Gold Mountain Blues (22 page)

It was the first month of the new year and, although it was still cool, the icy chill that had held them in its grip in winter was gone. Her forehead and the palms of her hands perspired slightly. She knew she had a scarlet handkerchief tucked into her waistband and could perfectly well have used it to wipe her face and hands. She tugged at it gently—then put it back. It was a gift which the matchmaker had brought her from Ah-Fat when she delivered his written marriage proposal, and she could not bear to use it. Ah-Fat had also given her two bracelets, one gold and one silver, an eightpanelled, embroidered skirt in silk gauze, four pieces of satin and two pairs of embroidered shoes. All these gifts had come from Canton city. “Everything he bought in Gold Mountain for the first girl has gone to her and her family,” the matchmaker informed them. The woman had passed on Ah-Fat's message but not what it meant, since she did not know, but Six Fingers had understood immediately. Ah-Fat wanted to start their lives with a clean slate, putting new wine into a new bottle and leaving the old bottle for the past. So when Auntie Cheung Tai grumbled that the Fongs had been hasty and mean with their wedding gifts, Six Fingers merely looked down and smiled slightly.

In return, Six Fingers had given to her new husband the traditional gifts a bride gives the bridegroom: a figure of a boy on a lotus leaf, modelled in flour paste (symbolizing a succession of precious sons), ten guava fruits also made from flour paste (symbols of plenty), a pair of shoes and ten bags of salt. Everything was put together by Auntie Cheung Tai except for the shoes—a personal gift which she had made entirely herself, from gluing the cloth and stitching the soles to cutting out the uppers and sewing them together. She had not let Auntie Cheung Tai help her in any way, not even by finding out what his shoe size was. The day that he and she had written the scroll together in the back room, she had found out his shoe size. She had measured it at a glance.

Six Fingers used two kinds of stitches for the soles: chain stitch on one side, cross-stitch on the other. Of all the women in Spur-On Village, only her future mother-in-law had worked the stitches this way, when she was a young woman. On the uppers, she embroidered two clouds, each in a different colour of blue-grey, one light, one dark, one half-concealed behind the other with just a slender “tail” showing. It took Six Fingers three nights to complete these shoes. At cock crow on the third day, the matchmaker was waiting at the door for them. The shoes were still moist from her fingers as Auntie Cheung Tai wrapped them in red paper and gave the package together with the marriage proposal to the matchmaker. Six Fingers suddenly felt as if her heart had emptied, as if those shoes had taken her body and soul away with them.

Bridal firecrackers welcomed her as she stepped out of Auntie Cheung Tai's house, and they continued to pop and sparkle until the palanquin arrived. When she felt it tilt slightly, she knew the bearers were about to take her up the steps of the Fongs' house. One, two, three, four, five. As they reached the fifth step, she suddenly remembered the couplets which hung on either side of the door, the ones Mrs. Mak had asked her to do. Neither of them had had any inkling that she was writing the scrolls to celebrate her own wedding.

Life was a strange thing, she thought, unable to suppress a small sigh.

The palanquin halted and she heard the light tap-tap of a bamboo fan against the door—a signal for her to alight. She knew who had tapped, and she heard its urgency. Under the thick veil, she felt her face flame as hot as a well-stoked fire. The beads of sweat seemed almost to sizzle. The curtain was drawn back and someone pushed something into her hand. She ran her finger over it—it was a key.

I mustn't let it drop, she thought.

She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists until the key scored sharp teeth marks on her palm. She knew that what she was gripping was not just a key but her future—indeed, the future of the entire Fong family. From this day on, her life did not belong to her alone. It would be chopped into little pieces and mixed in with their lives. There would be no more “mine,” “yours” and “his.” The thought made her hands tremble a little, and feelings of both terror and warmth crept over her. Terror because she had
lost herself—from today, she would be made up of fragments which did not form a whole. Warmth because although she was leaving her old self behind, she would gain what she had never had before—companionship, support and courage.

As she got out of the palanquin, someone handed her one end of the “wedding stick” and, holding it, she was led into the Fongs' house. She could not see where she was going. She only saw scarlet flowers—on the hem of her skirt—dancing lightly along as they brushed the dark grey flagstones. She felt sure-footed. She knew who it was that held the other end of the stick. He would not let her stumble and fall.

