Gold Mountain Blues (25 page)

Ah-Fat sighed. “That railroad.…” he said. “It made so many men rich, and took the lives of so many others.” Ah-Fat might speak with a heavy accent, but Rick heard the cutting edge in those words and embarrassment showed in his face. After a pause, he echoed Ah-Fat: “That railroad, huh! Last year I took the train to Montreal, and the ghosts flew around outside the train window as we went along. Actually, I was unemployed for a couple of years after it was completed. I was stuck in a small town by the rail track without work. It was only when I met an old acquaintance from the Pacific Railroad Company that this opportunity came up.

“What about you, number twenty-nine?” Rick asked, and then exclaimed: “You know, after all this time, I still don't know your name. You Chinese have such strange names!”

“Even if I tell you, you won't be able to say it. Forget it!” But Rick gripped his arm and insisted: “No, come on, let me hear you say it. Who says I can't learn it? After all, I can blow up mountains!”

Ah-Fat enunciated the sounds one by one, and Rick repeated them after him as best he could, until Ah-Fat could not help laughing. “Please! Spare me!” he said. “Just say it in the English way and call me Frank. As you can see, I run this laundry, been running it for the past few years. I started in Victoria and moved here just a couple of months ago. Everyone says business is booming here, but there are laundries everywhere and business is going from bad to worse.”

Rick looked around him. He thought to himself for a moment and then said: “I've got a few dozen rooms in my guesthouse. I can send all the bedding and tablecloths to you to wash. I've got a few other friends with guesthouses too, and I can send them along to you, but you'll have to smarten this place up, and hire some more boys to help you. And whatever you do, don't scorch the cloth next time.”

Ah-Fat pulled out a thread from inside the shirt and darned the hole. It did not take him long and he gave the shirt back to Rick. The mend was flawless. Ah-Fat smiled. “You caught us out today. Usually I would have mended it before you saw it and you would never have known. It would just have been between me and the Lord above.”

Rick shook his head in wonder. “God must have just woken up the day he created you, Frank. He made you devilishly skilful. They're saying the Pacific Railroad Company is going to build a huge guesthouse here. Of course it'll be called a ‘hotel,' not a ‘guesthouse.' It'll be like a palace, with several hundred rooms. Imagine how many sheets and table cloths and napkins that'll be. When the time comes, I'll get hold of someone I know and we'll see if we can find a way to give the work to you. Then you'll really need to hire another dozen boys.”

After Rick left, Ah-Fat told the boy to mind the shop and went off for a big meal in Chinatown. By the time he got there, the sun was up as high as the forks in the trees. The air was mellow and the wind had filled the street with a mass of soft pink blossoms. Ah-Fat hummed a little tune as he went along. It was, he remembered, the bridal tune which Red Hair used to saw away at on his battered old fiddle. He kicked at pebbles and the flower petals and thought to himself that that bastard Rick was not such a bad sort after all. At least he had not forgotten that he owed his life to someone else. He could not help imagining the new business Rick's guesthouse would bring him. He could almost feel the bank drafts clasped in his hand, and the softness of his wife's body as she lay curled up in his arms.

“It won't be long, Ah-Yin. Good times will be here soon,” he muttered.

He went into the Wong Kee Congee Cafe on Dupont Street, and sat down at his usual table by the window. He used his sleeve to wipe a small patch of greasy tabletop and leaned his elbow on it. “A bowl of rice porridge with lean meat and preserved egg,” he told the boy. “And two silver thread rolls, a plate of prawn rice rolls, and a dish of chicken feet and one of snails.” The boy taking the order was surprised. “Tripped over a pile of dollars on your way here, did you?” he asked. Ah-Fat laughed but said nothing.

He looked around him as he waited for his food. Most people had already had their breakfast and gone and the place was almost deserted.
Apart from him, there was only one other customer. The man had his head down, slurping a bowl of plain rice porridge. A bluebottle was climbing up the edge of his bowl and had almost reached the tip of his nose. When Ah-Fat noticed, he reached across and rapped on the man's table. “Hey, mate, do you eat flies too?” The man looked up at Ah-Fat. His bowl dropped from his hand and crashed to the ground.

“Ah-Fat, you motherfucker! You're not dead! How many years have I spent looking for you?”

Ah-Fat stared at him in shock. “Ah-Lam? Or is it your ghost?”

