Gold Mountain Blues (30 page)

He bought two green bean cakes and a cup of cold tea from a peddler and wolfed it all down sitting on the steps of the gambling den.

“Has the performance begun?” he asked the man.

“No, the troupe has only just gone in, and they haven't got their costumes on yet.”

Ah-Fat relaxed.

His belly had been empty for so long that the cakes dropped into it like pebbles into an expanse of water—they did not even ripple the surface and he could not tell when they reached the bottom. He took out a few more coins and bought a dish of chicken feet in briny gravy. With the first bite, he realized he had made a mistake. Chicken feet were for people to nibble as they sipped liquor on a full belly. Hungry as he was, he lacked the patience for such tidbits. He bought half a roast duck and two
char siu
dumplings, and after downing these, finally began to feel himself once more.

He pushed open the gambling den door and was immediately engulfed in a wave of noise. Today was payday and the place was full. A sea of dark heads crowded three deep around each of the dozen or so tables where games of mahjong and
pai kao
were played. Players and spectators alike were absorbed in the game. Hawkers with small baskets hung from their necks squeezed themselves through the mass of bodies with hoarse cries of “Tobacco! Candies! Pumpkin seeds! Olives!”

Ah-Fat squirmed his way through the solid mass of bodies, making straight for the stage in the back room. A troupe had been invited to perform—though to call them a “troupe” was overstating it since there were only seven of them. One played the Chinese fiddle, another the flute and the remaining five were actors: three men and two women from San Francisco. They may have been few, and their performances scrappy, but the ticket prices were dirt cheap at fifteen cents. Even a seat so close to the stage you could see the performers' toecaps was only twenty cents. Added to that, no players had been here for a very long time, and the troupe included women too, which explained why the audience had turned up so early.

When Ah-Fat's father was alive, he had taken Ah-Fat and Ah-Sin to opera performances in all the small towns surrounding their village. In those days there were no female actors. When his father had told Ah-Fat that the women onstage making graceful “orchid” gestures with their fingers and coyly hiding their faces behind long white silk “water sleeves” were actually men, he was struck dumb with astonishment. Those men playing women were more feminine than women themselves. Months before he died, his father had taken him to Shun Tak to see the Cantonese opera
Testing the Wife in the Mulberry Garden
at New Year. It was the first time that Ah-Fat had seen male and female actors on the same stage. The roles of Chau Wu and his wife were played by actors who were actually husband and wife. Their amorous glances and uninhibited acting enraged an army officer in the audience. There were shouts of “Shameless! Shameless!” and soldiers leapt onto the stage, tied the actors up and carried them off. They heard afterwards that the pair were condemned for outraging public morals and beheaded the same night. The incident put a stop to mixed performances, and until now Ah-Fat had not seen women on the stage.

But tonight there was a mixed cast. And the gamblers, all single men, had only half their minds on the gambling table. They all waited for the strings to start playing to call them into the back room. The truth was that they were here to see the women rather than the play. You only had to look at the streets of Chinatown to see that they were packed with men—and only men. Every month or so, the steamship would bring a handful of Chinese women but if they were decent, they would marry and be kept at home, so they were never seen in public. If they were the sort who “sold
smiles,” they would soon find themselves bundled into the back alleys behind the tea-shacks by madams. Theatrical performances offered another option. There were two female members of the opera troupe and the patrons of the gambling den would be able to ogle them to their hearts' content. They waited in feverish excitement.

Ah-Fat went through into the temporary theatre. A decorative gas lamp glared from each corner of the stage, and a sheet of paper was stuck on the wall to the side of the stage, bearing the hastily scribbled words:

The Clear Spring Opera Troupe will this evening give a complete showing of
The Fairy Wife Returns Her Son to Earth.

Gold Mountain Cloud—brilliant in the male role of Tung Wan

Gold Mountain Shadow—extraordinarily dainty as the Fairy Wife.

A tour in Gold Mountain increased an actor's fame back home, so they added the tag “Gold Mountain” to their names as a reminder to their audiences. Ah-Fat was happy to see that Gold Mountain Cloud still had top billing. Ah-Fat had seen Cloud and Shadow on the first evening and felt they were not bad … perhaps not absolutely heart-stopping in their performances, but original in their way. He had decided to come again.

