128 a 144 - Women, and Other Mysterious Things.

Pag. 128

Women, and Other Mysterious Things.

Oh Chang had come into my life just as I was thinking of leaving the school. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her, I might have stayed—stayed until it faded completely away, as it did just months after I set out on my own.

She was my fist girlfriend, my first love, and my sweetest memory of those early days on my own.

I mentioned before that it took a while for me to get interested in girls. Well, not just me; all of us boys at the academy were slow to learn that the soft, nice-smelling people known as women were not the same as us—and that that was a good thing.

Of course, our sexual curiosity didn’t have much of an outlet while we were at school; as I said before, our sisters were our sisters, and it just wasn’t possible to think of them as girls, really.

But once we became old enough to start working outside of the academy on a regular basis, everything changed. This was Kownloon, after all, and during our travels to the studios where we did stunt work we’d get an eyeful f a totally different kind of woman. They were sleek and groomed, with long, carefully styled hair. They wore lush outfits of embroidered silk, and they had painted faces—but definitely not of the opera variety.

“Willya look at that!” said Yeun Tai as we strolled down the street one night. Yeun Kwai and I were straggling behind him, tired and frustrated from a long day as extras on a martial arts film. Despite all of our training, our inferior junior-stuntman status meant that we were forced into the very worst jobs on the set. We’d do practice stunts that never made it onto film, fetch and carry for the stunt coordinator, and, most humiliating of all, we’d be called upon to play dead bodies, lying on our bellies for hours at a time. By the time we headed back to school, we’d be covered with dust and sweat.

Yuen Tai had stopped walking and was staring in admiration. She was the tallest woman we’d ever seen, as tall as any foreigner, but with jet-black hair falling in soft waves around her exposed shoulders. Her body—well, the girls we’d spent our lives with had their shapes disguised by loose-fitting practice outfits, so Madame was the only female available for comparison…and there was no comparison.

Pag 129

As we caught up to Yuen Tai, the woman shifted her weight from one long leg to another, causing her body to strain against her painted-on dress.

“Hey, pretty lady” he drawled, putting on his best attempt at cool. The woman slid her eyes over to us, taking in our ragged, dirty outfits and our still-gawky adolescent bodies. Without a sound, she turned on one heel and swayed into the neon-lit entranceway of a nearby club.

“What?” shouted Yuen Tai plaintively. Yuen Kwai and I held each other upright as we nearly collapsed in laughter.

“Guess you ain’t her type, Big Brother,” I said.

“That kind of girl, she’s anyone’s type”, said Yuen Kwai. “You know, a ‘chicken’.”

“What the hell’s a ‘chicken’?” I said, puzzled.

“A chicken’s a woman who does it for money, little boy,” he snorted.  “Don’t think you can afford that kind of dish.”

Yuen Tai kicked at the curb and then resumed walking, his face sullen.  “Ah, screw you guys,” he said. “All this talk about chicken’s making me hungry. Let’s go home.”

And the whole way back to the school we hooted and made clucking noises in his direction, until he threatened to smack some respect into us if we didn’t shut up.

Well, as badly as it turned out, Yuen Tai’s close encounter with the goddess kept him from sleeping easy that night. Even after he’d called lights out, he kept muttering to himself, nursing his battered ego and cursing the whims of women.

“She was fine, wasn’t she, though?” whispered Yuen Kwai to me. “Man, if we weren’t stuck in this place, we’d meet women like that all the time, wouldn’t we?”

“Yeah, I guess, “I said, pulling my covers over my head.

“I mean, if we had money and nice clothes, we could really be big men,” he said, yanking my blanket down. “We’re almost movie stars, right?”

“I guess it could be fun,” I mumbled. “Kissing and stuff.”

“Kissing?” Yuen Kwai chortled, grabbing at his crotch. “Yeah, she could kiss this right here, brother!”

Yuen Tai broke off his agonizing long enough to deliver a swift kick to Yuen Kwai’s leg. “Why don’t you go to sleep, asshole,” he said. “Closest you’re gonna get to a woman is in your dreams anyway.”

“Look who’s talking, Big Brother,” said Yuen Kwai. “Here, chickie  chickie …”

There was a muffled sound of struggling as Biggest Brother threw his blanket over Yuen Kwai’s head and began punching him in the stomach. The rest of us turned onto our sides and slid away from the wrestling pair.