Ah-Lam sighed. “I wish it was. My ghost wouldn't be having such a hard time.” He stretched out his left leg for Ah-Fat to see. “When we got separated in Port Moody, I took a tumble down the mountainside and broke a leg. I couldn't walk so I had to stop where I was. I lived in a Redskin village, stayed there some eight years and only got back to Victoria last year. I came over here to Vancouver at the beginning of this year with everyone else.”

“What are you doing in Vancouver?” Ah-Fat asked.

“There's not a lot I can do, dragging this leg around. I heard there was work at the canning factory cleaning fish so I thought I'd go and try it out. But that's only summer work. As soon as it gets cold, that'll stop too.”

It was still warm, but Ah-Lam had on a lined jacket. It was shiny with grease and fraying at the collar and cuffs, and his hair was grimy and tangled. Ah-Fat could see that he was struggling. He called the boy over: “Bring a portion of prawn dumplings and some mixed seafood
ho-fen
noodles for my friend here.” He turned to Ah-Lam: “Do you want to come and work for me at my laundry? It's ironing and mending. It's not difficult to pick up, you just have to take care with it.” And he told him what Rick had said that morning.

It was uncanny the way the three of them—brought together ten years before by a railroad, and then scattered because of the same railroad—had all bumped into each other today. They both felt it had to be more than just coincidence.

They talked of old times. “Have you heard anything of Ah-Sing?” asked Ah-Fat. “When I got back to Victoria earlier this year, I went to the Tsun
Sing General Store but it was shut. I knocked but no one answered.” “Didn't you know he's doing time?” said Ah-Lam.

“Doing time for what?” asked Ah-Fat in surprise. “He was as honest as the day!” “Over the years, he saved up a bit of money, enough to pay the head tax and boat fares, and then he went back home and got married. The next year, the wife joined him in Victoria. She was practically the only Chinese woman there who wasn't working as a whore in Fan Tan Alley or the tea-shacks, and she was good-looking too. Ah-Sing was worried and kept her locked up all day in the back of the shop. But he couldn't keep the letches away from her. When he wasn't home, they'd be up at the window peering in at her. And she was lonely; she couldn't stand being cooped up all day every day. In the end she fell for one of them and one night she was off. Ah-Sing went after them on horseback and caught up with them. Then he went crazy. He slashed at them with a knife. He got the woman on the face, but she wasn't badly injured. But he killed the man on the spot. He's been in jail for over a year now.”

There was a moment's silence, then Ah-Fat said: “He was a good man, Ah-Sing was.” “Last year when I saw him,” said Ah-Lam, “he talked about when the railroad work finished and you came back to Victoria. You'd been through really bad times, and had nowhere to live and nothing to eat. So he used to leave the stove outside the door for you every day.”

Ah-Fat was speechless.

That stove, with the flicker of warmth it provided, outside the back door of the Tsun Sing General Store had warmed his hands, and the food he had scavenged too. Ah-Sing had left it there to save his life.

Ah-Sing had known that he was spending every night outside the back door of his house. He had known all along. But he never let on.

“What jail is he in?” Ah-Fat asked.

Thousands upon thousands of Chinese gathered today at the Canadian Pacific Railroad steamship docks to welcome the famous Li Hongzhang from the Empire of the Great Qing to Canada. This gentleman holds a number of official positions, including Imperial Viceroy and Superintendent of Trade for the Northern Ports, although he has been stripped of some of them following China's defeat two years ago in the Sino-Japanese War. China lost its entire fleet in that war, and has had to pay two hundred million ounces of silver in war reparations—a sum equivalent to the gross national product of Japan for seven years. Viceroy Li has now been on his sea voyage for seven months. After visiting Russia, Germany, Holland, Belgium, France and England, he arrived in America at the end of last month. He is making this journey on the Imperial edict in order to foster relations between all these nations and China. Vancouver is Viceroy Li's last port of call; from here he will return to China via Japan. His visit to Vancouver was unexpected. We understand that he was due to visit Seattle but that rumours of angry crowds of Chinese emigrants awaiting his arrival there forced a change of plan (although Li himself has denied this adamantly). The reason for their anger is the Chinese Exclusion Act that has just been passed in America. The last-minute nature of his visit here has in no way dampened the excitement of Vancouver's Chinese.