Ah-Fat had seen
The Fairy Wife
several times with his father. It was short play, about the Seventh Fairy who is forced by her father, the Jade Emperor, to return to the celestial palace, leaving her husband, Tung Wan, behind in the human world. The next year, she fulfils her promise to send her son back to Tung Wan. This opera was often used as a curtain raiser for performances. But this evening's version followed the Anhui Opera tradition: it began with the Seventh Fairy dreaming of the earthly world and recounted how she married Tung Wan, and how the Jade Emperor forced them apart, and how she then returned to the human world to give her son to her husband. It was a full evening's performance.

Ah-Fat had only seen it performed with an all-male cast but tonight there would be male and female actors. In fact, they would cross-dress and play a role of the opposite gender, with the Fairy Wife played by a man, and Tung Wan by a woman. Ah-Fat had seen a man play the part of the
Fairy Wife but never a woman cast as her earthly husband. He was eagerly looking forward to it.

He flung a few coins down on the ticket table, and found himself a seat right in the middle at the front. The old man on the door came after him: “This is fifty cents. It's enough for four to five tickets. I'll get you the change.” “Use it to buy cups of tea for the troupe,” said Ah-Fat.

The fiddler struck up a tune to call the audience to their seats. The gamblers duly threw down their dominoes and dice and began to stream into the “auditorium.”

When the fiddler saw all the seats filled and people gathered in the aisle and around the door, he winked at the flute player, who blew his first note and the performance began.

It was a new production and had obviously been put together in a hurry. The singing, supported as it was by the fiddle and the flute, was smooth. But during the dialogue, the players kept making mistakes. Apart from Tung Wan, the other roles were new and unfamiliar to the players. The attention of the audience wandered and bursts of laughter disrupted the performance.

Ah-Fat had been told that the members of the troupe were of the same family. The man playing the Jade Emperor was the father. The fairy, Tung Wan, and the umbrella maid were played by his children. The musicians and the acrobat were his nephews. They had all originally been in other troupes, playing bit parts on tour in Gold Mountain and South-East Asia. Cloud was the eldest daughter. She had a broad and dignified face and a velvety voice. She had started by playing minor female roles, to no great acclaim. Then it occurred to her to try the male lead role and, quite unexpectedly, she began to make a name for herself. She changed her name to Gold Mountain Cloud, formed her own troupe entirely from family members, and began to tour from town to town all over Gold Mountain.

It was only when the Seventh Fairy was abducted by the Jade Emperor and taken back to his palace—with her husband, Tung Wan, in hot pursuit—that everyone sat up and listened.

Oh, my wife, your departure will kill us both with pain unspeakable

While you, like snowflakes blown by wind,

Fly to your celestial destination unreachable

I pine hopelessly for your return, like pining to recover the lost moon in ocean unfathomable

At this point Gold Mountain Cloud switched to singing in her natural voice. Ah-Fat had never before heard such tone. Chinese opera was characterized by a falsetto style, but Gold Mountain Cloud's voice was sonorous, as if emanating from a bell fissured with cracks, each one permeated with sadness. Ah-Fat's eyes were riveted. She seemed to him not wholly masculine but not wholly feminine either. Gold Mountain Cloud had smoothed the rough edges of a man's body like a whetstone yet she had also brushed away the powdery softness of the female body as if with a feather duster. When she stood onstage, she was more gently refined than a man, yet more heroic than a woman. She positioned herself somewhere between the male and female, and he found the effect disturbing.

When the performance was over, the stools were cleared away and the floor was swept clean of pumpkin seed shells, cigarette ends and olive pits, raising clouds of dust. The acrobat shinnied up the columns to take the gas lamps down, one by one, and the room gradually darkened. Ah-Fat stood rooted to the spot in front of the stage. Suddenly he heard a voice behind him: “It's late. Shouldn't you be off home?” He looked round, to see youth standing in the shadows. The youth wore a deep blue soft brocade coat with a gown of navy blue silk underneath and a Chinese round cap. Beneath it were thick eyebrows and rosy cheeks in a large face. It was Gold Mountain Cloud with only half of her stage makeup removed.

