Down to a Soundless Sea (29 page)

Jung San Choy owned four large lots that ran from the road to the cove just north of the gully bridge. His house was tucked up in the southeast corner across from his garden, but his new barn and corral sat almost at the heart of the property, with the cove just two hundred feet beyond.

Jung San Choy was overjoyed to see the elder Fat. Three of his children had come down with slight fevers, and the venerable apothecary’s presence at this time was truly a gift from heaven. He was happy to offer every available hospitality to his guests.

They were lucky in the way of shelter for cart and mule alike. Jung San Choy and his second cousin Foo Chong, who lived just south of the bridge, had shipped off their varied harvests the week before, so plenty of room was to be had in the barn.

There was an abundance of fresh-cut hay in the loft for bedding and, of course, Jung San Choy’s wife would be honored to prepare all their meals if they so desired. The elder Fat thanked Jung San Choy for his timely generosity and said that they would continue their journey as soon as the storm passed.

Sing Fat noticed, when the cart was led into the barn, that acquiring straight or matching lumber had not been a keen priority in the building’s construction. In fact, enough gray light entered through the chinks and gaps in the walls to read by, and the wind, which was growing in intensity, entered the same way.

The basic structure of the barn was sound enough, he supposed,
and the broad roof and hayloft looked to be in good repair, so Sing Fat set to work with a whisper of celestial appreciation upon his lips. Notwithstanding present conditions, he intended to make this forced delay as comfortable as possible for his teacher.

While the apothecary assembled a few rudimentary medications for the children’s relief, Sing Fat saw to the comforts of the mule.

The beast appeared pleased with the relative shelter and safety of a dry stall, and Sing Fat’s application of the curry brushes nearly brought tears of joy to the creature’s eyes. With a bucket of sweet oats thrown into the bargain, Sing Fat was confident the impressionable animal would endure the coming distress with reasonable fortitude. For warmth against the penetrating winds, he covered the mule with its own sturdy blanket and stacked hay sheaves against the side of the stall to hinder the chill drafts.

Master Chow Yong Fat announced that he would retire to their host’s lodgings to attend to the children. Sing Fat was to make their environment as habitable as possible in his absence.

Before leaving, Jung San Choy pulled two kerosene lanterns from a wall box and handed them to Sing Fat with the undeviating Chinese caution against the fire devils that tormented the negligent and unwary.

The devils enjoyed a wicked appetite for hay-filled barns. Jung San Choy laughed cynically, winked at the elder Fat, and claimed the fire devils often chose Chinese barns when the barbarians were in a dither about one thing or another. Sing Fat bowed and agreed to be particularly vigilant.

While his master was gone, Sing Fat set about creating a
comfortable bivouac. The storm’s winds had grown in strength, and the rain had begun a rolling tattoo across the roof. In an attempt to create greater protection from the strong drafts, Sing Fat retrieved the spare canvas from the cart and, with the use of straw sheaves, built a sheltered enclosure that included the rear portion of the leveled cart. Moving the medicine chest to one side and fashioning straw and canvas into a clever simulation of a mattress, Sing Fat managed to convert the bed of the cart into a comfortable snuggery protected from the blustering gusts of intrusive winds.

In the center of his straw stockade, Sing Fat cleared a space free of all combustibles, rolled out bamboo mats about a central hearth, and set up their small cast-iron charcoal brazier.

Within twenty minutes Sing Fat had boiled water for tea and was feeling quite pleased with himself.

Then the gale struck in force. There was no doubting the sincerity of its intention, which as far as Sing Fat could tell, was to blow everything upright off the coast of Monterey.

Every joint and board in the barn began to twist and groan, and the wind, which up until that point had been a chilly inconvenience, now shrieked, whistled, and moaned through the myriad gaps in the walls. The strength of the gusts actually piped generous portions of rain through the chinks in the boards to soak everything within three feet of the walls. The mantle of storm clouds had vanquished the last of the daylight, so Sing Fat lit and hung the kerosene lanterns and waited for his teacher in the meager cheer of their glow.

