A SUPERIOR MAN MERITS A SECOND CHANCE (1885)A SUPERIOR MAN MERITS A SECOND CHANCE (1885)
The boy ran to the trough with the centipede legs and trotted alongside with a stick, tapping it like a drum. I followed him to the soggy pit where water dripped from the break. I shoved the trough with both my hands, and then gave it another push, this time with my heels dug into the ground. It didn’t topple. The legs were braced by a cross beam, buried under the soil. It would take more than one man to push this over.
At the big graveyard ahead, someone was bent over the ground. Perhaps a rail hand on his way home was paying respects to a comrade. How noble. Sam had bypassed many graveyards due to our bad luck on this trip. The Chinese Council in Yale should demand a refund from him. Maybe then he would stop hounding me to take him to China. He got paid for a job he didn’t finish. Our deceased didn’t get their incense and whisky. As for those fools who had stolen our packs, I hoped they had found good use for the spirit money, maybe for each other.
Inside the fence, the man glanced up. To my surprise, it was Fist, but he had shaved and dressed neatly, with a re-braided pigtail and clean shirt, as if ready for a clerk’s job in town. On seeing his scarred and scowling face, I almost remarked that when a beggar donned the king’s dragon robe, he didn’t become a prince in the next instant. But I needed Fist to invite me to eat and sleep here.
The graveyard looked different but familiar, like someone’s face seen after several years’ absence. It puzzled me, because little could change in such a place and this was no season for new flowers. Besides, who—
The rows of grave-sticks were gone.
I looked again. The bones had lost their names.
The site was flattened, as if a dark cyclone had churned through. The fence stood intact but the grass had been crushed and flattened. One corner post was charred; someone had tried to burn it. My first thought was: run far and fly high. It was bad luck to have come back here.
“Seen enough?” Fist scowled. “Now get out.”
I must have looked bewildered.
He took his time before speaking. “Morning after you left, we found everything yanked out. Maybe it was one shit-hole fiend, maybe it was a gang of them. They could have burned the markers but they didn’t. They tossed them aside like chewed-through bones, to laugh at us.”
He kicked a rusty pail; it rolled ahead. I recalled Sam attacking the kettle from Boss Soon’s gang outside Big Tunnel. That was the day I lost my money roll.
Peter ran at the pail, nudging it along, glancing behind with a hopeful look, wanting Fist to chase him.
“You came back,” he said. “What for?”
“Can’t the markers be replanted?” What a stupid question. If repairs were possible, then they would have been done already. One Leg was a capable fellow who had taken splendid care of this place.
Fist glared. “You tell me, which name goes where?”
“Not even a few spots? Didn’t you tend even one person?”
“I can’t read.”
I squatted. Surnames and home districts rushed at me, a swarm of raging bees. In China, even the most hardened and bitter of criminals would not wreck a graveyard. Bandit leader Cudgel refused to attack processions taking food to hilltop graves. All people had parents and ancestors, all people needed their blessings and protection. Here, friends and kin of the dead workers had written names on markers, doing their duty as best they could. But now, these nameless bones could receive neither respect nor assurances from kinsmen or co-workers. Now the men’s final remnants couldn’t be sent to families waiting to mourn them. These were corpses without faces, bones without homes, all adrift without past or purpose.
A crow cawed and flapped high into the air over the trees. I shuddered. Lost souls were watching from the brooding forest. If not for the daylight, they would leap shrieking from the shadowy woods and hurl themselves at this site, clawing to cross over for revenge.
A brisk wind moved grey clouds over the canyon. Rain and nightfall were coming. The loss of the grave-sticks upset the murky balance between living and dead. Saintly priests with clean bald skulls and yellow robes were needed here to chant and restore order. The outraged spirits must be freed to hunt down the guilty redbeards, coil themselves around their necks, and squeeze until those human tongues hung out black and stiff.
“Will you and One Leg leave now?” I couldn’t run off too quickly; that would reveal a coward.
“Revenge first.”
“You?” I never expected to hear that from this worm. “You’re one man! You don’t even know who did this.”