I didn’t want to admit to Yuen Kwai that I had no idea what I’d do with

Pag. 130

a woman like that even if I did meet one.  Yuen Tai and Yuen Kwai always played at being big men, groaning and making dirty remarks when they saw fast women in hot outfits. But when I closed my eyes, I envisioned girls like my little friend on the Peak, the ambassador’s daughter: sweet, quiet women who liked talking and laughing and listening to my stories. Women who were soft and gentle, like my mother and our big sisters, always caring for me when I got hurt. Women whom I could protect from harm, like the brave swordsmen of my childhood storybooks.

 Call me old-fashioned, or a closet romantic, or socially backward, but kids these days, all they think about is sex. I didn’t think about that at all.

Well, not often. But what I mostly dreamed about was finding someone who would understand me and care about me and stay with me, the way no one else in my life ever had. 

It really didn’t seem like that much to ask.

The next day, I was chosen by Master to represent the academy at a special exhibition, in which I would demonstrate our school’s skills to visiting foreigners. Although all of Chinese opera has the same roots, the country is so big and is made up of so many different kinds of people that it has evolved into different forms—Beijing opera, which is the most traditional form, and which our Master taught; Cantonese opera, which is the form practiced in much of the South; and so on.

Even though it was a big responsibility, I didn’t take it too seriously; after all, the foreigners were probably too stupid to know the difference between good and bad opera anyway. So the trip was like a little vacation for me—a chance to slack off, avoid practice, and maybe even spend some of my precious pocket money, if I saw something that looked appetizing.

The bus trip to the hall where the exhibition was being held was long and boring, and I spent the time dozing, and thinking—just a little bit—about girls. I’d just about decided that they weren’t worth the trouble when the bus arrived at my destination, and I was forced to scramble to make it out the door before the driver pulled away from the curb.

“Stay awake on the bus, ya stupid kid,” the driver shouted as I stumbled onto the pavement. Turning my head to retort, I felt my body thump into something solid and soft, something that let out a gentle squeal as it toppled over. Babbling apologies, I attempted to untangle myself from my unintended victim, and realized that she was a girl, and about my age, and very beautiful.

Not beautiful like the chicken woman.  She had soft black hair, pulled back against her head in a simple ponytail; she was wearing a clean but plain cotton outfit, and her body—what I could feel of it, accidentally—was slender and petite. Her eyes were huge and as clear as mirrors, and the expression I saw within them was not frightened, but shyly amused.

Pag. 131

  “I’m sorry!”  I shouted too loudly, as I rolled instantly away. She pushed herself up on her arms and brushed at her clothes.   

“That’s all right, I’m fine,” she said, smiling. “You must be in a hurry…”

I helped her to her feet, my face blushing red. “No, no hurry,” I mumbled. “I mean, I’m not going anywhere special.”

It was odd. I usually didn’t have any trouble talking to anyone, but in front of this strange, wonderful girl, my tongue felt thick, like a lead weight in my mouth. “I’m sorry.”      

“You said that already,” she said, looking at the ground. There were two spots of red on her pale cheeks. “I have to go now. You should walk more carefully, or you could hurt yourself. Or somebody else!”

And she waved, and walked quickly away.

I could only stand there with my mouth open, feeling like I’d never felt before. Like I’d swallowed a gallon of warm, syrupy stuff, as sweet as milk—a kind of pleasant pain that came up from my belly and into my throat. And I was frozen, even though I knew that she was walking away, and if I didn’t see her again, I would die.

Somehow I got my muscles going again and threw all other thoughts out of my head—the foreigners and their ignorant curiosity about Chinese opera could go hang, if it meant that I’d be able to catch up with that girl. It would be worth any number of beatings by Master. Even a day without food.  A week.  A  year!

So I chased her, running around the corner, and saw her meeting up with a small group of other girls dressed like her, entering—

Entering the very hall I was due to appear at myself.

I looked down at my wrinkled, dusty clothes, once clean and neatly pressed. If she was going to be in the audience, I would put on the performance of a lifetime, of all my lifetimes. My heart beat strongly in my chest. I walked proudly into the performance hall.

The man in charge of the exhibition was standing at the doorway, dressed in a traditional outfit, and looking anxious. Spotting me, a slightly dirty-looking young boy, he made a move to shoo me away, but I quickly raised my hand.

“I’m here from Master Yu Jim-yuen’s China Drama Academy. My name’s Yuen Lo—I’m performing today.”

He starred at me up and down. “What happened to you?”

I shrugged. “I had an accident.”

He grabbed me by the shoulders and hustled me down a side corridor. The foreigners, he told me in a harsh whisper, were already seated and waiting. I was to go on second, and the entire show had been waiting on me to begin. How could I make Master Yu lose face this way, arriving late and in a mess?

