Down to a Soundless Sea (28 page)

The elder Fat, having observed the couple together, could find no objection to their friendship, but he worried about the cold realities facing their future. He knew only too well what thorny obstacles lay along the path should their companionship take root and bloom in true affection. But as befitting a man of his years and insight, the elder Fat shrewdly kept his own counsel and feigned complete ignorance. He indulged the forlorn hope that the fit would pass from his charmed apprentice before sober intervention became necessary.

Chow Yong Fat was well aware that many ancient customs and practices had been altered or abridged under the constraints of life bound by the Gold Mountain. He remembered being young once, to be sure, and he recalled that in his youth all things romantic appeared possible on the surface. He could
happily admit that for once he had been fortunate in his choice of apprentices, but he had no wish to loose a serendipitous blessing to a spirited agitation of the blood. Privately, he trotted out every useful argument against such inclinations, even though he knew how powerless logic could be when outflanked by youthful ardor and purpose.

Sue May Lee at last awoke and rose to stand behind the driver’s seat just as Point Alones came into view. Now that home was in sight she proudly announced that she would not let her benefactors depart before she prepared them a worthy repast of the freshest fish the village might provide.

The arrival of Chow Yong Fat at Point Alones would be remarked upon by many. Sue May Yee insisted that it would be worse than inhospitable to allow such a venerable benefactor to depart without sampling her culinary gratitude. The elder Fat cheerfully relented to the invitation only because he knew Sue May Yee to be an extraordinary cook—a fact he had hoped his pupil might not have a chance to assess just yet.

The elder Fat saw no reason to advertise the young woman’s virtues against his own better interests, though he knew that fate and circumstance ruled in these matters. As it stood, he was losing ground with every new revelation. In the end he knew that it probably would not have mattered to Sing Fat if Sue May Yee had never boiled water successfully. The elder Fat half remembered an Arabic proverb that stated, “Love viewed a one-eyed man as having a pleasant wink.” He hoped it wasn’t so, but knew better.

*  *  *

The day of their arrival witnessed contrary waves and perverse winds on Monterey Bay. It discouraged all small boat work, so most of the fishermen of the village labored repairing torn nets or rehooked leagues of trawl lines while others patched and caulked their skiffs and sampans. Packers salted squid in barrels, while boys and girls turned the air-dried catch that lay spread over every rack and rock in the village.

Sing Fat found the odor of desiccating squid more intense than he had expected. Eyes tearing, he gagged back a cough every so often, but was determined to let no one gauge his discomfort. He looked to his teacher for guidance, but garnered little more than a reassuring smile and a pat on the knee.

Sue May Yee and her old father-in-law lived at the south end of the spindly fishing village. Though visited by sharp gusts and the odd wave, the location enjoyed the advantage of ocean breezes and thus smelled less like squid than anywhere else in the vicinity.

Old Jong Yee, Sue May Yee’s father-in-law, still fished occasionally, but he earned his living primarily by sorting and bailing dried squid. He also fashioned net floats and crab traps when time allowed.

Jong Yee was sitting on his narrow porch rigging just such a trap when the mule cart drew abreast. The elder Fat bowed his head and offered a polite salutation. This was acknowledged with a smile and a slight bow in return. Sing Fat dismounted to hold the mule’s head while the apothecary helped Sue May Yee dismount with her basket-dwelling cat.

She bowed and greeted her father-in-law with affectionate respect and then disappeared inside their weathered clapboard shanty.

Sing Fat could not help but notice that the rear half of the
shack’s rickety frame, like that of so many of its neighbors, was precariously balanced out over the tide-washed rocks. Each dwelling was haphazardly supported by an irregular latticework of asymmetrical poles and found wood. A stone’s throw beyond the cantilevered rear porch, the raucous surf broke against an irregular shore.

The locale gave one the impression of constant hazard. It looked to Sing Fat as if every structure in the village was in perpetual jeopardy of being washed out to sea. But, oddly enough, they were still standing after several generations of such peril.

