The Language of Threads (20 page)

“The Triads are only one part of the black market. Quan deals
in it, and he's not involved with the Triads. He'll show me what to do. He has kept his family well fed. The Triads won't even notice me.”

“Quan's a young man, and the streets are dangerous.” Pei shook her head. “You're a young woman.”

Pei stepped back and saw the truth of her statement. Ji Shen had grown into a pretty young woman. She stood half a head shorter than Pei and was delicate and small-boned, with fair, smooth skin and mischievous dark brown eyes.

“I'll stick close to Quan. I promise.” Ji Shen wrapped her arms around Pei and kissed her on the cheek. “Everyone is out there trying to survive. Just let me try until I can find something else to do. If it doesn't work, I'll go back to school.”

At the time, with their day-to-day living conditions so uncertain, Pei couldn't argue further. By the time they were safely settled into the boardinghouse, Ji Shen seemed to have plans of her own.

Pei's only solace was that Quan was also on the streets.

“Don't worry, I'll look after her,” he reassured Pei. She studied the young man she had chosen over the other sha pullers. What a lucky choice she had made.

“What does she do all day?” Pei asked.

Quan smiled shyly. “What we all do, just try to get through another day buying and selling what we can.”

“But what do you and Ji Shen have to sell?”

“You'd be surprised how easy it is.” Quan explained: “You wait in line for a couple of cups of rice, then barter the rice for a few cans of meat, a can of meat for powdered milk, and so on. Throw in a couple of mangoes snatched from a tree and you may even get a chicken.” He stood up quickly and stretched his long, muscular limbs, toughened by the years of pulling a rickshaw.

Pei knew this was a simplified explanation of something much
more complicated. How fast could a tree grow fruit? What if there was no more rice to be distributed? Even the term “black market” signified something dark and dangerous. Through Luling, Pei had learned more about the Triads, a large organization of secret societies that ran almost all of the black market, supplying the goods for huge profits, while those who worked for them received a small cut. That would leave those not involved with the Triads in a real minority.

“Is that all?” she asked.

Quan shrugged. “Just about.”

Pei eyed him closely. “I see.”

The next morning, after Pei was sure Ji Shen had gone off with Quan, she found herself walking down the Wan Chai streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of the black market at work. The morning air was still relatively fresh, not yet thick with the oily odors of a long day of hot sun. Instead of hurrying down the street trying to avoid Japanese soldiers, Pei closely watched all the movements around her. As if she'd been blind, she saw life anew. Men and women, who appeared harmless, lingered in the streets or in doorways. They made swift deals—goods and money were exchanged and slipped into pockets as the flow of life continued. Sometimes children were even used as lookouts for Japanese soldiers coming down the street. Pei watched the dizzy display of commerce and couldn't imagine Quan and Ji Shen being part of it all. She started back toward the boardinghouse with more questions than answers, though she was surprised at how efficient and organized the buying and selling appeared from afar.

For now Pei had no choice but to keep quiet and watch for any signs of trouble. Although the very idea of the black market left a bitter taste in her mouth, she would have to trust Quan to take care of Ji Shen.

Her thoughts were broken by clamorous voices down the street and the sudden scattering of boys, chased closely by Japanese
soldiers. Heart pounding, Pei slipped down a narrow street to be out of their way. She leaned against a wall and drew in a deep, biting breath. The boys would surely disappear into Wan Chai's myriad streets and alleys before the soldiers knew where they'd gone. Would Ji Shen have to run down the same alleys? Would she be able to find her way out again?

“Perhaps you've come for more dream tea?” a voice suddenly inquired.

Pei turned quickly around, pursuing the familiar voice. Even before she saw him tucked away in the shadows of a doorway, she knew it was the old herbalist.

1943

Pei hurried down a narrow Wan Chai street, with Ji Shen rushing to keep up. Ever since Pei had told her they were going to visit Mrs. Finch at Stanley Camp, Ji Shen had regained her spirit. All night, questions floated through the air of their small room at the boardinghouse. Ji Shen was filled with a joy and innocence Pei hadn't heard in a long time. “Do you think we'll be able to find her?” Ji Shen asked. And “Do you think she'll look the same?”

As if good fortune were smiling down on Pei, first she'd discovered the old herbalist alive and living with his nephew a few blocks from them in Wan Chai, then she discovered a way to visit Mrs. Finch. While she was standing in line for rice distribution at the Central Market, she'd overheard a large, boisterous woman say that her husband drove the Red Cross medical van to Stanley Camp. Pei stepped closer and smiled. Her mind raced: How could she make a deal that would take her and Ji Shen out to Stanley to see Mrs. Finch?

“How often does he go?” Pei asked.

The woman eyed Pei up and down. “He goes once a month and brings supplies to the prisoners at St. Stephen's College hospital there. Why?”

“I was just wondering if he might take a passenger or two out to Stanley.”

“To the village?”

Pei nodded, thinking it might be safer.

The woman smiled. “Well, I wouldn't put it past my husband's good nature to help someone out.” Her foot tapped lightly against the pavement. “Of course, it is a great risk to take. . . .”

“He would be greatly compensated,” Pei quickly added. “Would fifty Hong Kong yen make it worth his while?” Her mending business was doing well, and she'd put a little money away. Fifty yen seemed a reasonable sum; it would buy some fruit and vegetables or other necessities.

The woman looked down at the ground in thought, then back at Pei. “Let's say one hundred would.”