“The redbeards raged about China men working at the landslide. It was the night before the Lytton fire. Boss Soon came by yesterday. He’ll help.”
“Was it the Native people?”
“We lived here a year and never had trouble.”
“The China men in Lytton argued about revenge there, did you hear?” I mentioned the scuffle between Seven and Boss Joe, as well as the baby mice.
“Stupid fools. We can do better.”
I squatted, head between my knees, fingers at the back of my neck. The stubble there had grown long and smooth to the touch, but my pigtail was hard and firm. It was time to wash myself and get a shave in Victoria, before setting off for home. I needed a hot bath, to scrub off all this filth and anger from the other world. Crushed weeds, pebbles, and dirt lay under my battered boots. Nothing decent could grow here.
The boy jumped on my back, wanting to play, wanting to be carried. I growled and shrugged him off. He clambered onto the fence to ride it like a horse, his reins some old rope left there.
I hurried to reproach him; too much dignity had been ripped from this place already. He leaned back and pulled at his pretend reins. Then I saw myself on a horse too, galloping over a hardened path, leading a war party and raising a cloud of dust.
Had Heaven slid me into play here, like a chess piece?
If Fist and I took revenge, then I would become a hero to railway coolies and to all of China. People would praise my name to the skies, petition the mandarins in charge of rites to add me to the ranks of gods, and start to dedicate stately temples to my name. I could go home with head upright, bearing the most valiant of tales to tell. Gentry and high officials would bow to me, sweep their sleeves to the ground. Court artists would bid to paint my likeness, and reveal me to royal princesses. The stinking low-lifes in my village would soon forget about my father. That bastard might even hurry home to bask in my glory.
Fist kicked the pail around tree stumps and bushes, letting it rattle over the broken ground. He asked about His Holiness in Lytton.
I gave him honest answers and saw him relax. “Will One Leg leave?”
“He will obey His Holiness.”
“And revenge?”
“Boss Soon said to tell no one. First, we plan what to do.”
“I can help.”
“You hate railway coolies.”
“Not so.”
“You called us ‘big fools.’” He snorted. “Now you want to stay the night.”
I swallowed hard. “Only if it’s no bother.” It was the only way to learn his plans.
He walked away but then turned back. “Don’t have anything to do?” He pointed at the grave-sticks. “Sort these by names and home districts. One Leg wants to write down everything. We should have drawn a map earlier. The old bugger thinks he’s smart, but he’s not.”
I squatted. The markers were two times longer and wider than a schoolboy’s ruler. Damp earth and strands of yellow roots clung to the bottom ends of the sticks. One Leg’s brushwork was graceful, even for the complicated words with many strokes. He must have followed a talented teacher long ago, or practised a great deal on his own. Names from the Lee, Wong, Ma, and Chan clans were most numerous. No doubt they possessed cosy ties to the agents who raced through the Four Counties, trawling for fools. Those peasants and their families had laughed and rejoiced at landing plum jobs on the railway. Now they were gutted and lost.
Many of the small surnames—Soo, Fong, Woo, and Kwan—were on hand too, just one stick in each pile. Those men must have been lonely as broomsticks, left outside the noisy circles of larger clans unless they could claim ties through marriage or myths of alliance. I spotted a Yang name and let out a breath of relief. That gave me a solid reason to join any mission for revenge. The fellow’s home district was far from the Four Counties. I muttered his name and village, but it was a fool’s dream to think that I would ever meet his kinsmen in China. Still, I could readily toss his name at Fist and Boss Soon.
Peter yelled and jumped off the fence, but the sorting wasn’t finished. I darted back and forth between hard-to-reach piles instead of tossing each marker like a stick of kindling. I murmured each man’s name and home village, as if it might somehow soothe him. This was the last show of earthly concern these men would receive. If I gained their favour, then they might help me enlist in Fist’s mission. He came by when I stood and brushed dirt from my hands.
“Done.” I pointed to the biggest pile. “You Chans are most numerous.”
“Go scrub off the killing airs.”