Ah-Fat knew that opera singers liked to indulge in this or that new fashion but did not expect to see Gold Mountain Cloud in male costume when she was offstage. She looked strikingly handsome in it. His astonishment was audible when he managed to speak:

“Your natural voice, troupe leader, is truly big-hearted.”

Gold Mountain Cloud said nothing, but just stared fixedly at Ah-Fat. Ah-Fat rubbed the scar on his face. “I got it years ago, when I worked on the railroad,” he said. “Don't worry, I haven't robbed or murdered anyone.” Gold Mountain Cloud chuckled: “I'm an opera singer. There's nothing
haven't seen. What I'm interested in is the fact that you came yesterday too and sat in the same place.”

Ah-Fat laughed, and then asked: “Did you study martial arts? In the scene when the Seventh Fairy weaves a length of cloth for Tung Wan, your moves were so skilfully executed.” The actress was clearly delighted that Ah-Fat knew what he was talking about. “When I studied opera as a child,” she said, “the master made everyone, no matter what role they played, learn martial arts for a year and a half. He taught us that everything was in the footwork, and that opera only carried force if you got the footwork right. He made us do somersaults every day and if you didn't get them right, you went to bed without any dinner.”

Ah-Fat gave a sigh. “There's no profession that isn't hard to learn, is there? The dialogue could have done with a bit of polishing though.” Gold Mountain Cloud sighed too. “We've put on ten plays in a month, there isn't time to rehearse properly. This one is completely new and some scenes we've improvised. That makes it interesting. We'll be more familiar with it by the time we get to Victoria.” “Is that where you're stopping next, Victoria?” “New Westminster first, then Victoria. Then we'll take the train east to Toronto and Montreal.”

“Do all the places you go in your travels have theatres, troupe leader?” asked Ah-Fat. There was another laugh. “Don't keep calling me troupe leader. Cloud will do fine. South-East Asia is not bad, there are big stages. But in some places in Gold Mountain there aren't even any stages, let alone theatres. We heard the Monarchist Reform Party is going to build a theatre in San Francisco, which will at least be a base for travelling players.” Ah-Fat checked there was no one within hearing. He lowered his voice and asked: “Are you in with the Monarchists, Cloud?” “We sing opera, we don't belong to any party or faction. But having a proper theatre would be better than nothing. What about you?”

Ah-Fat was tempted to say: “No, I'm not. But I sold everything I had to help the Emperor, and look what a miserable state I'm in now.” But remembering Ah-Lam's warning he swallowed his words and merely replied: “Lots of Chinese in Vancouver have joined the Monarchist Reform Party. How long are you staying in Vancouver, Cloud?” he went on. “Ten more performances.” Ah-Fat hesitated. “Then I'll come every day.”

In the flickering light of the last gas lamp they talked on. Suddenly Ah-Fat said: “Wait just a minute, I'll be right back.” He hurried away, then returned holding lotus-leaf dumplings in his hand. “You've been singing all evening, you must be hungry. It's late and all the shops are shut now. I just got a few sausage and rice dumplings. Have some. I'm afraid they'll have gone cold.” Cloud took them from him. A scrap of warmth came from them, probably from the man's hand, she thought. Almost all the men in the audience were there to stare at the girls. This was the only one who had seemed to appreciate the opera, too.

The acrobat took down the last lamp. All at once, the illumination was reduced to a single small circle, spotlighting Gold Mountain Cloud and giving her a ghastly pallor. The boy got down off the stage and came their way. “Big sister, Mr. Wen's been waiting ages for you at the door.” “I see,” said Gold Mountain Cloud and gave the dumplings to him. “Share these between everyone, one each.” Then she pointed her finger at Ah-Fat. “You make sure you come tomorrow, I won't sing until I see you.” The finger which had performed the graceful orchid gesture was now right in Ah-Fat's face. It gave off a slight smell of jasmine powder which wafted up his nostrils, almost making him sneeze.

She left, casting a slender shadow which stretched long and thin in the remaining light, seeming to waver like bamboo leaves. He found himself following. From a distance, he saw a carriage waiting at the entrance to the alley. Through the glass windows, he could see the shadowy figure of a man in a suit. He opened the door and helped Gold Mountain Cloud in. The driver shouted to the horse and they drew away, the horse's hooves clip-clopping away into the darkness of the night. Ah-Fat stood there, suddenly feeling disconsolate.