Pei had finally bargained her down to eighty Hong Kong yen, promising to give the woman's husband half on the arranged morning and the other half after they'd returned to Hong Kong. They set a date and time to meet. All the way back to the boardinghouse, Pei was floating on air.

Early the next afternoon, the summer air warm and humid, Pei and Ji Shen dashed down the street. The Wan Chai streets were bustling with people searching for food and bargaining in doorways for black-market goods. Pei and Ji Shen walked past one beer hall after another: the dark, dingy entrances were filled with Japanese soldiers in the company of Chinese, Russian, and Eurasian prostitutes. Filipino musicians played “I Can't Give You Anything but Love, Baby” in every bar. Pei was glad the Japanese soldiers had something to do instead of loitering in the streets and harassing innocent Chinese.

Pei slowed down when she glimpsed a group of Japanese soldiers down the street. “Be careful,” she said, pulling Ji Shen into a doorway. Avoiding contact with the Japanese patrols had become a daring game she and Ji Shen played as the occupation
dragged on. They'd weave in and out of doorways to keep from having to stop and bow.

By the time they reached Central, it was nearly one o'clock. When a large, shiny car came screeching down a narrow street, the crowds fanned out and disappeared, or turned and bowed low to the passing vehicle. The flag of the Rising Sun fluttered from the car, as it did on all the cars left in Hong Kong. Other flags denoted the rank and title of the officer inside.

Pei turned her back so as not to have to bow at the passing car. “I think the medical van is supposed to be waiting over there.” She pointed to the corner.

Ji Shen nodded, adjusting the cloth bag she carried over her shoulder. It held some items Mrs. Finch might need most—soap, powdered milk, a box of crackers, and a can of sardines Pei had saved from her Conduit Road supply. “I can't wait to see Mrs. Finch again.”

Pei smiled. “Neither can I.”

It had been nearly a year since Pei had watched Mrs. Finch, calm and strong as always, walk away from them and surrender to the Japanese authorities. What Pei hadn't told Ji Shen was how afraid she was that Mrs. Finch might no longer be the same person they'd come to love. Since the beginning of the occupation, Pei had witnessed countless acts of brutality. Men and women were slapped and beaten, made to grovel and eat dirt for no more than an errant look, or for wearing the wrong color. The Japanese would stop at nothing to break a person. And Mrs. Finch was just the kind of person who might try to challenge their authority.

Pei had voiced her fears about Mrs. Finch only once, just days after they'd moved onto the sampan. She had asked Quan, “Do you think Mrs. Finch will survive the internment camp?” Precious grains of rice sifted through her fingers as she washed their small allotment in a wooden bucket.

He shrugged and looked away, then stood up and threw the
fishing net over the side of the sampan. “There's always hope,” he answered. But his eyes avoided hers.

Pei's heart had raced. There had to be more than hope, she'd thought to herself. Mrs. Finch was still strong and healthy, and if she just avoided confrontations she'd be able to survive, to start a new life after the occupation. Pei had shoved her hand deeper into the bucket, her knuckles scraping the bottom.

Just then a white van with a bright-red cross painted on its side turned the corner and slowed down. “There he is!” Pei said, picking up her pace.

Mr. Ma, the driver of the van, was short and slender, the opposite of his big-boned wife. He jumped out of the van, pocketed the money Pei handed him, and opened the back door for the women. “It'll be safer if you ride in the back,” he said.

Pei leaned forward and strained to peer out through the grimy front window. They sat between boxes that rattled and clinked as the van bumped along the cratered streets. Ji Shen peeked into a box and pulled out a brown bottle filled with clear liquid, with the dark letters “A-L-C-O-H-O-L” on the label. Pei motioned for her to put it back, just before Mr. Ma turned around and smiled at them.

When the van paused, a long black car pulled alongside. Pei's heart skipped a beat when she recognized the woman sitting next to the Japanese officer in the backseat. She craned her head to get a better view. She looked harder, once . . . twice . . . The woman was older and heavily made up, but she was Fong.

The black car roared ahead. It wasn't until the van finally left the city and began rounding the mountain curves that Pei loosened her grip on the door handle, her head still spinning at the sight of Fong.

Stanley village was teeming with people. Had it not been for the Japanese soldiers who patrolled the area, Pei would have thought the place had somehow gone untouched by the war. Song Lee had cautioned her to be careful, and not to draw attention to herself as she made her way to the prison camp. “Those devils have eyes in the back of their heads,” she warned.

Pei arranged to meet Mr. Ma at the van in a few hours. Then she and Ji Shen followed the dirt path that led along the cliffs to the camp. The sun was warm against the top of her head and the rush and roar of the waves below were mesmerizing.

Ahead of her was a group of young boys; an old man in the village had told her to follow them. “They sell to the prisoners,” he said, sucking air from his pipe. “They'll lead you right to the camp.”

Pei and Ji Shen followed the boys, just far enough back to hear their low chatter. As the path gradually descended, she could see the camp in front of her, dominated on one side by the concrete walls of Stanley Prison. From a distance it looked relatively harmless. The barbed-wire fence wrapped the large compound like a neat package. Several three-story buildings were flanked by smaller bungalows. Pei's heart beat faster. Which building was Mrs. Finch staying in? Would she be able to find her? She and Ji Shen hurried to keep up with the group of boys, watching to see how they made contact with the prisoners.