Pag. 132

I didn’t care; my thoughts were focused on that girl, and meeting her again.

Backstage, I saw a number of small groups of young people, stretching out, talking quietly, or arranging their costumes. My own exhibition was going to be mostly acrobatics and forms, so I had no makeup or special outfit to prepare; some of the other groups were going to perform short scenes in full dress, and they stood out in their finery. I stared intently at the other boys and girls, searching to see if the girl was among them. Boys who noticed me staring looked back in challenge; girls looked away shyly, or blushed prettily, but not so prettily as the girl I’d run into outside. She wasn’t there. Could I have made a mistake?

And then I heard applause coming from the stage area, and realized that the show had begun. Stepping softly to the edge of the heavy cloth backdrop, I pulled a fold of it aside and peered out at the stage and audience. A group of girls were posed, frozen in a silent pattern, as the orchestra offstage began to play. They turned in time with the music, and began their scene, And from the side, I caught a flash of the lead performer’s face.

It was her!

She was one of us—an opera actor—and from the way the Chinese in the audience responded to her, she was a star. Her every move was graceful as she gestured and swept across the stage, beginning a lilting song of love and challenge. I recognized her opera style as coming from the Chieu Chow province—but she could have been singing a pop song and made it sound elegant.

When her song ended and the troupe stood still and quiet on the stage again, I realized that I was barely breathing. I had seen my sisters perform before, but they had always seemed like little girls wearing the clothes and makeup of adults. This girl, who’d looked to be about my age when I’d knocked her down outside, seemed every inch a woman—a princess—even with nothing on her face but some powder and her perfect smile.

“Ayah!” someone whispered in my ear. “What are you looking at? It’s your turn!”

I jumped back. I’d nearly forgotten! I wasn’t here to enjoy, but to perform—and I hoped, I somehow knew, that the girl would be watching me as I’d watched her.

The organizer of the exhibition was finishing his introduction of my school, my master, and the style of opera that I was going to represent. As the audience began its polite applause, I felt a strange sense of power welling up inside me. I was invincible, untouchable. I was the prince of my school, the king of the stage. I would show all of them, especially that girl, what a student of Master Yu Jim-yuen could do.

And to the rolling sound of the drum, I somersaulted onto the stage,

Pag. 133

Flipping up into a perfect handstand, before dropping in mock clumsiness into a drunkard’s pose.  As an old man, an imaginary wine jug under one arm, I fought invisible enemies, then transformed with a back flip and a shift of my features into Sun Wu Kong, the Monkey King, my body as agile and wild as any ape. I was a general, a scholar, a warrior mad for vengeance.  Without a word, without costume or weapon, I became every character I’d ever portrayed on that tiny stage at the Lai Yuen Amusement Park, all in perfect time with the music, with form so ideal that even Master might have nodded and smiled. The music hit is climax, the orchestra began to play its final bar, and with a last swagger of defiance against the world, I performed three quick somersaults in succession and disappeared into the wings.

The hall roared with applause. I pitied the performers who would have to follow me; it was their bad luck that I’d been put so early in the program. No one would remember anything but me that day, especially the foreigners, who had dared to look bored throughout  my girl’s wonderful singing.

I was already thinking of her as my girl! Even though I didn’t even know her name.  I caught my breath and walked around the corner and into the backstage area. A girl with a ponytail was standing at the edge of the backdrop, peeking through it at the stage.

“Hi,” I said softly, tapping her on the shoulder. It was the girl—my girl—and she turned pink when she saw it was me. “Did you see me?”

She nodded. “You were very good,” she said, smiling again and giving a little shake of her hair.

“Not as good as you,” I said, and meant it.

The organizer, who was helping the next group adjust their costumes, threw a nasty glare in our direction. There was a performance going on out there; making noise backstage was rude and, worse, bad luck.

Holding one finger to my lips, I took the girl’s wrist and pulled her after me toward the corridor that led to the front of the hall. Once we got there, I let her go, hoping she wouldn’t run. She simply looked at me, with that half-amused, half-shy expression that had charmed me when we’d first met.

“I’m sorry I ran you over before, “ I said, losing my tongue again.

“I’m sorry I was in your way,” she said, smiling. We were silent again, looking at each other.