With the customary bow to heaven and earth and the parents, she entered the bridal chamber. Outside, the wedding feast was about to begin. She heard the man tell Ah-Choi in a low voice: “Take her a bowl of lotus seed soup. She must be hungry.” The man's shoes scuffed on the floor and she heard his footsteps retreating. She did not know if the man was wearing the shoes she had made for today. Ah-Choi came in with the soup. “For the young mistress!” she said. It took Six Fingers a moment to realize that that was her. The servant put the bowl down and went out, leaving Six Fingers sitting motionless in the chamber. The noise of the banquet outside came at her like the roar of waves in a typhoon. But her ears passed over the clamour and alighted on an almost inaudible sound—the sizzling of the lotus seeds and jujubes in the boiling-hot soup. Her belly rumbled in answer. It felt like hordes of rice weevils were gnawing at her. Not a drop of water or a crumb of food had passed her lips since getting up in the early hours of the morning. She knew the bowl was on the low table next to her. The sweet scent of osmanthus flowers rose from it and filled her nostrils. She only had to make a small movement with her hand to touch it. But she must not touch it. The bride could not go out to use the toilet until the guests had gone. She would have to bear her hunger.

The desire to relieve herself grew gradually. It started as an obscure, dull need which invaded her body. Then it became an insistent, acute jabbing in her gut, desperately seeking a way out. She felt as bloated as an inflated paper lantern, which the slightest movement might cause to split open. So she sat straight, absolutely motionless. She even slowed her breathing, smoothing the gap between her breaths in and out.

But her body rebelled. Her nostrils, beaded with sweat, began to tickle.

Hold it in. You've got to hold it in.

She was still thinking the thought to herself when her body shook and she was overwhelmed by an enormous sneeze. A warm gush of liquid coursed down her thighs, leaving a dark streak on her silk skirt.

She shot to her feet, hoisting up the skirt, and squatted by the bed. The warm urine spurted onto the floor, forming a dark puddle. She must not soil the bridal bed, whatever happened.

She pulled off her veil and bolted the bedroom door. On the bookshelf she found a pile of good-quality absorbent rice paper. She made a thick wad of the paper and, squatting down again, mopped up the urine, then threw the sodden paper under the bed. Fortunately there was only one wet patch on the skirt—her body heat would dry it. She picked up the bowl of soup and drank it all down. The liquid and the lotus seeds and jujubes made only a small dent in her hunger, but they at least served to boost her courage. She unbolted the door, veiled herself again and took up her position, seated upright on the bed. Even before the pounding of her heart had eased, she was suddenly overcome by an overpowering urge to sleep.

She was awakened by a fierce light; two glowing orbs seemed to shine right through her.

Ah-Fat's eyes.

“Ah-Yin, I never gave you any of the nice things I brought back from Gold Mountain,” he said.

Suk Yin was the name she had been given at birth, but no one knew it outside her immediate family. For her whole life, she had been called Six Fingers, until the day the matchmaker had given the big red marriage proposal, with her name written in it, to Ah-Fat. Now it was their secret. And he had released the secret from its red packaging and given it back to her. A violent tremor shook her.

“Next time. Bring me something next time,” she stammered.

“There won't be a next time. I'm taking you with me to Gold Mountain and you can choose whatever you like for yourself.”

Ah-Fat blew out the red candle and pulled down the silk curtain behind him. He said no more but his hands began to speak as he felt for the buttons which fastened the front of her jacket. The fabric was a soft satin
but it was heavily embroidered with peony blossoms, leaves and branches and was as stiff as armour plating. The buttons were made from fine strips of satin coiled into elaborate knots in a cloud pattern, and it was with some difficulty that Ah-Fat finally managed to undo them.

He took off her jacket and was unprepared for the infinite softness of her body. His own hands felt like rough sandpaper that would snag the threads of its satiny surface no matter how careful he was. Thank God, he thought secretly, her body remained unspoiled—soft and smooth—despite her years of hard work. His hands hesitated, as if unsure how to go on. Then he heard a moan. It was so faint it seemed like a grain of dust brushing against his eardrums, but he also heard the pleasure contained in it. His hands took up their movements with new vigour.

