Pag. 30
MY FIRST
GOOD-BYE
Shortly after the document was signed, my parents
called me away from the small group of other students with whom I’d been
playing.
“Come with us to say good-bye, Pao-pao,” my mother
said. I didn’t understand what she meant; couldn’t we say good-bye right there?
But the tone of her voice stopped me from complaining. I walked with her and my
father out of the academy, waving good-bye to the students and my new master,
and telling I’d back soon.
We returned to the house on the Peak, where my father
busied himself with small matters while my mother disappeared into our bedroom.
I took the opportunity to say good-say to the
ambassador’s wife and told her I’d be back to visit. She smiled and patted me
on the head, and wished me good fortune, promising to give her children a hug
for me.
Soon I head my parents calling, and we left the house
again for the lower city. My father was carrying a large bag full of clothes
and personal belongings, and holding tightly on to my mother’s shoulders.
“How long will you be away, Dad?” I asked him, as we
took the winding bus ride down the Peak. He stared out the window of the bus,
his face its usual solemn mask.
“Ah Pao, it is possible that I will not see you for a
very long time,” he said.
I was too young to really understand the passing of
time; did he mean weeks? Months? Years?
My mother took my hands in hers. “Your father is going
to work in Australia, across the ocean, so that someday we will be able to give
you all the things you like.”
That I understood. It seemed like a pretty fair
exchange—my father going away in exchange for nice things.
We took the bus all the way down to the bay, and
walked down the harbor past the ferry dock. I gawked at the sleek and enormous
ships, the tall stacks of crated goods bound for a hundred countries, and the
giant cranes being used to load and unload cargo.
“Ahoy, Chan!” shouted a gruff, strangely accented
voice. My father waved at the approaching figure, a big, fat foreigner with a
thick blond mustache.
Pag. 31
“This is the man who is arranging for your father’s
travel,’ my mother whispered.
“Dad is riding one of those big boats?”
“You father is going to take that boat over there.”
The boat, rocking gently in the stiff breeze, was
smaller than giant cargo ships, but larger by far than the Star Ferry, the only
boat I’d ever been on. I was suddenly overcome by envy.
“I want to go on a boat too!” I complained.
“Perhaps someday when you’re older, Ah Pao,” my mother
said. “Now be good! You must draw a picture of your father in your head so you’ll
remember him until the next time you see him.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and thought about my dad,
tall, strong, and tough; shaking a knife at me in mock anger as I stole a scrap
of food from his kitchen; slumped in exhaustion at the end of the day, his
apron stained and his hands raw from scrubbing away the smells of a day’s
meals; silhouetted against the pink morning sky, his arms moving fluidly
through a series of series of kung fu exercises. I thought about that day we
first visited the academy, and the steaming-hot sweet bonus we’d shared
together.
When I opened my eyes, I was surprised to find that
they were damp.
My father had finished his conversation with the
foreigner and was giving my mother a rough embrace as he whispered into her
ear. She nodded into his shoulder and whispered back. Then, releasing her, he
came to me and squatted down on his knees.
“Kong sang,” he said, calling me by my given name, “you
are a big boy now, big enough to take care of myself. I know you will make us
proud.”
I nodded dumbly.
“I said that the next time I see you, you will have
grown into a young man. I won’t have the chance to give you a father’s advice
again, so I want you to promise me three things,” he said. “First, you must
never join a gang. Second, you must never take drugs. And third, you must never
come a gambler.”
Since I didn’t know what any of these things were, the
promise was an easy one to make.
“No matter what you become—no matter if life treats you
well or poorly—you must keep your word on these three things,” he said. “Then I
will know that you are following the right path, and giving your family and
your ancestors no reason to be ashamed.”
And with that, he gave me one last quick hug and stood.
The big foreigner called his name again, and my father turned and walked up the
ship’s gangplank. Two sailors cast the boat’s ropes as the gangplank was
raised. The boat drifted away from the dock, toward my father’s fresh start in
a strange land. We waved at the ship as the water began to churn white behind
it.
Pag. 32
“Remember what I said, Ah Pao!” my father shouted,
just before he slipped out of earshot. And then it was time for me and my
mother to make our trip across the water, back to the academy and my own new
life.
It was late by the time we arrived, and the
lengthening shadows gave a creepy to the deserted backstreets. Through some
trick of the light, the building that housed the academy suddenly looked forbidding,
even frightening, more like a prison than a home.
I swallowed hard, telling myself that I was headed for
fun and freedom, and that I really wouldn’t miss my mom and dad that much.
The master welcomed us back and reassured my mother
that all would be find. She promised that she would visit me regularly and
fussed over me, using the corner of her sleeve to wipe at a smear of dirt on my
face. The other students giggled at the sight, bringing a hot flash of embarrassment
to my cheeks.
“Don’t worry about me, Mom!” I said impatiently.
Finally, she let me go and was escorted to the door by Master.
She turned to look back at me, but I was already deep
in conversation with the other kids.
