Journey Across the Four Seas (10 page)

"Faster! Faster!" he yelled at me. "Who do you think you are, Miss Hong Kong?"

At night, we stayed at village inns. Kwangtung, the rice bowl of
China
, offered plenty of fine dining. After a day’s trek, we would stuff ourselves with the chicken and duck casseroles cooked in a hearty peasant style. The accommodations, however, were another story. The mattress was inevitably dirty and full of crawly creatures that fed on me all night, in addition to the myriad of bugs gnawing at the mosquito net in hope of sharing the feast. At some point my scalp began to itch like nobody’s business. Although I couldn’t see the cause of my irritation, I knew that some creatures had built a nice, warm home in my hair. I’d heard about lice, but this was the first time I made their acquaintance.

I was very happy to get to Seiwui, where Eighth Brother’s third brother had settled after fleeing
Canton
. Seiwui was a wealthy area fed by rivers and a steady flow of money from overseas. Many of its sons had gone to
America
, the
Gold
Mountain
, to seek their fortunes. They left behind wives, often referred to as widows of the living, because some of them never saw their husbands again. But unlike other widows, they were well provided for. Their homes were made of brick, and their children attended schools housed in handsome buildings. After the long trek, this was a fine place to rest my feet.

My host and hostess treated me with great kindness. They had two daughters my age, Wun-Mui and Wun-Lan. They, too, were extremely nice—so nice that Eighth Brother decided to stay. Why not? The women did everything for him. He never had to lift a finger. The local brew was also cheap and strong, and he had his fill of it every day. Miss Chung also decided to stay. She’d found a job in the local school and become friendly with a male colleague.

What was to happen to me? My intention had been to go to Kukgong, get a job, and save up money to meet up with Ngai in
Chungking
. Whenever I talked about my plan, Eighth Brother would sneer and say, "You find a job? What on earth can you do?"

    
An incident drove home the fact that I couldn’t stay. While I was walking on the street, I felt a reflux in my windpipe. A glob of blood spewed out of me and landed in the gutter. Wun-Mui saw it and exclaimed, "Are you all right?" I told her what Fei-Chi had told me, "It’s just blood from my gums." Pretending to be unconcerned, I continued with them to the market. But inside, my heart weighed like a stone. I’d been ignoring the recurring headaches and fever, convincing myself that they were just symptoms of fatigue. But now the blood forced me to face reality. Because of the war, the pneumothorax treatment that could have cured me had been cut short. Now my TB was flaring up, and I could infect the people around me.

That night I lay in my cot, facing the wall. I didn’t want to be exhaling at the two sisters, who were sleeping in the same room. As I listened to their soft breathing, I was overwhelmed with guilt. They’d been treating me as one of their own. If I stayed any longer, they could get the disease from me. My mind was set. I must leave.

The next day I told Wun-Mui of my decision. The reason I gave was that Ngai, who had probably arrived in
Chungking
, must be looking for me. I also asked her if she knew how I could get to Kukgong. Being the kind soul that she was, she sought help from her fiancé, a military officer. He introduced me to a friend of his. This man was a company commander, and he was about to travel with two of his soldiers to the provincial capital. He agreed to take me with him. That was how I got to spend three days and nights on a sampan with three young men.

The commander turned out to be a fanatic of
Dream of the Red Chamber
. We discussed our common passion throughout our trip. Thank goodness there was something to distract me from the urgency of my needs. The sampan had no toilet. While the men could relieve themselves over the side of the boat, I had to hold mine in until mealtime, when the boatman would row to shore and dock. The first thing I would look for was a toilet.

We arrived at Kukgong in the late afternoon. Walking with the commander into town, I could see that the clusters of low houses were a far cry from the prosperity of
Canton
. However, the place had its own charm. Waterways crisscrossed the town, giving rise to its name, Kukgong, which means "meandering rivers."

The commander dropped me at an inn, which he said was reasonably priced. From then on, I was on my own. There was a liaison for
Hong Kong
University
students in the city, but I had no idea where it was, or how I was going to find it. Yet it didn’t occur to me to worry. Perhaps what people say is true—if you’ve never seen a ghost, you’re not afraid of the dark. Up till then, I’d never met a wicked person.
Hong Kong
had been a safe and simple place. Since an early age, I’d been running around on my own. Nobody had warned me of criminals. Well, let me tell you this. I learned very fast during my first twenty-four hours in Kukgong.

That night, while I was struggling to catch some sleep, I realized what kind of inn it was. The din of men and women carousing penetrated the thin walls. I was so scared that I pushed my two canvas bags against the door. I sat up in bed, dressed in my cheongsam, ready to make a run if somebody broke in. Toward dawn there came a frantic banging and someone was shouting, "Get out! Get out!" I opened the door and saw people running out of their rooms. "Japanese planes are coming!" a man shouted at me. "You have to evacuate."

 
"Where do I go?" I said. The man bleated a mouthful of Ma Ba, Wong Tin Ba, and a slew of other Bas. I later learned that each "Ba" was the name of a nearby county, but on my first morning in the city, the man’s baa-ing made no sense. I only knew to run into the street like everybody else. Standing at a corner, a furry drizzle scratching my face, I was at a loss as to where to turn, whom to follow. People were rushing around in every direction. In the midst of the chaos, I saw a woman who was holding up a black umbrella walk toward me, slowly and steadily.

"You’re from
Hong Kong
, aren’t you?" she said to me.

Her question surprised me, but it was a most pleasant surprise. The mention of
Hong Kong
warmed my heart. "Yes, how did you know?" I said.