“Where are you from?” I asked her, hoping for an address, or at least a general area where I could look for her again. She told me that her school was in Kowloon, not far from ours, but that she lived with her parents; her training hadn’t been as harsh and isolated as ours. I told her that our academy was in Kowloon too, and was about to ask if I might possibly be able to see her again, when the door to the corridor swung open

Pag. 134

And a group of laughing young women ran out. It was the girl’s company, and they stared and whispered at us they emerged into the hallway.

“Come on, Madame told us to go back to the school right after the performance!” said one of the older girls in the group, tugging at my new friend’s sleeve. “Don’t waste your time talking to that boy. We have to catch the bus!”

“He isn’t much to look at anyway,” whispered another, and I felt my face flushing red. The group, pulling my girl along, gossiped their way down the corridor.

And suddenly, I realized that I didn’t know her name!

“Hey!” I said, running after the group, down the hall and out the door. The girls were at the bus stop, and a double-decker was just opening its folding doors to let them in and take them away. “Wait! My name is Yuen Lo! What’s yours?”

The other girls pushed my girl into the bus, making faces at me. I was crushed. I was losing her. Maybe Forever.

Then I heard her clear voice over the sound of the bus motor. “My name is Oh Chang!” she said, poking her head out of an open window.

“Can I see you again?” I shouted.

She smiled and nodded, and was pulled back inside by her friends.

Oh Chang! Her name was as lovely as she was. I said it to myself again and again as the bus rolled off into the distance.

Then I slapped my forehead in disgust. That was my bus, too! And who knew when the next one would come along?

I cursed my own stupidity and set off on the long walk back to the academy, frustrated and alone.

Pag. 135

HEART-STRUCK

That was how it began—my first love.

I didn’t tell any of the other guys what had happened, in part because it made for a lousy story, but mostly because I was scared that if I did I’d jinx it and she’d disappear like a ghost, never to be found again. And I didn’t want to face a bunch of questions that I couldn’t answer—like what her last name was, or when I’d see her again.

The next day, Master told me to report to the movie studio where most of the other older students were working, just in case they needed an extra body. I nearly ran out the door, knowing that this was my chance. I took the long bus ride back to the performance hall where I’d met her the day before, and found the organizer who’d brought us all together. Wearing my best innocent expression, I told him that my master wanted to express his compliments to Oh Chang’s teacher, and asked him the address to her school. It was so simple! The organizer was glad to assist a man of my master’s stature, and even gave me directions on how to get there. On the bus ride back to Kowloon I planned out everything I’d say to her and thought about where I’d take my dream girl on our first date.

And that’s when I started to get nervous. I’d never gone on a date before and had no idea what most people did on their evenings out. What would Oh Chang enjoy? Would she like to go drink tea? Or see a film?

I really didn’t know anything about her!

Preoccupied, I nearly missed my stop and once again had to run out of the bus in a panic. I half hoped that somehow fate would intervene, and I’d bump into her on the sidewalk, just like the day before, but life is never that simple.

Her school was just a few blocks from the bus stop, and it was very impressive compared to ours—newer and cleaner, at least from the outside, with a shiny metal gate that had been freshly painted. The girls who learned opera here probably had never slept on a wooden floor in their lives.

My stomach felt hollow. Her friends didn’t think much of me. What if she saw me and told me to go away, or worse, laughed at me until I was forced to leave in shame? I tuned away from the gate, telling myself that there was still time to go to the studio.

Pag. 136

But as I began to walk back toward the bus, I heard a voice in my head that sounded as stern and disapproving as my father. Was that all I was good for—lying on the ground and playing dead? And then the voice became a chorus: my father, my master, all of Shandong, shouting together that I was a weak excuse for a man, afraid to stand up to the laughter of small girls, too afraid even to reach out for the most important thing in my life.

I didn’t care if she laughed at me! There was more shame in running away than in trying and failing.  And, my heart beating as strongly as any of my brave ancestors’, I walked back to the gate and swung it open, and stepped into the courtyard beyond.

The stones paving the courtyard were even and neatly kept, without any weeds or cracks in sight. The door was as bright as the gate had been, with the characters that made up the name of the school neatly carved into the sill above it and painted in gold. I straightened my clothes and knocked—once, twice—and waited, my mind a complete blank.

The door opened, revealing the face of an old woman with deep lines around her eyes. “Yes?” she asked.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry,  Madame, but I have a message for one of your students.” I stiffened my back and tried to look official.

The woman blinked. “I’m not a teacher here; I’m the housekeeper,” she said. “Madame is out on appointment; which student do you need to see?”

I swallowed. “The girl’s name is Oh Chang.”

