A Superior Man by Paul Yee Page B

back,” Shorty warned me. “You set the shed on fire, so the oxen ran. You killed the boy guarding the rice. You threw a net over our chickens and carried them off.”
    â€œYou have eyes that can see in the dark?” I asked. “You must see ghosts too!”
    I confessed nothing and he proved even less. My gang had raided villages now and then, but only ones that were poorly defended. We attacked mostly merchant convoys.
    After this, I had kept far away from cockhead Shorty, at camp and in the forest.
    â€œLet me move Pig Boy.” California’s face was grim, darker than usual. He gave everyone a pained look. “One day, you might do the same for me.”
    High Hat beamed. California was the only man who had worked in Gold Mountain before, in America. He had walked 800 miles to this job, but so far, hadn’t spoken more than twenty words to anyone. A relaxed air hung around him; his clothes were well-worn while all of us were stiff in starch-hardened denim pants. His shirt buttons were flat painted wood; ours were coiled from cloth tubing. He knew English but never argued with Crew Boss.
    High Hat egged us on, saying, “Be kind, receive kindness.”
    Old South stepped forward. He and Old North had been coolies in South Ocean, in Malaya. They sneered that railway work was child’s play compared to tin mines. Their pigtails were dry and brittle; any touch caused bits of hair to flake off.
    â€œYou see?” High Hat waggled his finger. “Men who have worked abroad, they know very well that China men must unite and take care of each other. We must learn from them.”
    Old North cursed and stalked to the back. On the first night of camp, he had denounced the younger crew members. At dinner call, they rushed into the cooking tent while Old North tried to stop them. “At my home,” he said, “elders always go first. Isn’t it so in your village?”
    The young men paid him no attention until High Hat stepped in.
    The cheerless brothers scratched itches and bites and looked away, their motto of “mutual help lifts everyone” all but forgotten.
    At last High Hat broke the circle of shame and offered himself. It was the only way to attract another brother to help. He glared at his men and said, “Just one more fellow is needed.”
    â€œMe,” said Poy.
    I pulled him aside and hissed, “We’re going to America! If we stay, we will die.”
    â€œWill you do my funeral?”
    â€œI could die first. Remember how one man ruined my people?”
    â€œThe Five Tigers?”
    â€œYou’re going to thrust something dirty into the soil. You think earth spirits here don’t mind?”
    â€œWe’re respecting the dead. What god would disapprove?” He walked away.
    A hundred years ago, our clan had raided a no-name village. We expected its people to flee. But they stood their ground, armed with axes, pitchforks, and magic charms worn at the neck. They suffered the bullying of bigger villages because their small number had chosen to stay and protect an ancient god. Then their god regained its power. In that raid, a Yang man purposely stomped on one of the god’s charms. At that very moment, the battle changed course: our raid leader was fatally stabbed. Soon the Five Tigers fields that once enriched the Yang clan passed into the hands of the no-name. It was all blamed on that one fool.
    The no-names were renowned now but no Yang man ever spoke their name aloud. We kowtowed to them and donated prizes to their festivals and cash to their temple no matter how our harvest fared. When they paraded their patron god through our village, crowing all the while, we served them choice snacks. Anyone who refusedgot cut off from trading at the market. If they walked into a crowded teahouse, then we gulped our food and gave up our seats and tables. Redbeard bullies here were nothing new to me.
    â€œBack to work, all of you!”