Year of the Golden Dragon (4 page)

Reaching over to the window, he pushed the blind up. He gazed out over the wing tip and saw the moon. It was almost full. Ryan tugged at the red silk cord around his neck and pulled out his own fan-shaped jade pendant, similar to the one Alex wore. He ran his finger along the scalloped edge first, then traced the two smooth sides. Glancing at the moon again, then back at the translucent, pale-green jade, he could understand how people in the old days thought jade was crystallized moonlight.

When asked, it was hard to explain to his friends why Chinese people were so crazy about jade. As for himself, if he told them he loved his pendant, they’d never let him live it down. But that’s exactly how he felt. After wearing it for so many years, it had become a part of him. He dreaded the day he’d have to pass it down to the next generation.

Ryan thought back to his last trip to Hong Kong nine years ago, when he’d been nearly six years old and Alex was four. Mama, Papa, Alex and he were staying at his grandparents’ apartment near a busy market. Papa had grown up in that neighborhood and he wanted to show his Chinese-Canadian wife and sons around.

Ryan remembered holding Mama’s hand while Papa carried Alex. They walked through the market looking for things to buy for dinner that night. After getting some vegetables and fruit, the family wandered into the so-called wet market.

Even now, Ryan could still see the pails brimming over with slimy black eels, giant prawns and other wriggling sea creatures. There were pots filled with crab, abalone and giant sea cucumber. Crates overflowed with tiny dried shrimp, scallops and mussels. Farther on were wooden and bamboo cages stuffed with live chickens, ducks and geese.

When his father finished looking everything over, he pointed to a plump chicken and asked the butcher to prepare it for him. Ryan watched as the man grabbed the squawking bird, and with one hand, pinned it down on a bloody wooden slab. He grabbed an enormous cleaver and wiped it across his stained apron. Then, with one swift movement, he hacked clean through the fowl’s neck. The beaked head plopped into a bamboo basket beside the chopping block, joining the rest of the feathered heads heaped inside.

Alex was too young to understand, but Ryan suddenly realized where a chicken dinner really came from. He remembered starting to howl and his father picking him up with his free arm. Papa had held him, together with little Alex, hugging and kissing them both. A few moments later, his father put both his sons down and ruffled their hair.

“You might look Chinese,” Papa laughed, “but you sure can tell you’re not from around here.”

Now, as Ryan was about to visit Hong Kong again, a lump grew in his throat and his chest ached. He took his glasses off and pressed his forehead against the cold, black window and clasped his jade. He still missed his parents so much. It was seven years since they had died in the fire, but it seemed like only yesterday. He would do anything to see them one more time.

If someone could see into his heart, they would see that that was what he truly wished for.

Chapter 3

Anticipation

Hong Mei left the Internet café and manoeuvred her bicycle
into the lane reserved for cyclists. She noticed that traffic of both motor vehicles and bikes was heavier than usual. Everyone seemed to be out getting last-minute shopping or errands done before the holidays. Hong Mei didn’t have to worry. She and Mama had already prepared for the New Year, or Spring Festival as many still called it.

First they’d cleaned their apartment, starting with the dust-covered ceiling fans and cobwebs in the corners of the room, and finished by scrubbing the wooden floors and beating the dirt from the worn carpets. Hong Mei didn’t mind the annual cleaning binge since she, like most Chinese, thought that good fortune wouldn’t find you if you hadn’t “swept out the old to let in the new.” She also knew that she had to clean everything before her mother would take her shopping.

This year she wanted to buy something really special to wear. After all, it wasn’t just the Year of the Dragon coming up, but the Year of the Golden Dragon. She’d be 76 years old the next time there’d be another
Golden
Dragon year. Maybe she would be so old she wouldn’t even be alive.

After a bit of a struggle, Hong Mei had finally convinced her mother they should both get different outfits rather than the typical red sweaters and skirts of previous years. Hong Mei wanted a pair of black jeans and a black turtleneck. Mama flatly refused, saying it was inappropriate for a young girl to wear all black. They compromised on black wool trousers and a red turtleneck with a tiny black dragon embroidered on it. Hong Mei was thrilled. It was by far the coolest outfit she’d ever owned.

When she and Mama finished buying clothes, they bought all their favourite New Year delicacies to prepare. There was a chicken to cook at home, long noodles and thin slices of juicy roasted duck. They bought both plain steamed bread and some filled with succulent barbequed pork and chopped onion and garlic. For dessert they chose an array of dumplings with sweet red-bean paste, crushed black sesame and puréed chestnut. Last, they filled tiny bags with watermelon seeds, dried plums and sugared walnuts.

Hong Mei helped her mother take the packages home. Then they both went out for the most important errand, the trip to the bank. The New Year wouldn’t be complete without money being given and received.

Arriving at their small branch, Hong Mei and her mother saw that security guards were limiting the number of people entering the building. The next person in line was only allowed in when someone left the bank.

Mama shook her head and said, “Why do we always wait to the last minute to do this?”

Hong Mei shrugged. She didn’t mind. Waiting to take out the crisp new bills was part of the lead-up to what she considered the best part of the New Year. And that was when she received her own money inside the small red hong-bao. Throughout the days of celebrating, neighbours and patients of her mother would stop by and give her small envelopes with bills of cash inside. Just the sight of one of the little packets could make her heart race. Although she was already a teenager, girls were given
hong-bao
until they got married, and she was a long way from that.