The gray head looked at me with faint suspicion. “Miss Oh Chang is rehearsing right now.”

“The message is a short one”, I said, fighting back a wave of nausea.

“If you give it to me, I can pass it on,” she said.

“Ma’am, I was told to give it to her in person,” I said. My resolve was about to crumble; I wanted to run away. Let the voices in my head argue with this old bag if they thought it was so important.

The housekeeper sighed, and motioned with her hand. “Wait right here; I’ll find her,” she said. “But you really will have to be quick.”

Success! I’d gotten past the first test—like Monkey from the old stories, tricking the guardian at the gate to heaven. After a few moments, the door opened again, and I faced her—Oh Chang—again, her mouth and eyes as round as Os in surprise at my unexpected appearance.

She had apparently been in the middle of a full dress rehearsal, because her delicate features were powdered white, with streaks of rose above her eyes. Her hair was pulled back with sparkling combs, and the plain outfit of yesterday’s exhibition had been replaced with a flowing gown with long sleeves, cut from a richly embroidered fabric.

“Hello,” I managed to choke out. “You look different…”

Even as I said the words, I cursed myself as a fool. All of the things I

    

Pag. 137 (até 140)

Imagined saying had sprung out of my head when I’d finally found myself facing her again. If I was lucky, maybe she wouldn’t call the police.

“I’m sorry,” she said, covering her cheeks with her hands. “I was rehearsing—we have a tour coming up, a trip to Thailand, and we have a lot of new things to practice.”

“Don’t be sorry; you look wonderful,” I said. What was I saying?!

She laughed in her shy way. “Did you really have a message for me?” she asked. “The housekeeper will be coming back soon…”

“The message is,” I said, and stopped. I summoned up all of the determination I could, hearing the distant encouragement of the voices. “The message is that you have an appointment later.”

“And who is that appointment with?”

“With me,” I said cockily.

She laughed again, in spite of herself.  “What time is this appointment?”

“What time are you free?”

Oh Chang leaned against the door, furrowing her brow. “I go home at ten o’clock,” she said. “But usually I just go straight to sleep.”

“Sneak out,” I said. “I’ll wait for you.”

“You don’t even know where to wait!” she said.

“I will if you tell me,” I responded, flashing my best smile.

And she did.

And then she closed the door, after giving me one last smile and wave.

Monkey had entered the gates of heaven, and the voices in my head were cheering victory.

I spent the rest of the afternoon walking around Kowloon, just waiting until nigh. I managed t kill time walking in show circles around the neighborhood, watching the crowd and eating snacks. I thought about going to the studio, but they wouldn’t take me on for a half day, and besides, I wanted everything to be perfect for my big date that night—no dirt, no sweat, no bruises or sprains. And then, as I my third sweet bean bun, a stray thought began nagging at me. As far as Master knew, I was at the studio all day, doing the same boring stuff my brothers were doing. But tomorrow morning, he’d line us up after breakfast as usual and ask us for the pay we received the day before.

With horror, I imagined the scene in my head. “Where is your money, Yuen Lo?” he’d ask, as I stood there empty-handed. “Did you lose it? Or spend it foolishly?”

What excuses could I have? He’d give me seventy-five smacks with his cane, one for every dollar I was missing—and even though he’d gotten grayer and stiffer, he hadn’t lost any of his strength.

There was n help for it. I walked to the bank where my father had opened an account for me, and asked the teller to withdraw HK$75.

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I’d give Master the money, and he’d never know the difference. But, I thought to myself, girls were turning out to be an expensive habit.

At exactly ten o’clock, I found myself standing outside of the gate to Oh Chang’s house, on a very nice block in one of the wealthier parts of Kowloon. The lights were out, and the windows shuttered closed. For as split second, I thought that I’d been tricked, that she was upstairs in her bed dreaming about what an idiot I was. And then the gate swung open, and her lovely face peeked out into the street.

“Hello,” I said, putting one hand on the gate in what I hoped was an appropriately casual pose.

“You came,” she said, smiling. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

“Where else would I be?” I said, smiling back. “Come on.”

She stepped out into the street, and I thought I’d never seen anything so pretty in my life as Oh Chang at that moment, wearing a simple cotton dress, her hair down and falling around her shoulders, lit only by the pale glow of the moon.

We walked side by side down the street in silence. Then Oh Chang asked me about my school, and it was like a dam had broken open inside me. I told her about the aches and pains of practice, and knew she was listening, and that she understood. I told her about Master’s hard discipline, the beatings and punishments, and she sighed in sympathy. I told her jokes and riddles and funny stories about my adventures with my brothers, and she laughed, and I felt like I could watch her laughing like that forever.