She only smiled. She was an attractive woman, quite young, but experienced enough to see through my skin after one look. "You probably don’t know where to go," she said. "Why don’t you come with me? I’ll take you where you’re supposed to go." She put her umbrella over my head and guided me along. After a few blocks she ran into an acquaintance, a man in military uniform. They chatted for a while, then the man looked at me and suggested going to a teahouse for dim sum. The prospect of food cheered me up. I hadn’t had breakfast yet and my stomach was growling. They walked me to one of the Ba-counties, and there we had a satisfying meal of buns and dumplings.

"Where are you staying?" the man in uniform asked me. I told him the name of my inn. "Oh no," he said. "That’s an awful place. I know of a much better one. Let me take you there."

When we got back to the city, he and the woman moved my luggage to the hotel he recommended. The moment we got into my room, the man sprawled out on my bed. That was the first time I realized something was wrong. I hardly knew him, yet here he was, lying on my bed as though he were an old family friend. I was dying to get away, so when the woman suggested going out again, I readily agreed. The three of us went out together. By that time I knew I had to give them the shake, but with the two of them clinging to me on each side, I couldn’t see how.

On the street we met another acquaintance of theirs. This man was dressed in Chinese silk pajamas, which in
Hong Kong
was the dress code of gangsters. This put me on my guard at once. While I was being introduced, somebody else waved to us from across the street. My two "friends" went over to talk to yet another acquaintance. They seemed to know everybody in town.

I was left alone with the man in the silk pajamas. "What relation are you to them?" he said to me.

"No relation. I just met them this morning."

"He said you were his cousin." By that time, he’d sized up my origin. "You should find your own people from
Hong Kong
."

"I have no idea where they are."

"They’re staying at the Youth Hostel." He quickly gave me directions and told me to disappear.

While the other two were busy talking, I slipped out of sight. Come to think of it, the man in the silk pajamas must have been either a secret agent or a guardian angel. If he hadn’t warned me, I hate to think what my fate would have been at the hands of the other two.

At the hostel lobby, a number of familiar faces rushed at me. I was in such a state of shock and happiness that my mind blanked out. All I could do was stare at them with open mouth. "How did you get here?" my classmates yelled at me. Instead of answering them, I shouted repeatedly, "I’m here! I’m here!" You can’t imagine our emotions. For a moment we were transported back to our former lives, before the dreadful war scattered us far and wide. We were back in the idyllic campus of
Hong Kong
University
, teasing and joking. It was a precious moment that I wished could last longer. But the present was pressing on me. I blurted out about my encounter with the shady characters. The banter stopped abruptly, and several of the boys set out for the hotel to retrieve my belongings.

My classmates told me to go to Professor Gordon King, who had escaped from Stanley Fort and set himself up as the guardian of displaced
Hong Kong
University
students. I went to the address given me, but the name on the door was Chinese: "Wong Kwok-Tung." Thinking that wasn’t Professor King, I went away without knocking. At the hostel my friends told me that was his Chinese name. The character "Wong" is synonymous with King, and "Kwok-Tung," which means country pillar, is a transliteration of Gor-don.

I went back, and this time I knocked. A man opened the door. He was so tall that I had to cock my head back to look him full in the face. It was Professor King, just the way I remembered him. Japanese prison hadn’t diminished the good humor in his eyes nor the smile on his lips. I thought of what medical students said of him: when Professor King delivers a baby, it’s as easy as delivering a rugby ball. I wasn’t sure exactly what it meant, not knowing anything about rugby, but I could imagine the grace with which he performed his duties as an obstetrician.

He let me in without introduction. Sitting in his simply furnished living room, I told him of my desire to travel to
Chungking
. Many
Hong Kong
University
students were headed there for the purpose of continuing their education.

"Very good," he said. "I’ll give you a document certifying that you’re a
Hong Kong
University
student. You can go to any of the public universities in
Chungking
and get automatic admission. They know our students are first-rate." The professor straightened his back with pride. "I’ll also give you an allowance of five hundred
y
uan
, which is what every student is entitled to. It’s not much, but it will get you to
Chungking
."

I was glad to hear that, for the money I got from Brother Kin was almost used up.

He quickly put together my package and handed it to me. Before we parted, the Professor swept a quick look over me and said, "Are you eating enough?"

Caught by surprise at his question, I didn’t know what to say. I squirmed self-consciously, wishing that a wind would blow my featherweight body away from his critical gaze.

Without embarrassing me further, he imparted his final instructions: "Take good care of yourself. It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride."

3

One warm day in June, I set off for
Chungking
. Traveling with me were four boys. Chou was a loud and sassy engineering major and the son of a former primary school teacher of mine. Peter and Lo were both medical students, though totally different personalities. Peter was a teaser with a cutting sense of humor, while Lo was shy and gentle and self-conscious about his deformity—one of his ears was missing a lobe. From time to time, he would put up his hand to cover it. The fourth, whose name escapes me, was about as wicked as any boy of that age. I call them "boys" because they were younger than I, and their behavior showed the level of their maturity.

The first leg of the journey was by train from Kukgong to Kweilin, with a stopover in
Liuchow
. A few days before, I’d contracted a bad case of diarrhea. As there was no bathroom at the hostel, I had to hurry to the hill many times in the night. My body was burning when I boarded the pauper’s compartment. This car was free of charge, and thus packed to bursting. While I was hunched over on the hard bench, delirious and miserable to the point of not caring, a hand touched my shoulder. I looked up and saw a familiar face. I’d forgotten his name, but I recognized him as the Ta Kung Pao reporter whom I’d once met at the home of a friend’s brother. When the reporter saw that I was sick, he invited me to rest in the berth he shared with another journalist. I refused at first, but at his insistence I lay down on the lower bunk and passed out. The next morning I woke up feeling much better.