I don’t even remember the last thing she said to me
before she left.
But as soon as Master returned from showing my mother
out, it was as if something in the air had changed. The students quietly went
back to their chores or private practice. The master took my hand and showed me
around the academy, pointing out things I might have overlooked: the ancestral
shrine, the kitchen, the large, outdoor shower area. We sat at the long table,
and Master smoked cigarettes while asking me about my family and my old home on
the Peak.
We talked for hours, until late in the night. Then
Master, watching a yawn split my face, told me it was time to go to bed. He called
out to the other students, who filed into the main hall carrying neatly folded
blankets. Then, wishing me a good night, he patted me on the head left the hall
for his quarters elsewhere in the academy.
Getting up from the table, I watched as the kids,
talking quietly amongst themselves, arranged their blankets around the edge of
the practice room.
“We sleep on the ground?” I asked one of the boys I’d
played with earlier in the day. He ignored me and flopped down on his stomach,
pulling his old blanket around his body. I felt a thump of cloth against my
back and turned around. It was my nemesis, Yuen Lung. He’d thrown a roll of fabric
at me—a blanket as moth-eaten and worn as the others—and his face wore its
customary scowl.
“Quit screwing around, new boy,” he said. “Lights out
in ten minutes, unless your ass is too dainty for the floor.”
Pag. 33
I lay down in a corner and spread the blanket out,
bending my arm into a pillow for my head. Soon even Yuen Lung had readied
himself for sleep, and the oldest of the students, a quiet young man named Yuen
Ting, whose official title was “Biggest Brother,” shouted, “Lights out!”
And the room went dark.
As hard as the wooden floor was, it beat the concrete
of the rubbish room. I rolled onto my side and quickly fell asleep.
Pag. 34
MY BROTHER, MY ENEMY
The next day, I opened my eyes to find that all of the
other students had already awakened. Master and Biggest Brother stood at the front
of the room, leading the boys and girls through a grueling set of warm-up exercises.
Kicking aside my blanket, I stretched and wandered through the ranks of
sweating students, whistling to myself and laughing at their expressions of
exertion. Some of them shot dirty glances at me, but I didn’t care; no one was
telling me what to do, no one was yelling at me, and for the first time in my
life, I was completely free to do whatever I wanted.
Breakfast had already been served, eaten cleared, so I
wandered into the kitchen looking for something to much on. It was empty, and all
the food locked away in the pantry. That was too bad—I was dying of hunger.
Then I remembered that my mother had, on the walk over
from the ferry terminal, bought me a bag of snacks and sweets. It was still
sitting in the entry room, along with my small suitcase.
Rummaging quickly through the bag, I found some arranges
and a handful of plum candy. I ran back to the practice hall and sat down in one
corner, watching the students work while peeling an orange and stuffing
segments into my mouth.
After an hour, the master called a short break, and
the students broke into smaller groups to talk and catch their wind.
I had finished one of the oranges and set the other
aside for later, and was sucking intently on a piece of the dried plum candy
when a harsh voice broke my concentration.
“Hey, new boy, where’d you get that food?” It was Yuen
Lung, his white shirt damp with perspiration and his face mean. Behind him was
his constant sidekick, an equally rough older kid named Yuen Tai.
“My mom gave it to me,” I said, my mouth full of plum.
“What’d you say?” said Yuen Lung, his eyes narrowing.
Yuen Tai stepped forward and stuck his hand in my
face. “When you speak to an older student, you’d better call him Big Brother,”
he said. “Say it.”
“My mom gave it to me, Big Brother,” I repeated,
gritting my tteth.
Pag. 35
“Apologize to your Big Brother,” Yuen Tai said.
“I’m sorry, Big Brother.”
Yuen Lung’s face lit up with a victorious smile. “Yuen
Tai, what’s the penalty for disrespecting your elders?”
Yuen Tai thought for a second. “Penalty is no more
snacks, Yuen Lung.”
Yuen Lung snatched away my second orange, while Yuen
Tai pried open my hand to remove the remaining pieces of plum candy.
“Hey!” I said.
“You got a problem, new boy?” said Yuen Tai, his mouth
full of candy.
The space between their two heads was suddenly filled
by Master’s stern and questioning face. “Is there a problem here?” he said, an
edge in his voice.
“No, Master!” said Yuen Lung, shoving the orange into
his pocket, where it bulged like a horrible tumor. Yuen Tai swallowed with
difficulty, his eyes crossing, then rattled out a weak “No, Master” of his own.
I grinned to myself. You see, every piece of dried
plum candy has a hard pit at its center. In his haste to get rid of the
evidence, Yuen Tai had just swallowed four or five pits at once.
“Kong-sang?” said Master, his eyebrow quirked.
“Everything’s fine, Master!” I chirped, folding my
hands in my lap. Yuen Lung glared at me and mouthed a curse in my direction.
The two older boys went back to their practice, and I
sat humming my mom’s favorite song to myself, watching the, happily until the
call for lunch.