We walked and walked, until finally we found ourselves on the edge of Kowloon Park. Sitting there on a wooden bench, the moon high in the sky and a light breeze rustling the leaves of the trees around us, I somehow found the courage to take her hand, and she didn’t pull away. I still remember how small and warm her hand was, how soft and graceful it was, so different from my rough, callused fists. It was like our hands were from two different worlds: hers were the hands of the wealthy, soft and delicate, and mine were practical, purposeful. They were tools—or weapons.

We sat there together for hours. Talking a little bit. Mostly  just looking at the moon and each other. Then she said, “Yuen Lo, I have to go. It’s almost midnight,” and the spell was broken. I didn’t argue; it was already much more than I could have hoped for, a poor, ragged guy like me and a rich, pretty girl like her. I pulled her up off the seat and we began the walk back to her home.

“It was nice to see you,” she said, as we approached her block. I nodded, squeezing her hand.

We stood in front of her gate, the night at its darkest hour, and I wondered if I should kiss her. Somehow, it didn’t seem right—like if I did, it would break some secret, unspoken rule, and she’d disappear forever—

Pag. 139

And so I just watched in silence as she waved good-bye and crossed into her courtyard.

And then she peeked her head out again, knowing I hadn’t yet turned to leave. “Will you come visit me again, Yuen Lo?” she asked, her cheeks pink and her eyes looking modestly away.

She liked me! I broke out in a wide grin, my heart leaping. “How could you keep me away?” I said, and before she could answer, I blew her a kiss and ran into the night, hearing her giggles trail off behind me in the warm, humid air.

From that point on, I went to visit her nearly every day of the week, ditching work, inventing excuses, and drawing dollar after dollar from my dwindling bank account to give to Master. Every day I saw her cost me U.S$10, which was a big amount—you could eat for a week on that—but what did I care? That money was buying me love.

Of course, I had to tell my brothers that I had a girlfriend, so that they would cover for me if Master got suspicious. After all, they knew I wasn’t going to the studio to work. But, if I wanted to waste my money that way, who were they to criticize? The only bad part was hearing the awful jokes they’d make about Oh Chang and what we were probably doing, out in the park alone every night. It wasn’t like that, but they’d never understand. I let them have their fun…and resolved never to let them meet her, if I could possibly help it.

Then, about six months after I started seeing her, Master told me he was sending me on another exhibition. This one wouldn’t take place in Hong Kong at all—it would be in Southeast Asia, in Singapore, thousands of miles away. I broke the news to Oh Chang, expecting her to be sad, but she just laughed.

“Don’t be silly; it’s only a few weeks,” she said. “Besides, don’t you remember? I’ll be on tour in Thailand at the same time—we’ll be practically next door to each other.”

So, after half a year of being together, we would be apart for the very first time. I made her promise not to forget me, and she made me promise the same. I knew in my in my heart that promises like that weren’t necessary for me;  It didn’t matter how long or how far away she was, she would always be in my dreams.

Pag. 140

HEARTSICK

On the trip to Singapore, I felt lonely for the first time in a long while. Living in the crowded school, I was hardly ever on my own, so going on trips by myself was actually sort of a luxury. Now that I had Oh Chang, and now that we were apart, every moment felt empty. There was always something missing.

And so there I was, far away from my home, counting down the days. The hosts of the exhibition had put me up in a house, a much nicer place than the school, with a real bed and even an indoor bathroom. Other than at meals, they pretty much ignored me, and left me to wander the city on my own. I worked out during the daytime, hoping that good honest sweat would help me forget about Oh Chang, just for a little while; at night I explored the City of Lions.

I thought I could make it through the two weeks away without going crazy, and I almost did. The night right before I left Singapore, I went walking by myself as usual, staring at buildings and people, listening to the shouts of street hawkers selling unusual treats in an unfamiliar tongue. It was my last chance to see the city, and so I walked farther than I’d gone in all the nights before, until I found myself in a deserted street, miles away from my host home. In my eagerness to get away from my own thoughts, I’d forgotten about the time. It would take me hours to get back, and I’d be lucky to make it before dawn.