Ah-Fat was in fact no stranger to women's bodies. His knowledge had mostly been picked up in the brothels and tea houses of Gold Mountain, where he had learned how to go into those women's bodies. He had gone into them countless times although his knowledge of how to explore the scenery within remained sketchy. He had always thought that these explorations stopped at the threshold itself—until Six Fingers made him aware that the threshold was only the beginning of the exploration.

Afterwards, the two of them lay soaked in sweat, catching their breath.

Six Fingers lay with her head pillowed on Ah-Fat's shoulder. “Is Gold Mountain really good?”

Ah-Fat made coil after coil of the damp hair which clung to Six Fingers' forehead with his finger but said nothing. When she asked again, he gave a slight smile. “Good … and not so good,” he said. “If it was all good, why would we all come home? If it was all bad, then there wouldn't be so many Gold Mountain men, would there? Anyway, you'll be coming. Then you can see for yourself whether it's good or bad.”

Six Fingers sat up abruptly and propped herself against the head of the bed. It was bright moonlight outside, and the moon's rays streamed through a crack in the curtains, pooling in her luminous eyes.

“Do you really want to take me to Gold Mountain, Ah-Fat? You won't be like Auntie Cheung Tai's husband … go over there and forget your family?”

Ah-Fat sat up too and crushed her in such a tight embrace that Six Fingers heard her bones crack.

“Six Fingers, I promise solemnly before Buddha that we will make a life together in Gold Mountain.”

Six Fingers freed one arm and put her hand against Ah-Fat's cheek. Her hand had not yet completely healed and was still bandaged, which made her movements somewhat clumsy. With one purple swollen finger she gently traced the scar on Ah-Fat's face, feeling a jolting in her heart as she followed its ridges and furrows.

“Ah-Fat, is it true what they say … that you got your scar in a fight in Gold Mountain?”

Ah-Fat retrieved her fingers and pressed them against his chest. After a pause, he shook his head.

“I fell. I was on a mountain track,” he said.

When Auntie Cheung Tai awoke the next morning, it was already light. She had feasted at the wedding banquet until midnight and had fallen asleep sprawled on her bed. When she sat up, she discovered she had not even undressed—she still wore the sapphire blue jacket embroidered with dark blue flowers. Her hair was a mess. She sprinkled water on it, used her ox-bone comb to smooth it down and coiled it into a bun. Then she sat in the front room to await her visitors.

She waited and waited but no one came. The paper which covered the window slowly changed from grey to white. She heard a chorus of barking dogs and crowing cocks. One after another, the neighbours banged open their shutters and she heard the splash of potties full of urine being emptied into the street. The children crying, their parents berating them, the footsteps of people going to market—every sound jabbed her until her heart seemed to hum with anxiety. Finally she could stay still no longer.

She got up and opened the door to the street, and found to her astonishment that her visitors had been and gone while she was still in bed.

In front of the door sat a large iron pot tied with red string. She took off the lid, to find a whole roasted suckling pig inside, shining brown and succulent. She examined it carefully. It was all there: head, tail, tongue,
limbs. The piglet lay belly-side down on a white cloth. She pulled out the cloth and looked at the red streaks on it, evidence of the bride's virginity.

“Merciful Buddha!” she cried, giving her chest a thump with her fist.

Then she murmured: “Six Fingers, you've really landed on your feet. Buddha's brought you this far. What happens from now on depends on whether you're destined to be lucky.”

In the spring of year twenty-one of the reign of Guangxu, candidates came from all eighteen provinces to take the Imperial examinations. When the examinations were finished, they waited in the capital for the list of successful candidates to be announced. It was an eventful springtime, the Imperial examinations being only one of the causes of excitement. The candidates swarmed into restaurants and tea houses and the frantic buzz of their debates filtered out through the cracks in the doors, walls and windows, down the streets and into the smallest back alleys, to be chewed over, in turn, by ordinary folk sitting in their courtyards after dinner or over their wine.