would be harder to leave than he had ever dreamed.
The next Sunday, Hua Fan and Elder Uncle walked to a stream at the edge of town. They each carried a round bamboo basket and a knife. When they came to the edge of the stream, they stopped. The clear water sparkled, flowing over a riverbed of rocks and mud. Along the banks and into the middle of the stream grew thick beds of watercress, like clumps of dark green curly hair. Hua Fan sat down on a large rock, took a deep breath of late spring air, and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. Silhouetted against the blue were dark tree branches, sprouting tender green leaves. Elder Uncle already had his shoes and socks off and was rolling up the legs of his trousers.
“Hua Fan, don’t sit and do nothing. Start moving. There’s lots of work back in the laundry. You’re wasting time.”
“All right, all right,” said Hua Fan good-naturedly, and he started to remove his shoes and socks as he watched Elder Uncle wade gingerly into the stream.
Elder Uncle gasped,
“Eiiiyah!”
“Is it cold?” called Hua Fan.
“Freezing,” shuddered Elder Uncle.
Hua Fan slowly stepped into the stream of clear, fast-moving water, feeling all at once the hard rocks and the soft, sinking mud. Both men bent over to grasp bunches of the dark green plants with one hand and slice the bases of the stalks with the other.
Hua Fan was thinking about the taste of watercress soup, the first bowl of the season, when suddenly he felt a shower of stones pelting him on the back. He and Elder Uncle looked up and saw a group of boys standing above on the riverbank.They were laughing as they threw their stones. “Look! The chinks eat grass!” Hua Fan ran up the slope with his knife still in his hand, the blade glinting in the sun. The boys turned and ran.
Elder Uncle called out, “Hua Fan, stop. Don’t be foolish. What chance have you got?” He walked toward Hua Fan and handed him his basket of watercress, his shoes and socks. Hua Fan took everything and stomped on ahead, cursing under his breath. Elder Uncle sighed and followed behind.
That night Elder Uncle simmered the watercress in a stock of pork bones. Hua Fan savoured the flavour of the soup in his mouth. It was rich and tangy with a slight clear bitter edge. But it was not enough to erase the smouldering anger that he still felt toward the white devil boys. He couldn’t understand how Elder Uncle never seemed to let it affect him. It was as if he had wrapped himself in some kind of impenetrable shell that no
lo fon
would ever be able to pierce.
“Hua Fan, stop thinking about those devil boys. Remember, this is not our home. One day we will leave and go back to China.” This was the opening Hua Fan had been waiting for. “Elder Uncle, my mother is ill. The village schoolteacher wrote and told me.” But before he could continue, Elder Uncle interrupted.
“Yes, Hua Fan, I know. I am going back. I must go home to China.” He put down his rice bowl and chopsticks and looked steadily at Hua Fan. “As head of the family, I must return to China. My own wife is getting old. Your mother, my dead brother’s wife, is ill. And I, too, am old.”
Hua Fan stopped eating and stared at his uncle. “But it’s my mother who is sick. I must see her before she dies.”
“Hua Fan, she may recover. Anyway, when I return I will tell her all about you, how you’ve been like a son to me, how hard you have worked. And if it is meant to be, I will see that she dies in peace.”
“But Elder Uncle, how will I manage without you? I couldn’t manage all by myself.”
“You’ll be fine. What is there to know about washing clothes? I will find someone in the village to come and join you. You will not be alone for too long.”
“Elder Uncle …”
“You are still young. One day you will return and take a wife. Don’t you see
Gam Sun
is our only chance for a better life? For the future generation? I have been a luckless man. My life has been nothing
The next Sunday, Hua Fan and Elder Uncle walked to a stream at the edge of town. They each carried a round bamboo basket and a knife. When they came to the edge of the stream, they stopped. The clear water sparkled, flowing over a riverbed of rocks and mud. Along the banks and into the middle of the stream grew thick beds of watercress, like clumps of dark green curly hair. Hua Fan sat down on a large rock, took a deep breath of late spring air, and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. Silhouetted against the blue were dark tree branches, sprouting tender green leaves. Elder Uncle already had his shoes and socks off and was rolling up the legs of his trousers.
“Hua Fan, don’t sit and do nothing. Start moving. There’s lots of work back in the laundry. You’re wasting time.”
“All right, all right,” said Hua Fan good-naturedly, and he started to remove his shoes and socks as he watched Elder Uncle wade gingerly into the stream.
Elder Uncle gasped,
“Eiiiyah!”
“Is it cold?” called Hua Fan.
“Freezing,” shuddered Elder Uncle.
Hua Fan slowly stepped into the stream of clear, fast-moving water, feeling all at once the hard rocks and the soft, sinking mud. Both men bent over to grasp bunches of the dark green plants with one hand and slice the bases of the stalks with the other.
Hua Fan was thinking about the taste of watercress soup, the first bowl of the season, when suddenly he felt a shower of stones pelting him on the back. He and Elder Uncle looked up and saw a group of boys standing above on the riverbank.They were laughing as they threw their stones. “Look! The chinks eat grass!” Hua Fan ran up the slope with his knife still in his hand, the blade glinting in the sun. The boys turned and ran.
Elder Uncle called out, “Hua Fan, stop. Don’t be foolish. What chance have you got?” He walked toward Hua Fan and handed him his basket of watercress, his shoes and socks. Hua Fan took everything and stomped on ahead, cursing under his breath. Elder Uncle sighed and followed behind.
That night Elder Uncle simmered the watercress in a stock of pork bones. Hua Fan savoured the flavour of the soup in his mouth. It was rich and tangy with a slight clear bitter edge. But it was not enough to erase the smouldering anger that he still felt toward the white devil boys. He couldn’t understand how Elder Uncle never seemed to let it affect him. It was as if he had wrapped himself in some kind of impenetrable shell that no
lo fon
would ever be able to pierce.
“Hua Fan, stop thinking about those devil boys. Remember, this is not our home. One day we will leave and go back to China.” This was the opening Hua Fan had been waiting for. “Elder Uncle, my mother is ill. The village schoolteacher wrote and told me.” But before he could continue, Elder Uncle interrupted.
“Yes, Hua Fan, I know. I am going back. I must go home to China.” He put down his rice bowl and chopsticks and looked steadily at Hua Fan. “As head of the family, I must return to China. My own wife is getting old. Your mother, my dead brother’s wife, is ill. And I, too, am old.”
Hua Fan stopped eating and stared at his uncle. “But it’s my mother who is sick. I must see her before she dies.”
“Hua Fan, she may recover. Anyway, when I return I will tell her all about you, how you’ve been like a son to me, how hard you have worked. And if it is meant to be, I will see that she dies in peace.”
“But Elder Uncle, how will I manage without you? I couldn’t manage all by myself.”
“You’ll be fine. What is there to know about washing clothes? I will find someone in the village to come and join you. You will not be alone for too long.”
“Elder Uncle …”
“You are still young. One day you will return and take a wife. Don’t you see
Gam Sun
is our only chance for a better life? For the future generation? I have been a luckless man. My life has been nothing
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