That’s when the rain began—not a gentle spray, but a sudden, tearing downpour that quickly built into a full-scale monsoon. Sheets of water fell from the sky, and the wind whipped at cloth canopies and brightly painted signs. I ran through the storm, my head down, instantly soaked, knowing that I’d never make it back on foot. Then I saw an old, rusting bicycle, abandoned on a street corner by its owner, and straddled it in the half-shelter of a doorway. The wind would make riding difficult, but I’d get back faster than walking. I pushed it out into the street and began to pump with all my might, headfirst into the gale, standing on the pedals and leaning forward on downhill strokes.

I wanted to be with Oh Chang forever. I’d give away ten years of my life if I could spend what was left with her. I’d give up anything. In my frenzied brain, it seemed to me that somehow, if I rode out this storm, if I

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made it home in one peace, my wish would come true. I pedaled harder, like I was racing against my own bad luck. And then in the white brightness of a lightning flash, I saw a figure in a balcony above my head, and somehow I knew it was her, that I’d won the race, that she was mine forever. I threw the old bicycle aside, splashed through the dirty water of the street, and leaped up to grab the side of the balcony, clambering up and over despite the slickness of the wet ironwork.

It was a woman’s wet blouse, left twisting and forgotten on a drying pole, that I’d mistaken for her—for my Oh Chang. I laughed to myself;  it was a sign of how stupid I was. How could she be here, in Singapore? Why would she be standing out in the rain? She was hundreds of miles away, being showered with praise and the attention of rich admirers.

Stupid me! She was sweet and beautiful, she lived in a nice house, and she was one of the most famous actresses in the Chieu Chow opera circle. And me, I was a poor dumb stuntman, a big-nosed, ugly kid with no future.

Huddling under the pitiful shelter of the balcony canopy, I put my head down on my knees and dropped off to sleep. The wetness on my cheeks could have rain, or something else.

I apologize: I didn’t intend to go so far off course, but Oh Chang was probably the most wonderful thing to happen to me up to that point, and just thinking about her still makes me a little happy and a little sad. Many years later, Oh Chang retired from singing in the Beijing Opera and opened a small boutique in Hong Kong. Every so often, I would send one of my assistants over to check on the store, to make sure things were going okay, and to buy expensive items of clothing, which we would later donate to charity. I didn’t want her to know that I was keeping an eye on her—she would never have let me support her like that, even as a friend, so everything had to be done in complete secrecy.

Recently, she decided to move from Hong Kong, and announced to her customers that she was closing the store. I gave all of my female staff members money and told them to go over to the boutique, and they ended up buying everything that Oh Chang had! Oh Chang was happy that she had so many loyal customers—and my staff members were happy to get some nice things for free.

You know, she never got married, and didn’t even have a boyfriend.

It makes me wonder sometimes.

But I’ve said it before:  history is history, the past is the past, and that’s where it belongs, in our happy memories. I’m sure she’d agree with me. That’s the kind of person she is.

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HEARTBROKEN

Once I’d settled into my new apartment, my furniture built—it wasn’t very pretty, but it suited my needs—my life in the real world could really begin. Without Master on my back all day and my brothers and sisters at my side all night, I had twenty—four hours each day to play with. After waking up in the morning at the luxurious hour of eight o’clock, I’d go buy some buns and eat them on them on the bus to the movie studio, where I’d stand around with the other junior stuntmen, waiting to be called out for work. Some of them were my brothers, and we’d sit around on the set in the shade, telling jokes, bragging, and watching the actors and senior stuntmen. Usually we weren’t impressed with what we saw. Even today, making movies can be a pretty tedious job—if you’re at the bottom of the food chain. Most of it is waiting around while other people argue and shout, trying to doze and look alert at the same time. I’s a tough skill to master, but we had plenty of practice while we were at the school, and ir served us well.

You never wanted to look like you were too bored, because then someone would grab you and make you carry things around, even if you weren’t working that day. Then again, you didn’t want to look like you were too interested, because we were young, and even back then, you had to act like you didn’t give a damn about anything if you wanted to be cool.

Hong Kong’s biggest studio at the time was owned by the Shaw Brothers, Run Run and Runme Shaw—two of Hong Kong’s first tycoons. It was called Movie Town, and it was huge, over forty acres in size, with hundreds of buildings ranging in size from prop sheds to giant soundstages and dormitories for actors who were working on contract for Shaw Brothers. It even had a mock-up of an entire Ch’ing dynasty village, which served as the set for most of the Shaws’ movies—since most of the films they were making at the time were period martial arts epics and swordsman films. That’s why stuntmen (even “stunt boys” like us) were in such big demand: we were the unknown grunts who made all of the slashing, smashing, diving, jumping, punching, kicking, flying magic possible.