From around the cabins came chopping sounds, dull thuds broken by pauses for loosening the axe head from the wood. Fist still wasn’t helping with chores. One Leg swung the long-handled axe as his crutches leaned against a high-back chair. After each blow, he reached out to steady himself. No Brain freed the axe head and re-centered the block of wood on the stump. One Leg looked haggard. Beard stubble covered his face and dark shadows ringed his eyes. Too bad he couldn’t help with the revenge.
Fist brought me soap and a pail of water.
One Leg saw me. “Hok, you stinking bastard, you dare show your face? After calling us ‘big fools’?”
“I was in a hurry. I was angry when you saw me with Sam.”
He lifted the axe, let his body drop back, and swung. The blade bit the wood and No Brain went forward.
“Visit the temple?” One Leg asked.
“His Holiness tells you to go home.”
“Just in time too,” Fist chimed in. “That night, redbeards burned the temple. We need to leave now. Even Boss Joe is heading back to China.”
“Hens and chicks are squawking and fleeing the wolves.”
His next swing landed precisely and cut deeper.
Fist reached out to stop No Brain. “No need for more firewood.”
No Brain shrugged him off, but One Leg said, “Gather your things. We go home.”
No Brain’s face crumpled, like Peter’s when he was about to unleash a fit of wailing.
Fist pulled him away and the boy followed. I stayed to help One Leg. His axe had bit so deeply that I had to thrust my foot against the chunk to free it.
“Feeling clever?” He hopped around to grab his crutches. “His Holiness agreed with you.”
“Will you leave?”
“Never thought redbeards were so low bred.” He swung over the crutches, heading to the cabin. “Thirty years ago, foreign gunboats attacked the forts along Pearl River. They landed and we fought them for four days. Five hundred of our soldiers died. The redbeards let us remove the bodies. We dug graves that were never disturbed, even though the redbeards flattened the forts with black powder. Those walls were seven feet thick.”
“You were lucky to live.” I made sure he saw me toting his chair and axe.
“And carry shame on my back for a hundred lifetimes?”
“I sorted the grave-sticks for Fist. Shall I do the writing too?”
“What do you want?” His eyes narrowed. “You weren’t coming back here.”
“Fear of His Holiness.” I mentioned how the god had prevented deaths in Lytton.
“Screw you. You don’t fear him.” He took the axe and ran a whetstone along it.
“Why is Fist all cleaned up? I didn’t recognize him. Did you shave him?”
“He wants revenge.”
“What’s his plan?”
“Ah, you want to join him. Don’t. I warn you. Don’t.”
I rubbed at my fingers, sticky from spruce sap. No other sap was so hard to remove. “Revenge is messy, isn’t it?”
“That’s why smart men avoid it.”
I went inside. The smell of opium smoke was still sharp. That man was too afraid to go home and face the jeering in his village, but also too fearful to support a brave deed here. If he didn’t want to return home, if he didn’t see any purpose in his life, then he should put his life to noble use here. He had worked on the damned iron road. He had seen it kill and maim. Why not bring glory to his clan? Otherwise he would be forgotten forever.
Fist had lit a lamp and dumped No Brain’s belongings onto a bed. A pile of clothes lay on a carrying cloth.
“You don’t need heavy socks,” said Fist. “Not for China.”
“Packing so early?” I asked. “You’re not leaving yet.”
Fist tugged at the socks in No Brain’s grip.
“What’s that?” I pointed to the bed. Peter pushed his way in, keen as a hungry dog.
“Garbage. He wants to take everything.”
White and green pebbles. Scraps of string and soiled blue ribbon. Thick and skinny nails with bent heads. A shiny suspender snap, toothless and loose.
Fist tossed items into two piles. No Brain called, “I want that. I want that.”
Fist slapped away the brat’s hand.
“As soon as you talk revenge,” I said, “China men will try to stop you.”
“Like One Leg. He’s scared.”
No Brain hurried away, still ready to burst into tears.
“In China, I was in a bandit gang, a famous one,” I said. “I can do many things.”
He jerked away. “You think I’m afraid to kill?”
“In Victoria, I guarded the door at a game hall, the biggest one in town. I fought all the time.”
“You think only big fellows can get things done? Not this time.”
