A Superior Man (31 page)

“Fear of His Holiness.” I mentioned how the god had prevented deaths in Lytton.

“Screw you. You don't fear him.” He took the axe and ran a whetstone along it.

“Why is Fist all cleaned up? I didn't recognize him. Did you shave him?”

“He wants revenge.”

“What's his plan?”

“Ah, you want to join him. Don't. I warn you. Don't.”

I rubbed at my fingers, sticky from spruce sap. No other sap was so hard to remove. “Revenge is messy, isn't it?”

“That's why smart men avoid it.”

I went inside. The smell of opium smoke was still sharp. That man was too afraid to go home and face the jeering in his village, but also too fearful to support a brave deed here. If he didn't want to return home, if he didn't see any purpose in his life, then he should put his life to noble use here. He had worked on the damned iron road. He had seen it kill and maim. Why not bring glory to his clan? Otherwise he would be forgotten forever.

Fist had lit a lamp and dumped No Brain's belongings onto a bed. A pile of clothes lay on a carrying cloth.

“You don't need heavy socks,” said Fist. “Not for China.”

“Packing so early?” I asked. “You're not leaving yet.”

Fist tugged at the socks in No Brain's grip.

“What's that?” I pointed to the bed. Peter pushed his way in, keen as a hungry dog.

“Garbage. He wants to take everything.”

White and green pebbles. Scraps of string and soiled blue ribbon. Thick and skinny nails with bent heads. A shiny suspender snap, toothless and loose.

Fist tossed items into two piles. No Brain called, “I want that. I want that.”

Fist slapped away the brat's hand.

“As soon as you talk revenge,” I said, “China men will try to stop you.”

“Like One Leg. He's scared.”

No Brain hurried away, still ready to burst into tears.

“In China, I was in a bandit gang, a famous one,” I said. “I can do many things.”

He jerked away. “You think I'm afraid to kill?”

“In Victoria, I guarded the door at a game hall, the biggest one in town. I fought all the time.”

“You think only big fellows can get things done? Not this time.”

We ate stringy greens that had gone to seed, steamed fish, a fragrant soup, and rice. I needed to get Fist and One Leg talking about plans, but the brat chose this time to turn away his face and refuse to eat. Never before had he dismissed food, not even when we had taken several meals a day in Victoria. The brat should have been hungry; our last meal had been this morning in the Native village. He sipped soup but kicked his feet and shook his head whenever I poked rice at him.

I mixed fish juice into the rice, a wet slurry that had been my childhood favourite, but Peter made a face and rejected it.

I made a grand show of taking food to my mouth and chewing with gusto. Peter still shook his head.

Eat!
I wanted to shout. Luck provides a meal now, not tomorrow, not the day after. No telling when we get food again.

“What are your plans for the boy?” asked One Leg.

“The bottom dropped out. With no money, I can't go to the mother. I have no choice but to take him to China, although the men from Lytton called me stupid.”

One Leg nodded. “Here, redbeards will kick him around like an old dog.”

“He'll get kicked around in China too,” said Fist. “Want to know what my older brothers called me? Fried tofu
pok
. Roast pig skin. Pin-cushion nose. They never stopped laughing.”

“Crocodile fingers,” added No Brain. “Pebble face. Tree-bark cheeks. You never went anywhere with them.”

“If boys don't tease you about one thing,” I said, “they mock you for another.”

Someone pounded the door. I looked for my stick. Fist grabbed the rifle. One Leg snuffed the lamps. No Brain pulled Peter close to him. A spoon clattered to the floor.

“It's Boss Soon,” a voice called.

Fist put away the gun, and we had relit the lamps by the time he reached the table. “
Wah
, if dried tree leaves landed on your head, would you all scream?”

This time he was a worker in dusty overalls and heavy jacket. He loosened a bundle from his back and threw aside his cap. A pigtail was coiled and pinned atop his head. The last time I saw him, his fancy western hat had hidden it.

He glanced at me. “Weren't you looking for the boy's mother? You sure quit fast.”

“He takes the boy to China instead,” Fist said with a sneer. “Not sordid yet, but he'll make it sordid.”

“We came down the other side of the river,” I said to the bookman. “Your crew is making progress. Did you hire some strong men?”

“Look at this.” The bookman showed his sack to Fist, who brought more rice and chopsticks.

“Is it enough?” he asked.

Boss Soon jerked his thumb at me. “You trust this one?”

I busied myself feeding the boy.

“He passed through once,” said Fist. “Never saw him before. He's from the island.”

“Want to land in jail?” One Leg asked. “Be careful.”

“I worked on the railway too,” I said. “What those redbeards did to the graves was barbaric.”

“Any China man can say that,” One Leg declared. “But give him five cents and he'll betray you.”

“Kick him out,” said Fist. “He hates rail hands.”

“I had different plans, that's all,” I protested.

“He wouldn't go to the temple for us,” Fist said. “Said he wasn't coming back this way.”

“But here he is.” Boss Soon nabbed a large piece of fish and turned to me. “What's the worst insult you ever threw at a railway man?

“I didn't help bury—” I stopped myself and paused. “I killed one.”

“Not an accident?”

I looked away, into the dark. “Shorty was hurting from a bad injury. He smoked opium for the pain. He had no money to send home. He told me to smother him, make it look like he had died during the night.”

“A friend?”

“Hardly. But he had saved my life. I owed him a favour.”

When I glanced at Boss Soon, he said, “So you want to help?”

My mouth opened, but he stopped me with one raised hand.

“Wait, I know, you want to avenge our late comrades. I know,
you want to restore China's faded honour. I know all that. Can't you say something new?”

