MaMa,
The ice on the Arrow River is broken into shards of glass to pierce my heart. The gold I was to send for second brother’s schooling was stolen from my hiding place. Respectfully, I am sorry.
I share a room with Cheong Tam on the edge of town only when the creeks are frozen. Ice glazes inside of the single window, and the light is pale like the eyes of the townspeople. As soon as it darkens, others gather here to smoke Tam’s black beads and gamble at fan tan and pakapoo. They miss their wives and children and mothers. We are alone together. I earn shillings by reading letters they bring me: families needing money, deaths, births, longings. I write letters back for them. Tam wants to learn to make characters, but I fail at teaching him.
I thaw my fingers at hearth to finish my news. No birds sing in winter.
As soon as the creeks sing again I will find more gold, enough for second brother to attend school and for you to build a fine house as well. It is hard work, not like digging for peanuts. In three years I will return with honor.
Faithful First Son,
Wing Lun