Don’t get your hopes up, she told herself as she dashed across the bridge. It might not work. The key might be in the dragon or in the coin, remember? Neither of which you have. So don’t get your hopes up.
But she zipped along regardless, fired up with the certainty that it would work. Because it had to. It just couldn’t end with so many missing pieces.
Into the never-ending store, through the connecting rooms and into the back. So far, everything was the same. “Can I go out this way?” she asked, pointing to the No Exit sign on the door.
“Sure,” said the clerk.
Through the doorway—and into the Fan Tan Alley of another time. It worked! Not only that, she had the good fortune to step right into the midst of Chinese New Year celebrations.
The clanging and clamouring left no mistake. She could hear the clashing of cymbals and pounding of drums, the excited shrieks of people, the bursting of fireworks. Her stomach fluttered with excitement and she hugged herself with joy. Chinese New Year! Talk about auspicious. He was bound to be here.
Fisgard Street was ablaze with light and colour. Paper lanterns hung from every lamp-post; shops were decorated with peach sprays and red paper, printed with good luck verses. Long strands of firecrackers exploded, littering the ground with blossom-like drifts of red paper.
The street was crowded with people. Wealthy merchants in satin gowns glided from door to door. Ordinary workers greeted each other, bowing and shaking hands. Chinese women bustled past. Young children skipped by, eagerly clutching the lai see envelopes given to them by the elder generation. Chinatown was bright with smiles.
And white people! Jasmine had never seen so many, not in this place or time. She noticed new buildings too, three storeys high, with fancy brickwork along the top and on the front. Arched windows and doorways opened onto iron balconies, decorated with scrolls proclaiming prosperity, long life and good fortune.
She breathed in deeply, savouring the delicious smells that filtered through open doorways: nuts, pastries, fruits, delicacies saved for the New Year. Wisps of smoke rose from burning joss sticks, filling the air with the scent of musk and sandalwood. She took another deep breath and smiled, thinking, how wonderful to be here, to be back.
As she darted through the crowds, searching for that one familiar face, a window display of lai see envelopes caught her eye. She stopped for a closer look and saw that each envelope was engraved with the gold figure of a tiger. The Year of the Tiger! So that would make it—what? She knew the Chinese zodiac had a cycle of twelve years. Keung was sixteen, born in the Year of the Tiger. One Tiger Year had passed, so now, in his second Tiger Year he would be—
She felt cold suddenly, and strangely unbalanced, as if something inside her had shifted. It couldn’t be. And yet there was no mistaking the tiger. But Keung, twenty-four? A grown man? And the year would be—she did a quick calculation—1890? Impossible! “Excuse me,” she said, approaching a merchant, “could you—”
He walked by without a glance.
“Excuse me.” She tried again. And again. And was struck with the horrifying realization that no one could see her. She had become the invisible stranger.
She leaned against a building and clawed at her braid, listening to the inner voices: Don’t get discouraged. Keep looking, you’re sure to recognize him.
If he’s here, the other voice cut in. If he’s not back in China.
But he has to be here. He’s probably right on this street, waiting for the Lion Dance like everyone else.
But he’ll be so old now. He won’t remember you. Even if you do see him, which you probably—
Forget it! She snapped at the voice as a cheer erupted, signalling the appearance of the lion dancers.
There were two dancers, one man in front, one behind, with a length of silk rippling in between. Leading the lion was the monk, his face hidden under a grinning mask of papier-mâché. He teased the lion, darting round the sinuous shape while musicians pounded their drums and beat gongs and cymbals. The lion tossed his gigantic head and flashed his eyes, kicked out his feet, leaped and jumped in wild, acrobatic movements, bounded into the crowd, then back again to leap at the monk.
Moved by a sudden impulse, Jasmine stepped into the middle of the street and began dancing alongside the lion. Why not? she thought. No one could see her. Weaving in and out amongst the dancers, she searched the spectators for— There, across the street. He was staring at the Lion Dance, his eyes shining with excitement. Eagerly, she raced towards him.
Just then he turned and said something to the young woman beside him. They laughed as he bent down and picked up a small child. Jasmine froze. The woman was not Chinese. She was white. The child had dark hair and a light tan complexion. His eyes were huge with wonder, watching the antics of the lion. When he smiled, his face lit up like Keung’s. But—
Jasmine ached with confusion. Could it be him? No. This man was wearing western clothes, not the clothes of a coolie. And his hair was short. Keung would not have cut his queue. And he was so much older. But of course he would be. Another Year of the Tiger—of course he would have lines on his face, of course his slight body would have filled out. And something else. He looked so confident and prosperous. So happy! And this little boy and this woman—were they a family?