What shit was he fishing for? The men at the table showed no distress. Fist dug out the glassy salmon eyes and chewed them.

“In my crews,” Boss Soon said, “some men quit after a week, others stayed for years. Some coolies hid all day where they couldn't be seen, others did the work of ten men. How can we trust you?”

“You trust this worm Fist?” I demanded. “Did he work for you?”

“I know all about him. People call him a coward. He failed his co-workers. His father lost face and the clan is shamed. He has to regain respect.”

“This one said he ran with bandits,” Fist said. “Who believes him?”

Boss Soon asked me where.

I gestured that we go outside. He shook his head. “These men watched the graves.”

“No one is braver than me,” I said, “but I won't lose face before strangers.”

He took several mouthfuls of food before changing his mind. We went to the front door. In a low voice, I told him about my parents' shame and the need to restore Grandfather's honour.

“Tell me about the bandits,” he said, “but not just hit-hit-kill-kill.”

My mouth went dry.

“We were not all killers,” I said. “One day, a few of us ambushed a wedding delivery. We usually let such parties go past. This time, we hadn't eaten for days and both sides were startled. We weren't armed and didn't expect them to have weapons. The porters must have been promised a bonus for a completed trip. Or they were embarrassed
to be caught wearing gaudy red vests and headbands. When we charged at them, they dropped the roast pig and the baskets of cakes. To our surprise, they didn't turn tail and run. Instead they shouted and pulled out cudgels. Their leader slammed his shoulder pole into me. The porters chased us, screaming to behead us, to skin us alive. This was the first time we had to run away.

“My friend Poy and I were laughing, as if drunk from too much wine, as if running a race between rival clans. We yelled to each other. We didn't believe this was really happening. There wasn't any danger; we knew the trails better than our names. My friend and I ducked behind a bush and then jumped onto a fellow. We crashed to the ground. The porters surrounded us and kicked and beat us. In the next instant, our fellow bandits caught up, waving knives that had been hidden in the forest. So then the tables were turned, the porters ran away, and it was our turn to chase them, shouting like drunks.”

“Kill anyone?”

“Not that time.”

He shoved the bag at me. “Take a peek. Be careful.”

Stubby brown tubes of dynamite were tied in bundles, coiled by their own long fuses.

“We can explode their gravestones,” I said.

Yale's redbeard cemetery stood on flat land overlooking the river. Trees still blocked the field but a large cross, taller than two men, watched over upright markers, tower-like stones, and plots enclosed by fences of wood or wrought iron. The redbeards held slow-moving parades to bury their dead, but we China men always avoided them. We weren't curious about their funerals the way they liked to trail after ours.

“What's the biggest building in Yale?” Fist leaned against the wall.

“Engine house,” replied Boss Soon, “where locomotives get turned around.”

“Just a big shed. How about the Company offices?”

“Too small.”

“There's the fancy house where the Top Boss lived.”

“China men took the servants' cabin.” The bookman shook his head. “They will get blamed.”

“We explode the railway,” said Fist.

“Isn't it too long?” I spoke without thinking.

He turned to Boss Soon. “There's enough to bring down a trestle, isn't there?”

He nodded.

“Screw!” cried One Leg. “Why not make a circle, noses to each others' backs, and kick the man in front? Our blood and sweat is on that road.”

“That road killed China men,” said the bookman. “Now we fight for dregs of work.”

“Go burn churches!” said One Leg. “Every town has at least one.”

“Three fires have reduced Yale to ashes, yet the town's church still stands,” said Fist. “Their god is strong too.”

“China men wanted to torch a church in Lytton,” I said. “But they didn't. The redbeards would have shrugged and said, ‘Ah, those China men don't like Jesus and don't like missionaries in China,' and then turned around to build a new one. No, we must make them wonder, ‘Why are the China men so angry about the iron road?'”

No one heard me.

“We tie ropes to the tracks,” Fist said, “climb down, and lash
dynamite to the bracing. Then we climb back up, light the fuses, and run!” He reached for the bag. “How long are the fuses? How much time is there before they explode?”

“Enough,” said Boss Soon. “If one section gives way, then the entire bridge may fall. North Bend has a long trestle.”

“No, further south,” said Fist. “We need to get away quickly.”

“Below Spuzzum.”

“Straight one or curved?”

“The straight one is higher.”

“Very high,” I said. “I crossed it recently.”

“Then we jump on a boat at Yale and sail away. We'll be home in China in no time!”

“Drinking whisky!” We clapped each other's backs and banged the table.

Again I urged Peter to eat. Once the dishes were removed, he would lose all chance of filling his stomach. I wanted to slap him. If he starved tomorrow, there was nothing I could do.

“You can write to the redbeard newspaper,” Fist said to Boss Soon, “saying clearly-clearly that we avenge the fire and the graveyard. That way, everyone knows everything.”

“I'll do that while singing a happy song!” he replied.

“But you need to stay with your crew,” I told Boss Soon. “Once this happens, the Company and the police will look for where the explosives came from. They'll question you right away.”

“Then you go with Fist,” Boss Soon said to me.

Exactly what I wanted to hear!

“Can't trust him,” Fist declared. Then he sneered at me. “Besides, what will you do with the boy? Bring him along?”

“He's no trouble.”

“He might start bawling or shout to his people. You see them everywhere along the river.”

“I'll figure it out.” I would do anything to join this mission.

“You're the stupid ones.” One Leg struggled to stand up and then leaned against the wall. “This is madness.”

“Only crazy China men will side with the redbeards!” declared the bookman.