We ate stringy greens that had gone to seed, steamed fish, a fragrant soup, and rice. I needed to get Fist and One Leg talking about plans, but the brat chose this time to turn away his face and refuse to eat. Never before had he dismissed food, not even when we had taken several meals a day in Victoria. The brat should have been hungry; our last meal had been this morning in the Native village. He sipped soup but kicked his feet and shook his head whenever I poked rice at him.
I mixed fish juice into the rice, a wet slurry that had been my childhood favourite, but Peter made a face and rejected it.
I made a grand show of taking food to my mouth and chewing with gusto. Peter still shook his head.
Eat! I wanted to shout. Luck provides a meal now, not tomorrow, not the day after. No telling when we get food again.
“What are your plans for the boy?” asked One Leg.
“The bottom dropped out. With no money, I can’t go to the mother. I have no choice but to take him to China, although the men from Lytton called me stupid.”
One Leg nodded. “Here, redbeards will kick him around like an old dog.”
“He’ll get kicked around in China too,” said Fist. “Want to know what my older brothers called me? Fried tofu pok. Roast pig skin. Pin-cushion nose. They never stopped laughing.”
“Crocodile fingers,” added No Brain. “Pebble face. Tree-bark cheeks. You never went anywhere with them.”
“If boys don’t tease you about one thing,” I said, “they mock you for another.”
Someone pounded the door. I looked for my stick. Fist grabbed the rifle. One Leg snuffed the lamps. No Brain pulled Peter close to him. A spoon clattered to the floor.
“It’s Boss Soon,” a voice called.
Fist put away the gun, and we had relit the lamps by the time he reached the table. “Wah, if dried tree leaves landed on your head, would you all scream?”
This time he was a worker in dusty overalls and heavy jacket. He loosened a bundle from his back and threw aside his cap. A pigtail was coiled and pinned atop his head. The last time I saw him, his fancy western hat had hidden it.
He glanced at me. “Weren’t you looking for the boy’s mother? You sure quit fast.”
“He takes the boy to China instead,” Fist said with a sneer. “Not sordid yet, but he’ll make it sordid.”
“We came down the other side of the river,” I said to the bookman. “Your crew is making progress. Did you hire some strong men?”
“Look at this.” The bookman showed his sack to Fist, who brought more rice and chopsticks.
“Is it enough?” he asked.
Boss Soon jerked his thumb at me. “You trust this one?”
I busied myself feeding the boy.
“He passed through once,” said Fist. “Never saw him before. He’s from the island.”
“Want to land in jail?” One Leg asked. “Be careful.”
“I worked on the railway too,” I said. “What those redbeards did to the graves was barbaric.”
“Any China man can say that,” One Leg declared. “But give him five cents and he’ll betray you.”
“Kick him out,” said Fist. “He hates rail hands.”
“I had different plans, that’s all,” I protested.
“He wouldn’t go to the temple for us,” Fist said. “Said he wasn’t coming back this way.”
“But here he is.” Boss Soon nabbed a large piece of fish and turned to me. “What’s the worst insult you ever threw at a railway man?
“I didn’t help bury—” I stopped myself and paused. “I killed one.”
“Not an accident?”
I looked away, into the dark. “Shorty was hurting from a bad injury. He smoked opium for the pain. He had no money to send home. He told me to smother him, make it look like he had died during the night.”
“A friend?”
“Hardly. But he had saved my life. I owed him a favour.”
When I glanced at Boss Soon, he said, “So you want to help?”
My mouth opened, but he stopped me with one raised hand.
“Wait, I know, you want to avenge our late comrades. I know, you want to restore China’s faded honour. I know all that. Can’t you say something new?”
What shit was he fishing for? The men at the table showed no distress. Fist dug out the glassy salmon eyes and chewed them.
“In my crews,” Boss Soon said, “some men quit after a week, others stayed for years. Some coolies hid all day where they couldn’t be seen, others did the work of ten men. How can we trust you?”
“You trust this worm Fist?” I demanded. “Did he work for you?”
“I know all about him. People call him a coward. He failed his co-workers. His father lost face and the clan is shamed. He has to regain respect.”
“This one said he ran with bandits,” Fist said. “Who believes him?”