Sing Fat was given the usual instructions concerning the mule and cart. The elder Fat seemed comfortable repeating himself on subjects of trivial consequence while forgetting the least mention of topics of decisive relevance. Sing Fat had cared for the mule and cart for months. Every detail of that task was now second nature and needed no instruction.

Sing Fat had hoped to earn a few precious moments of conversation with Sue May Yee before the master decided it was time to continue their journey south, but the prospects dwindled with her devotion to the little feast she had promised.

He had wished to join her as she interrogated the neighborhood fish vendors about their freshest wares, but he had been directed to grease the cart axles again and to form a vigilant buffer against the predations of the vicinity’s youngsters.

These sparrow hawks were a gregarious but light-fingered crew of little miscreants who were not able to resist the challenge of putting something over on the apothecary’s apprentice. Urchin honor demanded such attempts, so Sing Fat was kept at odds playing the terrier while his teacher and the elder Yee shared tea and watched Sing Fat’s torments with amused detachment.

The modest feast Sue May Yee had promised was served to the elders first. She would eat last as tradition demanded. But the odor of her cooking and the elders’ loud praises heard from within the house only made Sing Fat salivate more. As instructed, Sue May Yee conveyed Sing Fat’s portion to the porch so that he might maintain vigilance over his teacher’s property. He had wanted to speak with her then, but she had time only to set down his food and then return to serve the elders.

His bowls of delicately prepared sea bass, crab and ginger, steamed rice, and pickled eel only confirmed the beguiling kitchen aromas. It proved to be the most splendid meal he had consumed in years. The daughter-in-law of Jong Yee, if nothing else, was a treasure who rivaled the abilities of any kitchen god.

Sing Fat wondered why this bright gem of a girl should have attracted no acceptable suitors, widow or not. She had even contrived to make honey-sweetened rice cakes, his favorite, and all from a meager brick hearth that served the shanty as both kitchen stove and central heating system. Central, only insofar as everyone slept in close proximity to its banked fires at night.

Sing Fat was toying with his second rice bun and devising a scheme to speak with Sue May Yee privately when his teacher suddenly appeared like smoke and announced that all preparations for departure should be made at once. Time was of the essence for safety’s sake. He offered no further explanation, as usual.

Having fed and watered the mule upon arrival, there remained only the animal’s harness anchor to be stowed before Sing Fat declared the expedition ready for the road.

Chow Yong Fat and old Jong Yee shared a few parting
words and a formal bow of mutual appreciation. Sue May Yee and her white cat appeared at the door. She carried a neatly wrapped cloth bundle that she handed up to Sing Fat on the drivers bench. She bowed and said that it was food for their journey in case the weather should keep them from a generous hearth for the night. Sing Fat stowed the bundle under the seat and thanked her.

With time pressing, he decided to shunt caution aside and share a personal sentiment with Sue May Yee. He wanted to tell her how much their long discussion had pleased him. He wanted her to know that he looked forward to future conversations, if she was amenable and custom allowed. But the words simply flew away as his teacher hastily mounted the cart, took over the reins with a grunt, flicked the mule’s haunches with authority, and jogged off down the lane with clods of earth flying from the wheels.

The moon-eyed couple could share little more than a clasped gaze and self-conscious smiles before the elder Fat had rattled the cart onto the track moving east toward the coast road. The apothecary occasionally encouraged the mule, but aside from that the elder Fat drove on in silence.

As the cart pulled around the crest of a low bluff, Sing Fat looked out at the bay and clearly saw a broad storm head coming up from the southwest. The wind-driven whitecaps were now supported upon the shoulders of rolling swells of great length.

Near the horizon he could make out the smoke of steamers and the sails of coasting schooners as they raced for the shelter of Monterey before the storm overtook their wakes. Sing Fat recalled that the squid fishermen had said they had never seen a year so pregnant with storms. Their comments
came to mind just as the wind began to shiver the heads of the taller pines. Sing Fat licked his lips. The moist air, even at this distance from the bay, tasted of sea salt.