The studio wouldn’t risk its big names doing things that might hurt them, not because they cared what happened to them (most contract actors got just a HK$200-a-month stipend and HK$700 per film), but because

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an injury might stop or slow down production—and Shaw Brothers churned out dozens and dozens of movies a year.

We, on the other hand, worked cheap, and we did everything, no matter how dirty or dangerous, and if they didn’t need us on a given day, they just ignored us. At least they gave us lunch, though the food was even worse than the meals at school, if you can imagine that—just rice and vegetables or soup dumped out big pots.

I mentioned before that most of the time, junior boys like me did the very worst jobs: we played corpses, or were extras in crowd scenes, wearing the oldest, smelliest costumes and standing in the back. But no matter how rotten the jobs were, they put us right in the middle of the action. We watched the seniors, and learned, and thought to ourselves how much better we’d be when we finally joined their ranks.

The day wouldn’t be over until late at night. When a movie has to be finished in less than a month, you aren’t stopped by a silly thing like the sun going down. Even though it didn’t match the look of daylight, they’d bring out huge electric lamps and keep us shooting, knowing that we’d cost the same—one day’s pay—whether they wrapped at suppertime or at midnight.

Usually I managed to leave the studio in time to get back to Kowloon by ten o’clock (Movie Town was in Clear Water Bay, on the Hong Kong side). By that time I’d be starving, so I’d grab some noodles or rice from a roadside vendor and eat it on the way to Oh Chang’s house. It’s funny: my father’s a cook, one of the best I’ve ever seen, but in all the time I lived on my own in Kowloon, I never made a real meal  for myself. It was always the same street food, cheap, quick, and hot, day after day—but back then, that was what I loved. “I’m still a simple eater meal anytime.

And then, like clockwork, Oh Chang would peek her head out from the gateway to her house, and wave, and walk with me on the long, slow walk to Kowloon Park, to our bench, our moon, and our two hours together. Each day I’d carefully remember all of the strange things that happened on the set—a director got so angry at an actor that he fell out of his chair! One of the senior stuntmen fell off a roof the wrong way and landed in a horse cart, and the cart broke and wheels rolled everywhere!—just so I’d have something new and interesting to tell her. Hoping that I’d be funny enough that she’d want to see me the next night because I didn’t know what I’d do if I showed up and saw the gate closed and locked…

It was a few months after we’d returned from our trips to Southeast Asia when my worst fears finally came true.

I was a little late getting to Oh Chang’s, delayed because the director had gotten into a screaming match with the stunt coordinator over how a

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certain scene should be choreographed. I was just window dressing in the shot—a bystander in the crowd watching the fight—but the stupid director wouldn’t let any of us leave until he got his way, even though he knew that the coordinator should have say over all stunt sequences. That was stupid: you never wanted to alienate a good stunt coordinator, and the whole thing had made the coordinator lose face before his stuntmen. The director would be lucky if the rest of his film had a single battle worth watching. If I were the coordinator, I’d have walked off the set on the sport.

But as a junior nobody, I couldn’t walk away—not if I wanted to come back the next day. So I ran, breathless and sweaty, all the way from the bus stop, not even pausing to eat.

She was still there! My heart jumped up, since I’d half expected her to have gone inside and back to sleep. And then I noticed that her expression wasn’t the sweet and happy one I was used to, and that I loved so much. Her face was pale, and her eyes red. What had happened?

“Oh Chang, what’s wrong?” I said, swallowing hard.

She shook her head.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Oh Chang; it was the director— “She turned away from me, and the story I was ready to tell her, about the stupid director and his fight with the stunt coordinator, faded away unspoken. I was crushed. I knew in my heart something was wrong , and that it didn’t have anything to do with my being late.

“Yuen Lo…” she said softly, a catch in her voice. “I can’t see you anymore.”

And then she walked inside and closed the gate behind her.

I stared at the gate, a metal wall cutting me off from my happiness, and then began to run.

I wanted to scream, and if I screamed, I wanted to be as far away as possible.

I spent that night slumped in a corner in my apartment, just staring at the walls, the lights out and the shutters closed. In the pitch black of my room, I could almost imagine that I was surrounded by people, by my brothers and sisters, sound asleep and as quiet as the grave. It was better than realizing that I was alone.

I called her the next day, begging the building manager to use his phone.

The phone rang for what seemed like hours, before a stern male voice answered.

“Hello?” it said, without an ounce of kindness.

“Hello, sir,” I said, finding my tongue after a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m—I’m looking for Oh Chang.”