Boss Soon asked me where.
I gestured that we go outside. He shook his head. “These men watched the graves.”
“No one is braver than me,” I said, “but I won’t lose face before strangers.”
He took several mouthfuls of food before changing his mind. We went to the front door. In a low voice, I told him about my parents’ shame and the need to restore Grandfather’s honour.
“Tell me about the bandits,” he said, “but not just hit-hit-kill-kill.”
My mouth went dry.
“We were not all killers,” I said. “One day, a few of us ambushed a wedding delivery. We usually let such parties go past. This time, we hadn’t eaten for days and both sides were startled. We weren’t armed and didn’t expect them to have weapons. The porters must have been promised a bonus for a completed trip. Or they were embarrassed to be caught wearing gaudy red vests and headbands. When we charged at them, they dropped the roast pig and the baskets of cakes. To our surprise, they didn’t turn tail and run. Instead they shouted and pulled out cudgels. Their leader slammed his shoulder pole into me. The porters chased us, screaming to behead us, to skin us alive. This was the first time we had to run away.
“My friend Poy and I were laughing, as if drunk from too much wine, as if running a race between rival clans. We yelled to each other. We didn’t believe this was really happening. There wasn’t any danger; we knew the trails better than our names. My friend and I ducked behind a bush and then jumped onto a fellow. We crashed to the ground. The porters surrounded us and kicked and beat us. In the next instant, our fellow bandits caught up, waving knives that had been hidden in the forest. So then the tables were turned, the porters ran away, and it was our turn to chase them, shouting like drunks.”
“Kill anyone?”
“Not that time.”
He shoved the bag at me. “Take a peek. Be careful.”
Stubby brown tubes of dynamite were tied in bundles, coiled by their own long fuses.
“We can explode their gravestones,” I said.
Yale’s redbeard cemetery stood on flat land overlooking the river. Trees still blocked the field but a large cross, taller than two men, watched over upright markers, tower-like stones, and plots enclosed by fences of wood or wrought iron. The redbeards held slow-moving parades to bury their dead, but we China men always avoided them. We weren’t curious about their funerals the way they liked to trail after ours.
“What’s the biggest building in Yale?” Fist leaned against the wall.
“Engine house,” replied Boss Soon, “where locomotives get turned around.”
“Just a big shed. How about the Company offices?”
“Too small.”
“There’s the fancy house where the Top Boss lived.”
“China men took the servants’ cabin.” The bookman shook his head. “They will get blamed.”
“We explode the railway,” said Fist.
“Isn’t it too long?” I spoke without thinking.
He turned to Boss Soon. “There’s enough to bring down a trestle, isn’t there?”
He nodded.
“Screw!” cried One Leg. “Why not make a circle, noses to each others’ backs, and kick the man in front? Our blood and sweat is on that road.”
“That road killed China men,” said the bookman. “Now we fight for dregs of work.”
“Go burn churches!” said One Leg. “Every town has at least one.”
“Three fires have reduced Yale to ashes, yet the town’s church still stands,” said Fist. “Their god is strong too.”
“China men wanted to torch a church in Lytton,” I said. “But they didn’t. The redbeards would have shrugged and said, ‘Ah, those China men don’t like Jesus and don’t like missionaries in China,’ and then turned around to build a new one. No, we must make them wonder, ‘Why are the China men so angry about the iron road?’”
No one heard me.
“We tie ropes to the tracks,” Fist said, “climb down, and lash dynamite to the bracing. Then we climb back up, light the fuses, and run!” He reached for the bag. “How long are the fuses? How much time is there before they explode?”
“Enough,” said Boss Soon. “If one section gives way, then the entire bridge may fall. North Bend has a long trestle.”
“No, further south,” said Fist. “We need to get away quickly.”
“Below Spuzzum.”
“Straight one or curved?”
“The straight one is higher.”
“Very high,” I said. “I crossed it recently.”
“Then we jump on a boat at Yale and sail away. We’ll be home in China in no time!”
“Drinking whisky!” We clapped each other’s backs and banged the table.