Today the entire length of Howe Street is bedecked with lanterns and coloured pennants. A gigantic ceremonial arch which, we understand, took large numbers of Chinese emigrants several nights to erect, has appeared at the dock. It is formed of one main arch and two side arches. Above them, three pointed roofs are formed of swags of drapery. At the apex of the drapery over the main arch hangs a ball in which has been mounted a Union Jack. The Chinese and Canadian flags hang from each of the side arches. Four welcome banners hang from the tops of the arches and several exquisite “palace lanterns” are hung underneath. The one beneath the main arch is especially eye-catching, as it is two feet in diameter, and its frame is swathed in silk fabric painted with flowers and Chinese designs and lettering. Multicoloured tassels hang from the bottom of the lantern, and the effect is extraordinarily beautiful. Today the dock was crowded with people, many of them Whites who had come to see the pageantry. A brawl even broke out at the end of Howe Street. There is speculation that the affray may have deliberately been caused by thieves hoping to steal onlookers' wallets. Two monks stood among the crowds doing a roaring business hawking the incense used at temple ceremonies, which they said was to welcome Viceroy Li .

Viceroy Li was conveyed from the docks in a special horse-drawn carriage accompanied by Mayor Collins, Mr. Abbott, the General Superintendent of the Canadian Pacific Railroad in British Columbia, and Chief Constable Ward. Li's entourage (which included his son and a nephew) followed, riding in an ordinary carriage with all the party's baggage. It is understood that the most important item that Viceroy Li carries with him is a coffin made from superior quality
nanmu
wood. At seventy-four years of age, the Viceroy anticipates that he may die on his voyage. As the carriage brought him close to the ceremonial arch, the patiently waiting crowds of “celestials” performed their customary welcoming ceremonies. First there was the crackle of firecrackers, followed by the explosions of huge fireworks, thunderous drumming, and the noise of many hundreds of people shouting in unison. This was accompanied by musicians playing their peculiarly fascinating music, and some people sang Qing Imperial songs.

Viceroy Li's eyes sparkle with intelligence. He sports old-fashioned steel-rimmed spectacles, has high cheekbones in a fleshy, dark-skinned face, and appears to be in good health. He stoops, which makes his six-foot frame visibly shorter. Today he wore an over-jacket of the famous Imperial yellow, shaped rather like a cape and of no obvious practical use. Under this he had on an outer garment of dark blue brocaded silk and, under that, a dark red robe printed with darker flower designs. He wore a pair of boots with thick, white soles and a Manchu official hat, with a deep, swept-back brim, set back to reveal a gleaming pate. Long pigtails tied with silk ribbons hung from under the back of the hat, reaching down to his knees. The brim of the hat was black edged with gold. Velvet ribbons cascaded from the peak of the hat, which was decorated with a huge gem, and a plume of peacock feathers sporting three “eyes.” A diamond ring sparkled brilliantly on the little finger of his right hand.

There were obvious differences in social rank among the crowds who had come to meet the Viceroy. About a dozen Chinese businessmen were permitted inside the roped-off area to meet him. It was clear that these were of the upper classes from the expensive quality of their attire. Indeed, their elaborate garments were a far cry from what we are used to seeing on the Chinese in Chinatown. The ordinary labourers standing
some distance away, were dressed in cotton jackets and wide trousers gathered and tied at the ankle. Many of them had closed their laundries and shops for the day and had made the trip here from neighbouring towns and villages, in order to welcome Viceroy Li. All these sons of the Great Qing emperor—wealthy merchants and ordinary labourers alike—continue to wear the long pigtails to which age-old custom has given symbolic value, even though many have lived in Canada for a number of years.

Vancouver World
, 14 September 1896

Ah-Fat stood far back in the crowd, squinting up at the flags which hung from the ceremonial arch. They flapped in the brisk autumn breeze, furling and unfurling. The red sun on the Qing flag was the colour of the glistening yolk of a duck egg, and the slender black dragon seemed to writhe madly in a frantic attempt to catch the egg yolk in its mouth. Ah-Fat had seen a flag like this before, in the Chinese Benevolent Association, but he had never seen it displayed on such a fine day. The weather was beautiful, and when the yellow flag completely unfurled flat against a bright blue sky, Ah-Fat had the sudden feeling it was a Chinese New Year picture, hung on a blue backcloth.