The sounds of the storm had lulled Sing Fat into a drifting slumber when the barn door crashed open with the wind and a cloaked specter entered. The vision, having appeared on
the heels of a dream, frightened Sing Fat. The figure released a black oilskin cloak and revealed the elder Fat carrying a wrapped stack of bamboo steamers.

They all contained something hot and delicious, if the aromas stood up to scrutiny. Despite the escalating howl of wind, roar of rain, and rattle of shingle and board, master and student managed to share a most enjoyable meal sheltered comfortably about the glowing brazier.

When the drafts blew and it became even colder than anyone might have expected, the elder Fat felt obliged to use his arts to contest the elements. Searching through his satchel, he came up with a squat bottle of his own special elixir. It was a concoction that he claimed would, after a few small cups, render one immune to the frosts of winter even if one were stark naked. And so it did.

As the temperature dropped, two thimble-sized cups became four, then six, and so forth until both men at last could honestly attest to the fact that they felt little of anything at all, including the cold.

Indeed, even the strident hammering of the storm against the sieve-sided barn seemed to take on less importance. An aura of safety, warmth, and confident security appeared universal despite the constant crash of thunder and the occasional cannon report of a snapped tree. All might be chaos and tumult without, but within their shelter of straw sheaves and canvas all was warm, safe, and remarkably comfortable.

Another collateral immunity imparted by the elixir soon took effect, and after a while Sing Fat felt emboldened enough to speak to his teacher about the most delicate subject possible, Sue May Yee.

The elder Fat was caught off guard, though he should have
known his concoction might have just such an effect since it contained a goodly portion of Chinese brandy.

Though he did not wish to appear unsympathetic, Chow Yong Fat did not wish to be drawn into a matter that would obviously move against his own interests in time. The thought of his promising young friend wedded to Sue May Yee and immersed in the life of a Point Alones squid fisherman was far from attractive, or necessary. In any event, it was not a subject he wished to discuss at the moment.

It was his belief that deliberations of the romantic variety should always be postponed until the last possible moment. One never knew what changes of fortune might transpire in the interim. So rather than offend his optimistic pupil and possibly wound his spirit, the elder Fat chose the lesser of two evils and pretended to fall asleep during Sing Fat’s disjointed overture characterizing Sue May Yee’s unique attributes.

It didn’t take long for Sing Fat to realize that he had lost his audience. He would have to broach the subject at some other time if he still possessed the courage. He decided to let it pass for the moment and proceeded to help the elder Fat to his bed in the cart. After carefully extinguishing the kerosene lanterns, Sing Fat made his own pallet on a mattress of straw that was screened from the elements. There he lay in the last light of the brazier’s glowing coals, listening to the clamor of the storm.

That night the surf crashed on the rocky shore with such force that Sing Fat could feel the ground shiver through his straw mattress. The howling whistle of the wind through the gaps in the boards changed pitch and timbre as the agitated gusts altered direction.

The rain had not settled into a steady cadence, but rather
grew or lessened in intensity as conditions varied. Sing Fat’s last thoughts, before sleep overtook him, were of Sue May Yee. Perhaps it was his own depth of feeling, singularly reinforced by his master’s extraordinary tonic, but Sing Fat had conceived a certainty about his future, and the keystone of his vision was the incomparable Sue May Yee.

No matter what happened, or who objected, Sing Fat knew that one day they would be married. Drawing these happy thoughts about himself like a quilt, Sing Fat went to sleep while the storm pressed on through the night.

The morning, which came early for master and pupil, witnessed the gale’s bruising fidelity of purpose. It was a wonder that everything was still standing upright. Through a space created by a wrenched board, Sing Fat watched and marveled while the ocean shattered itself about the little bay like a maelstrom in a bucket.

Stillwater Cove, normally temperate in stiff conditions, had become an affliction of wind and waves. Vigorous, frothing breakers collided with the shore and churned back on the next incoming waves. It was chaos incarnate.

