Chapter Nine
I started work the next morning. It was a misty day, with lacy strands of fog coiling about the trees. Gu Ma was sitting in the back of her beloved DeSoto eating a pear while her driver cleaned a splat of bird droppings from the windshield. When she saw me she locked the door.
“Good morning, Gu Ma, I thought I would ride with you.”
She rolled up the window halfway. “It wouldn’t do for you to come with me—my workers would think I was playing favorites.
Don’t look upset, I told your brother the same thing: It’s a privilege to work from the bottom to the top.
” She reached into her purse, taking out a round leather wallet.
“Besides, I have an important job for you.”
She beckoned me close and said, “I need you to be my ears in the factory.”
“What do you mean?”
“A powerful woman like me has enemies. My rivals are jealous my factory has done well, and they’ve been trying to poach my best workers, and . . . well, just listen to the girls talk. Most of it will be gossip, but if you hear any nasty rumors, tell me.”
“You mean, be a spy?”
“I knew you were a smart girl.” Gu Ma handed me twenty cents for bus fare. “A treat for your first day.”
A treat? Did that mean I would be walking from now on?
“Mrs. Dang knows to expect you,” she continued, “but I haven’t told her you’re my niece. It’ll be better that way.”
Gu Ma fluttered her fingers, and the driver handed me a folded orange cloth.
“This is your uniform.”
It was an apron, bright pumpkin, and poorly sewn with fraying threads. Ironic, since it was for the seamstresses to wear. When I put it on, it hung past my knees.
“Don’t forget we are family,” Gu Ma said, cranking the window closed. “Family suffers together and rises together. Most of all, family stays together.”
The car drove away, leaving me to inhale the exhaust.
I’d never taken the bus before and went the wrong direction, not noticing until I was well along the route. How was I going to make a good impression on Gu Ma if I was late on my first day?
Make yourself useful to her, Sai Ma had advised, and I’m sure she’ll change her mind.
So much for that. Lost in my disappointment, I hurried up a set of stairs, hating Hong Kong for all its steep hills and valleys. My eyes were on my feet, counting each blasted step—when I heard a hwamei chirp.
I slowed, rounding my lips to whistle its familiar song. Before the war, you could find hwamei all over Tunglam. They were beautiful, with cinnamon plumes and a pale-blue streak across their eyes. Then the Japanese came with their guns and scared them away.
I kept whistling. When I was halfway up the stairs, a pair fluttered out of the trees. I let out a gasp of delight as I craned my neck to look up at them—and that was how I missed the boy on the bicycle.
“Watch out!” he shouted, speeding down from the top of the hill.
He jostled me to the side, right before his bicycle toppled. Off he flew, tumbling down the stairs and landing against the pavement with a loud smack.
I rushed down. “Ah gor! Are you all right?”
He wasn’t moving.
I rolled him onto his back. He looked twelve or thirteen, only slightly older than I was. His eyes were shut, his nose unbroken. His white shirt bore a vivid red stain.
Panicking now, I floated my fingers underneath his nostrils. He was breathing, but barely.
What should I do? The bus was long gone. The road was empty. There was no one to help.
“Ah gor,” I said, lightly slapping his cheeks. “Wake up. Wake up!”
A handkerchief was sticking out of his pocket, and I used it to dab at the sweat glistening on his forehead.
He had a nice face, even with his eyes closed.
The tip of his nose was sunburned, and his lashes were long, falling upon his skin in a gentle fan.
He was better looking than the rascals Yi Gor used to be friends with in Tunglam, and gods, I hoped I hadn’t killed him.
“I’m going to look for help,” I said.
But first I had to get him out of the sun. Picking him up under his arms, I started dragging him toward the closest tree for shade, when the boy let out what sounded like a cough.
No, not a cough. He was laughing!
“Didn’t anyone teach you not to look up while you walk, little mui mui?” he said, eyes fluttering open. “It’s dangerous.”
My concern evaporated. I dropped him onto the pavement and threw his handkerchief at his head. “You crazy idiot, you made me think you were dead!”
“I fell down the stairs.”
“You nearly killed me!”
“I saved you.” The boy rubbed at his nose. “What were you looking for in the trees anyway?”
I ignored him and headed up the stairs. This time I held the railing for support. I didn’t get far before I noticed that the charm on my bracelet was missing.
A groan escaped my throat. Why, of all days, today?
I spun around. Frantically I ran down to the road, retracing my steps and searching the bushes and gutters.
The boy bent beside me. “First your attention’s up in the trees, now down at the ground. You are a peculiar girl.”
“Will you stop chattering and help me look?” I cried. “It’s important.”
“What are you looking for?”
“The charm on my bracelet. It’s a gold peanut.”
We searched, but the charm was nowhere to be found. I kicked the dirt, letting out a frustrated sigh. The bracelet was special to my family. Mama had given it to me as a goodbye gift. How could I be so careless?
“Patience,” said the boy, sensing my distress. “We’ll find it.”
No I wouldn’t. Not today, at least. “I can’t keep looking, I’m going to be late.”
“Where do you need to go?” he asked. “I can give you a ride.”
“You think I’d trust riding with you?”
“I only crashed because I didn’t want to hit you.”
I was about to scoff when I noticed the bloodstain on his shirt. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
He glanced down. “Oh that?” he said sheepishly. “That’s not blood, it’s ketchup.”
I’d never heard the word before. In Cantonese, it sounded similar to . . . “Eggplant sauce?”
“Tomato sauce. Say, have you had french fries before?”
No, and I didn’t have time to ask what that was, either. “I have to go.”
I sprinted to the top of the hill two steps at a time. From there, I had no idea whether to go left or right. I picked left, walking with more confidence than I felt.
Soon, a bicycle squeaked behind me. “Wait!”
What an exasperating boy, I thought. “Why are you following me?” I asked. “I told you, I don’t need a ride.”
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
My nostrils flared. “I’ve . . . I’ve been here a hundred times,” I lied.
“Oh? Then you know you’re walking toward a dead end.”
Damn it, he was right.
He gave me a sidelong glance. “You’ll want to turn left, go down the next hill with the snaky roads. There’s a bunch of warehouses on the right—the last one is Chan Kiu Factory.”
Chan Kiu Factory! I looked up at him, startled. “How did you know—”
“It’s written on your apron. Do you work there?”
What could I say? I straightened, clinging to my dignity. It was bad enough that Gu Ma didn’t want anyone knowing I was her niece, but she hadn’t even bothered to give me directions.
“I’m a seamstress,” I replied. “It’s my first day.”
“What’s your name? My mum plays mahjong with your boss sometimes. The next time they see each other, she’ll ask Madam Chan to be extra nice to you.”
“Don’t bother, I have to go. I’m late because of you.”
The ruder I was, the wider his grin grew. “All right then, I’ll look for your charm. When I find it, we’ll meet again. What do you say?”
“I’d say you’re full of big talk.”
He saluted me. “I’ll see you around, little hwamei.”
Hwamei! Had he heard me whistling at the birds?
I glanced back, but he was cycling down the stairs, whistling as he rode.
A smile touched my mouth. I let it go, promptly forgetting about the boy as I sprinted to the factory. Hong Kong had hundreds of thousands of people. What were the odds I’d see him again?