Again I urged Peter to eat. Once the dishes were removed, he would lose all chance of filling his stomach. I wanted to slap him. If he starved tomorrow, there was nothing I could do.
“You can write to the redbeard newspaper,” Fist said to Boss Soon, “saying clearly-clearly that we avenge the fire and the graveyard. That way, everyone knows everything.”
“I’ll do that while singing a happy song!” he replied.
“But you need to stay with your crew,” I told Boss Soon. “Once this happens, the Company and the police will look for where the explosives came from. They’ll question you right away.”
“Then you go with Fist,” Boss Soon said to me.
Exactly what I wanted to hear!
“Can’t trust him,” Fist declared. Then he sneered at me. “Besides, what will you do with the boy? Bring him along?”
“He’s no trouble.”
“He might start bawling or shout to his people. You see them everywhere along the river.”
“I’ll figure it out.” I would do anything to join this mission.
“You’re the stupid ones.” One Leg struggled to stand up and then leaned against the wall. “This is madness.”
“Only crazy China men will side with the redbeards!” declared the bookman.
“I helped build that road.”
“So did the men in those graves.”
“Then go get their consent. The railway is their grave-stick. It honours their passing.”
“Each man had his own marker,” Fist said. “You repainted them.”
“This iron road is so high and long, it is a marvel for the eye to see,” said One Leg.
“It swallowed your leg,” said Boss Soon.
“Some mornings,” One Leg said, “I go look at the iron road. It’s a river of steel, heavy but even. It runs level and smooth. It soothes the mind. Still, I wonder, wouldn’t it be faster to move things by the river instead of by the railway? Do you know?”
“Very beautiful.” No Brain went to the stove for more rice.
“You want redbeards to raid more graveyards?” said the bookman.
“When you kill people here,” One Leg said, “the police will chase you to China. They will join forces with the Emperor. You will never know a night’s good sleep until you die.”
“No one need die,” said Fist. “We can explode the trestle after the train passes.”
“Or we can do it early,” I said, “before the southbound train arrives. Then it can’t reach the coast. It’ll be delayed for weeks. The Company loses money. All Gold Mountain will know what we did.”
“We should be better than the redbeards.” One Leg slammed the table. “Otherwise, we deserve their disdain.”
“You’re angry because you can’t join in.” The headman’s chopsticks rattled in his bowl, chasing the last grains of rice.
“I won’t leave,” said One Leg. “I will stay here.”
I cursed under my breath. Fist was a quick thinker but not fast enough for One Leg.
“Redbeards will come to kill you,” said Boss Soon.
“Then you avenge me,” said One Leg.
“You agreed to leave,” Fist cried out in dismay. “You promised to follow His Holiness’s advice.”
“Not so.” One Leg brandished his axe. “I guard this place. Redbeards may return, unearth the corpses, and set them aflame.”
“Fist, it’s simple.” The bookman turned to one side and spat out a bone. “You must leave these men behind.”
Fist opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.
“I told you many times to go home,” One Leg said to Fist. “You never listen.”
“You never listen to me!”
“These people should see clearly that I’m not the one stopping you,” One Leg added.
“Stinking bastard, you don’t want villagers laughing at you.”
“Your uncle plays you like a cricket,” Boss Soon sneered and goaded him.
“This is a good opportunity.” Fist tugged One Leg’s sleeve. “I win honour for our clan.”
“I agree. You must go.”
Fist shook his head. “We came together, we leave together.”
“You should stand up for yourself,” I said.
“Shit-hole fiend, you don’t need his consent.” Boss Soon took his sack to the door. “I’ll get my men to do it.”
“No!” I shouted. “It’s easy to trace the explosives to you.”
“Leave the bag here.” Fist quickly grabbed it. “Give us time to talk.”
The bookman shook his head. “You’ll never change the old fool’s mind.”
Fist looked into the bag, and then up. “Maybe I’ll kill these two old things tonight.”
The headman stormed out. No Brain started stacking the dishes.
I cursed One Leg, the brick apple. No one could get a bite of him, not even a headman who spoke English.
If I didn’t take revenge, then I went home a failed man. And it would be a thousand times worse with the boy at my side.