The gully just south of the Choys’ garden and toolshed, which was dry most of the year, had matured into a respectable river with currents running in both directions simultaneously. The resultant collision of runoff, tides, and waves inundated part of Foo Chong’s property on the southern point. Yet for all the superficial damage caused by wind and rain, clusters of incense burned at every household shrine in gratitude for all the lives not taken. Pescadero Village was still safe for the moment, though the storm showed little sign of abating quickly.

*  *  *

Since continued travel was out of the question, the elder Fat decided that another day’s confinement would best be served with a period of review, instruction, and study.

In part the elder Fat wanted to gauge his pupil’s level of distraction. It was hardly uncommon for young men in his condition to forget their own names when a woman clouded their purpose.

He was pleasantly surprised when Sing Fat recited the twenty-six principles of diagnosis, the forty-eight primary and the thirty-two secondary pressure points of nerve distraction, and the formulas for compounding medicines beneficial to the treatment of female postnatal melancholia.

In fact, every question the old man posed, Sing Fat answered with sure and confident responses. This pleased and reassured his teacher. If indeed his apprentice was besotted with the comely Sue May Yee, at least it had not addled his brain beyond the point of usefulness. Perhaps there was still some room for hope and aspiration. At least Sing Fat exhibited a healthy glow of intelligence. Even if his pupil was truly infatuated, it was to be hoped that he wasn’t moronic enough to let it hobble his future. The signs looked good, but who could tell with the young?

The storm passed on to the north sometime after one in the afternoon. An hour later, Chow Yong Fat decided it was an appropriate time to continue their errand of mercy. After saying farewell to Jung San Choy and receiving a gift of food for the journey, the elder Fat directed the cart toward the highland mines. The roads were not heavily littered with debris and there were no downed trees or deep mud to block the way, so they suffered only minor inconveniences here and there. The sky grew clearer and brighter as the track climbed up into the hills.

The cart was but a short distance from the mines when Sing Fat noticed a two-horse freight wagon coming down the track from the opposite direction. It was obvious that both vehicles could not pass at once, so the elder Fat suggested that they pull the cart off to one side and let the larger wagon pass. As the wagon came closer, the elder Fat recognized his friend Han Foo Yeung, the man who had called him upon this particular errand.

Han Foo Yeung appeared totally preoccupied. A dark, introspective sadness hung about him like a mourning cloak. The elder Fat hailed his friend, who instantly came to life with a start as he looked about for the caller. When he noticed Chow Yong Fat, his eyes lightened for a moment and then fell back in upon his preoccupation. He pulled his wagon to a stop next to the cart and shook his head.

When the elder Fat asked what had happened to cause his friend’s distress, Han Foo Yeung almost cried. Though deeply troubled, Han Foo Yeung said that the purpose of his friend’s generous attendance no longer existed. His prospective patients had all died, expired like so many diseased dogs.

He turned and spoke something toward the bed of the wagon. From under a soiled tarpaulin two Chinese laborers appeared, looking frightened and bewildered. Han Foo Yeung looked back to his friend and said that only these two men had escaped the deadly illness. He was now helping them to flee the mines and find refuge among their own people, possibly in Watsonville. He admitted that he was afraid the miners would discover his complicity in the escape. They would do anything to see that the story did not circulate. He expected grave trouble in any event.

Han Foo Yeung apologized for any inconvenience the elder Fat might have endured on his journey and reached behind
the wagon bench to retrieve a large bundle and a big, wicker hamper. He passed them over to Chow Yong Fat. He said that these were the items he had mentioned in his letter, but that now the venerable apothecary was to consider the articles as gifts in compensation for his compassionate but fruitless journey.

Han Foo Yeung said that he had intended to deliver them personally when he came through Salinas, but now was as good a time as any since he didn’t know when they should next meet.

Sing Fat could not put his finger on the exact reason, but there was something in the man’s story that didn’t exactly ring true. It was more a quality of voice than a point of fact, as if the story had been rehearsed for believability. But since he had no justifiable cause to doubt the account, he kept his suspicions to himself. After all, he had never met Han Foo Yeung, and he certainly had no wish to cause trouble for a stranger. Sing Fat looked to his teacher for a response and was surprised by his reply to the situation.