Tin Restaurant in Canton city. There were six of them and they were on their feet the whole time, alternately preparing and chopping the vegetables and cooking the food. As time went on, some of the children began to make a racket. Their mothers beat them over the head with their chopsticks, berating them: “This is Uncle Ah-Fat's big day. Don't you go spoiling it! Get a bowl of food and take it home to eat.” The children were quick to catch on: obediently they filled their bowls to overflowing with something from every dish. They did not eat at home, of course. Instead, they ran off to play on the muddy banks of the village river, before going back to the banquet again. When their foreheads felt the blow of their mothers' chopsticks once more, the whole performance was repeated. For many days after the wedding, no smoke rose from the chimneys of Spur-On Village as every family continued to enjoy the bounty of Ah-Fat's wedding banquet.

The longer the banquet went on outside, the more the bride suffered torments in her bridal chamber.

In the small hours of the morning, Auntie Cheung Tai woke Six Fingers with the news that the helpers had arrived. They washed her, trimmed the fine hairs on her face and neck, dressed her and applied her makeup. A dazed Six Fingers found herself gripped and kneaded from head to toe by a dozen hands. She had still not fully recovered from her illness but the face powder covered her sickly pallor. Half a dozen women worked for several hours to get her ready. Then someone gave her a square mirror. In its reflection, she saw a stranger, one with a pearly-white complexion, pink-blushed cheeks and lustrous bright eyes. She smiled. The stranger smiled back and the jewelled headdress jiggled gently.

At midday, the palanquin came to take her to the Fongs' house, though the distance was no more than fifty yards or so. The heavy mantle over her head left her in complete darkness, but this only made her other senses more acute. She could tell who the bearers were, which route their black cotton shoes were taking, whose dog was barking furiously as the sedan passed, how hot the sun's rays were on the palanquin roof. She could smell
the scorching heat of the gaze of the bystanders as their eyes burned through the curtains of her palanquin, and she could even distinguish fiddle in the welcoming band whose timid notes were slightly out of tune. She had not imagined that the road from girlhood to her new life as married woman would feel so simple, so trouble free and so familiar.