Plus, it didn’t make any difference if she was stinky or not.

While they waited their turn at the bank to demand the newest and cleanest bills, Hong Mei watched her mother. She didn’t have much money, but she would withdraw what she could. People didn’t expect a single mother to give a lot of money, but custom demanded she give something.

Later, when they returned home and her mother prepared dinner, Hong Mei carefully smoothed and folded the banknotes to put inside the shiny red envelopes. She turned to her mother.

“How much lucky money for the trash collector, Mama? Should the doorman get more or less than him? What about the children next door?”

“Two bills for the trash collector, five for the security guard and one each for the children next door,” her mother said. “Don’t write their names on the envelopes until we have everyone’s done.”

“Yes Mama. I know,” Hong Mei replied. She knew if she missed someone, she’d risk not getting an envelope herself.

When they had finished, Hong Mei gathered up the pretty packages from the table. “Should I go now?”

“Yes. And don’t forget to say
xie xie
when you receive your lucky money.”

“I won’t,” Hong Mei had said as she skipped out the door that day.

Now, as Hong Mei pedalled home from the café, she thought about her mother. She worked so hard to support the two of them. Hong Mei knew that if she had been born a boy, everything would be different. Baba and Mama probably wouldn’t have started arguing. Her father might not have become so obsessed with his belief in the return of Black Dragon. Maybe, Baba’s monk brothers wouldn’t have had to take him away.

Hong Mei felt butterflies in her stomach as she thought about going to Beijing the next day. There was absolutely no way she could tell her mother about any of it.

Now, what excuse would she use to get away? Hong Mei would have to find out what was missing from Mama’s supplies and offer to get it before the holidays. What were they always short of? Soft-shelled beetles? Ridge-backed millipedes? Wait! Dragonfly wings. They were always running out of those.

And what a wonderful surprise it would be. She imagined walking into the apartment with Baba behind her. Would Mama burst out crying? Whom would she hug first, her or Baba?

Hong Mei turned the corner and rode into the apartment compound. She jumped off her bicycle and locked it up to the bicycle stand. When she reached their apartment door, she saw that her mother had decorated the entryway. Bright red bunches of firecrackers hung on either side of the front door. A shiny gold and red poster with the luck symbol was nailed to the door. To one side, a small fruit tree stood in a clay pot. There were twenty or thirty miniature oranges growing on the pretty shrub. Hong Mei bent to read the card tied to the orange tree. She smiled when she recognized the name. It was a gift from one of her mother’s patients.

Hong Mei turned the doorknob and let herself in.

“Mama, I’m back!” Hong Mei called as she removed her shoes and put on a pair of slippers. She closed the door behind her.

There was no reply, meaning her mother was on a house call or perhaps giving out more hong bao.

Hong Mei moved past the green refrigerator which stood as a centrepiece in the one-room apartment. They’d never had a refrigerator before. This one was a gift from another of her mother’s clients – a thankful father of twin boys that Hong Mei’s mother had delivered. A vase of bright pink and red plastic flowers sat on top of the refrigerator along with several photographs of Hong Mei and her mother. There were no pictures of her father.

Hong Mei picked up an aluminum kettle and filled it with water from the kitchen tap. She turned on the gas burner and placed the kettle on the flame. While she waited for the water to boil, Hong Mei looked at the photographs.

There were several pictures taken over the years. The one Hong Mei liked best had been taken when she was a very little girl. Her hair was done up into two braids and tied with bright red ribbons. It was winter and she wore a quilted jacket. Her cheeks were rosy, either from the cold or a little rouge that Mama, like many Chinese mothers, had put on her child’s cheeks. Small Hong Mei smiled into the camera as she clung to her mama’s legs.

She suddenly thought of another time she stood clinging to her mother. That had been the last time Baba had been with them. The night Mama had secretly taken his jade pendant and thrown it away.

It had started when her father discovered his jade was missing. He couldn’t remember where he’d taken it off, whether it was in their flat before he went to wash up or in the bathroom they shared with the other families.

When Baba asked Hong Mei’s mother about it, she pretended not to know anything. Her father quickly became more and more anxious and searched everywhere for the pendant. Everywhere except the rubbish bin behind their apartment block.

Hong Mei was amazed that her mother didn’t cave in and admit to what she’d done. She had seen Mama toss the jade into the rusty old garbage can. When Baba tried to use his second sight to trace his pendant and still couldn’t find it, he started bellowing for anyone and everyone to hear.

“Where is it? Where is my jade? Someone has stolen my jade!”

Hong Mei’s mother stood stoic and still.

Soon there was pounding at their apartment door. When her mother opened it, three men in dark monk’s robes stood on the threshold. Hong Mei remembered that Mama seemed glad, maybe even a little relieved as she asked them inside. Hong Mei would never forget her father’s reaction to the visitors. He immediately dropped to the floor and began kowtowing to them. The sight of Baba kneeling before these bald, stern-looking monks scared Hong Mei into motion.

Running to the back alley, she picked the pendant out from amongst rotting food scraps and other waste. She quickly rinsed the jade off at the outdoor tap and ran back inside.

Arriving back in their flat, Hong Mei saw that her mother hadn’t moved to help or stand by her husband. But even odder was Hong Mei’s sudden feeling that it was not her place to interfere either. Deep down, part of her wondered if she should say something about her father’s jade, but something stopped her and she kept her mouth shut.