The elder Fat drove his cart along according to a schedule all his own. As usual he had not bothered to share his purpose or destination. Sing Fat always assumed that his teacher had simply forgotten to mete out these morsels of information. Since the moment he climbed aboard the cart, the elder Fat had appeared grim and preoccupied. Responding to the threat of bad weather with distracted grunts or shrugs, he made constant visual reference to the changing sky and the increased vigor of the winds. Still he said nothing to enlighten his apprentice further.

Though confused, as was customary, Sing Fat took no offense. He much preferred to sit back and daydream about the incomparable Sue May Yee.

Later, when the cart ran over a downed tree limb by the side of the road and almost pitched both occupants to the ground, Sing Fat respectfully suggested that perhaps such dashing about was a bit perilous.

The elder Fat erupted with a gush of justifications. He hated repeating himself, he said, and wondered why his pupil didn’t listen to significant information the first time. With a sigh of resignation the elder Fat went on to repeat what had never been said.

It was the impending tempest, of course. Was the youth blind as well as deaf? The venerable Jong Yee had been most instructive on the subject. Accounts of the approaching gale had been bayside rumor for days, but now its arrival seemed so imminent that even the seagulls were moving inland.

The elder Fat shivered, shook his head, and muttered on.
A rainy night or two of sheltering under the cart’s canvas roof was one thing, but to suffer a mature storm on the open road was reckless in the extreme. Everything aboard would be soaked within minutes. The medical stores would be ruined, and he didn’t foresee the mule taking up the muddy challenge with any perceptible enthusiasm. Even now the poor beast was twitching his great ears, a sure sign of agitation and the onset of a contrary disposition. The apothecary continued with his catalog of possible calamities. The coast roads and mountain tracks, difficult enough to pilot in the dry seasons, would become hazardous or even impassable with any appreciable rainfall. If the ground became thoroughly soaked, then landslides could be expected at the most inconvenient locations.

Ample shelter, obtained in a timely manner, was of foremost importance, and there was only one point along their route where suitable refuge might be found. An old friend, the elder Fat chortled, now fallen on prosperous times, had purchased a small coastal farm just north of the gully bridge in Pescadero Village.

His name was Jung San Choy, and the elder Fat considered him a capital fellow with a generous turn of mind. His house might prove a bit meager with four children prancing about, but Jung San Choy had recently raised a sturdy barn large enough to take the whole cart, mule and all. If the gods saw fit, they might still find sanctuary in Jung San Choy’s barn until the storm moved on.

Traveling away from the shore and south toward the direction of Carmel Valley, the cart moved through a striking grove of gnarled cypress trees, which only added to the menacing character of the weather. As they traveled south, Sing Fat became fascinated by the dichotomy of the western sky. Everything
north of a given line was bright sunshine and green sea peaked with bright white crowns. To the south of that same line the sky was dark gray and frothed with darker clouds boiling in from the southwest like lava. Here and there dense, broad shafts of black rain hung beneath their parent clouds as they paced across the sea in an angry cavalcade. The sea in turn reflected all the dark menace of the clouds and gave off colors akin to old hammered iron.

The cart at last came to a crossroads. The elder Fat turned right and came upon a leaning rustic structure called Lodge Gate. He jigged the mule and traveled south down a road he called “the Seventeen-Mile Excursion.” When Sing Fat asked about the name, the apothecary snapped the reins, shook his head, and said it made no sense to him either, since it had little relevance to the distance traveled.

They were nearing their destination at Stillwater Cove when the mule, master, and apprentice all became aware of a distinct electric odor on the wind. It was a primeval scent that augured only the largest of storms.

Within moments the mule’s ears twitched to the rumble and clap of distant thunder. This added some urgency to his gait in the hope his master had shelter in mind to reward his exertions.

Like Point Alones, Pescadero Village, which clung precariously to the rocky shores of Stillwater Cove, could be located by bouquet alone. Even with the rising wind, the odors of fleshed and dried sea life stuck to the village like a paste. Sing Fat was sure that not even the coming rains would scour the stench from the air.

The apothecary found Jung San Choy’s little farm just as the first bloated raindrops struck the dusty soil. They were so
fat that when they impacted the dry earth, they sent up little clouds like miniature artillery bursts.