The child said something and pointed to the dancing lion. With a flash of dimples, the man smiled and nodded. Oh yes! Jasmine’s heart lurched with recognition. There was no mistake. She reached out and gently touched his shoulder. “Keung,” she said. “I’ve come back.”
He shifted the child in his arms and turned to the woman, waving his free hand as if dispelling a mist. The movement passed right through her, chilling her heart so that its beat became a small, faint quiver. He could no longer see her. But what did it mean? That he no longer believed? Had he turned his back on Bright Jade and the white jade tiger?
Once he turned in her direction. He does feel my presence, she thought wildly. He does know I’m here. She stepped closer, opened her mouth to speak. But he turned away. And her hopes were shattered, as surely as a china dragon smashed on stone.
As the dancers moved down the street, the crowd began to disperse. Chattering groups of people left for homes and restaurants. Keung and his family were swept along with the rest. Helplessly, Jasmine stood and watched them go, tears streaming down her face. Was this it? Was this the end? An aching sadness welled up inside her. She wished she had never come back.
Somehow, she found herself in a courtyard behind Fisgard Street, standing at the top of a staircase before a freshly-painted door.
“Come in, Jasmine.” Dragon Maker clasped his hands and bowed as she entered. “I knew you would return.”
“I waited too long,” she said, choking back the tears. “I lost him. He couldn’t— But it can’t be 1890! It just can’t!”
“It is indeed the Year of the Tiger, but that one has long passed. We are in a new century now, 1902.” He smiled. “Time is no time at all, is it?”
“1902?” She stared at him, stunned. Twenty years had passed! A whole generation! No wonder everything had changed.
But in this room nothing had changed. She looked at the bits and pieces of dragons, the pots of glaze and brushes still cluttering the shelves and table. “Did you hide the tiger for him? He said... he said he would go back to China. He said he would return it to Bright Jade’s grave.”
“Joss had it otherwise. Keung never went back to China. He stayed in Victoria to work for Lam Fu Choy, the merchant. Once the railroad was finished, the coolies were forced to fend for themselves. Many survived by begging, stealing, picking through garbage. Keung has been lucky. He is clever and resourceful, a hardworker. Of course, his luck may change. But for now, he has prospered.”
Dragon Maker lit his pipe. “For a long time, he waited for you to return. Then a letter came from his village saying his mother had died. So why hurry back, he thought. Why not stay here for awhile. So he stayed and waited for you. He sent his father’s bones home to be buried. But he stayed and waited. After a time you became a memory, a dream. Another Bright Jade. So Keung embraced the land of Gold Mountain and began a new life.”
“But the white jade tiger? What about the curse on his family?”
“He turned his back on the prophecy. And so the curse follows him, and his children, and his children’s children. Until the tiger sleeps again.” He rose shakily and searched through a crate overflowing with dragons. Finally he found what he was looking for.
“You’ve come back for this,” he said, handing her the backpack “Keung wanted to take it when he left. But I knew you would return to the Dragon Maker, sooner or later.”
Jasmine rummaged through the pack. There was her watch and the lai see envelope with the 1881 coin still inside. And there was the dragon. “Did you make this?” she asked.
Dragon Maker ran his hands over the blue-glazed dragon. “This was the first,” he said. “The most special.”
“Did you put a surprise in it?”
His eyes twinkled. “The dragon has the tiger, but not in the way you think. Now, I’m going to indulge an old man’s appetite in a New Year’s Feast.”
“No! You can’t go yet!” She rushed after him. “What about the little boy and that woman? I want to know—is Keung—I still don’t understand...”
He faced her from the doorway, framed by the good luck scrolls and faded Door Guardians. “Time passes, Sweet Jasmine,” he said, smiling sadly. “Two years or two thousand, it passes. You cannot change what is written. And you cannot change what has passed. If you do, then you erase yourself. Keung has turned his back on his past and faces a new future. And you face a future, returning to your past.” Softly, he patted her cheek “Thank you for coming. I will not see you again, but you have brightened many dreams.” He turned and disappeared down the stairs.
“Wait!” Jasmine called. Grabbing her backpack, she ran after his frail figure as it slipped beneath lines of laundry and between ragged railings. “Wait! Do you mean I’m a dream? Am I real or aren’t I? Was it all just a dream? Wait!” She stumbled over a loose brick As she tried to stop the fall, the dragon slipped out of her pack The next thing she knew, she was sprawled out in Fan Tan Alley, surrounded by china fragments of bright, shattered blue.