Music on the Bamboo Radio Page 4

  Whenever Nicholas did make an error, he would remember it and, in the evenings, he softly repeated the correct word over and over to himself to get it right: yet, in these quiet moments with the family engrossed in their own thoughts or work, he also found his mind wandering from time to time to his parents, where they were and what they might be doing.

  The balmy winter days gave way to the sweltering heat of summer. In the evenings, heat lightning flickered far out over the sea and, some days, there was torrential rain which turned Dragon Tail Stream into a swirling cataract.

  Nicholas undertook new duties about the village. He had to ensure the terraced paddyfield was kept flooded so the rice seedlings, which Venerable Grandfather had nurtured from seed, could grow. This entailed periodically opening a sluice gate from the stream. He also had to maintain the loose stone wall which kept the wild pigs out of the vegetables and he had to collect the hens’ eggs, which the stupid birds had taken to laying in the bamboo clump behind the houses, before the rat snakes and civet cats could find them. The task he hated most was carrying buckets of pig manure up to the fields to spread around the plants. In the hot sun, the dung smelt sickly sweet and revolting.

  Most days, Tang continued to fish from the sampan, leaving early in the morning but always returning well before sunset. His catches were so good that he regularly visited a small market in a village called Sai Kung, seven kilometres away by sea, where he sold a part of his catch and some of the fish Nicholas dried.

  All seemed well and unaffected by the war until one day in high summer. Tang had gone off as usual in the morning but, as the sun dipped over the mountains, he had not returned. Ah Mee was petrified with fear, imagining he had been arrested, beaten up by soldiers or murdered for his day’s earnings. As night fell, they all gathered on the beach, silently watching as the sea lapped gently on the shingle. Just as the moon rose over their backs, the sampan came into view. It was moving very slowly, the oar only just rowing it. Tang was not standing at the stern, as he should have been, but slouched in it.

  Nicholas, without thinking, tore off his jacket, plunged into the sea and swam out to the sampan. He clambered aboard.

  ‘Tang! What’s happened?’

  Tang was barely conscious. He raised his arm but let it drop, the action too exhausting for him. Quickly, Nicholas checked Tang over for wounds but he was not injured. Taking hold of the oar, Nicholas wiggled it back and forth as he had seen Tang do. It was much heavier than he had expected. The little craft rocked crazily. Tang moaned. Yet, after a few minutes’ practice, Nicholas got the hang of it and rowed the craft a zigzag course to the shore.

  All that night, Tang lay groaning on his kang. Ah Mee mopped sweat from his brow and held his hand. In the temple, Tang’s parents lit joss-sticks in front of Tin Hau, praying for her help. Qing-mai joined them for a while then came outside to sit beside Nicholas on the terrace wall.

  ‘Tang is very sick,’ Qing-mai said. ‘He has a fever…’ She paused, made a tiny whining noise then gently pinched Nicholas’s arm.

  ‘Mosquito,’ Nicholas guessed. ‘You mean Tang has malaria?’

  ‘I do not know the name. A small fly bites you at night. You die. Like my mother. She had this sickness.’

  In the early hours, Venerable Grandmother produced a herbal soup. It smelt, Nicholas thought, like boiled socks and he could not imagine what good it might do. This proved immaterial as Tang could not swallow it. The liquid dribbled down his chin to stain the quilt he lay upon. By dawn, he was delirious and shaking uncontrollably.

  Nicholas knew exactly what was needed to cure Tang. It was quinine. His parents had kept quinine pills in the bathroom cabinet. The tonic water they drank with their gin contained it. When he was nine, he had had malaria himself. The quinine had tasted bitter and made him retch but it had saved him.

  ‘We must get quinine,’ Nicholas told Ah Mee who was exhausted by her night-long vigil.

  ‘How we get?’ Ah Mee asked forlornly. ‘No shop can buy.’

  ‘We go to Kowloon,’ Nicholas replied matter-of-factly.

  ‘Kowloon very much danger,’ Ah Mee answered. ‘We no can go. All people must have name chit.’

  ‘Name chit?’ Nicholas queried.

  ‘Paper say you name, where you live.’

  ‘You mean identity papers?’

  Ah Mee shook her head in despair and muttered, ‘We no got.’

  ‘Then we must risk it,’ Nicholas said, ‘or Tang may die.’

  After some discussion, it was decided Nicholas was right. Someone had to try to fetch quinine. Ah Mee was prepared to go but Venerable Grandmother was very worried at this prospect. She pointed out a single woman, alone in Kowloon, would be prey to Japanese soldiers who, it was rumoured, were capturing young women and shipping them off to Formosa as slaves.

  ‘Let me go with Ah Mee,’ Nicholas suggested when he was told of Venerable Grandmother’s concern.

  Venerable Grandfather smiled wanly and muttered something which Nicholas did not quite hear.

  ‘What did Venerable Grandfather say?’ he enquired.

  ‘He says you are a good boy but what can you do?’ Qing-mai replied.

  ‘She would not be alone,’ Nicholas said, ‘and they might not bother a woman with a boy. Two are safer than one.’

  For ten minutes, there was a heated discussion at the end of which Ah Mee took Nicholas’s hand.

  ‘You like son for us,’ she half whispered. ‘Strong in you heart. Got plenty good in you.’ Then, as she had on his first night in the village, she kissed Nicholas on his brow and said, ‘We go.’

  There was no time to waste. They had to leave immediately, despite Ah Mee’s having had no sleep. Qing-mai packed them each a bundle of dried fish and some clean clothing. Ah Mee produced a small soft leather pouch which she stuffed into her clothing. As they were about to depart, Venerable Grandmother handed Nicholas something on a length of twine.

  ‘It is for good luck,’ Qing-mai explained. ‘Venerable Grandfather made it for you.’

  Looking closely at it, Nicholas saw it was a tiny figure of Tin Hau, exquisitely carved from a plum stone.

  ‘Thank you. M’koi,’ he said, making a little bow and hanging it round his neck.

  It was still early in the morning when Nicholas and Ah Mee set off along the path. It was the first time Nicholas had been this way since his arrival and then he had been too tired to notice. The path wound along the edge of a creek, crossed the rickety plank bridge and veered westwards. At every step butterflies, waking up as the sun warmed them, took to flight. Despite her tiredness, Ah Mee set a steady pace.

  Just after midday, they reached Sai Kung where Ah Mee decided she had to rest for a few moments. They went towards a tea-shop outside which several tables were arrayed under a spreading tree.

  No sooner had they sat down than the tea-shop owner appeared. He was a surly-looking man with a misshapen ear which curled forwards, looking as if a bizarre fungus had taken root on the side of his head. He did not speak but jutted his chin at Ah Mee as if to say, Place your order, make it quick. She replied too quickly for Nicholas to understand.

  Her words sent the man into a rage. He shouted incomprehensibly at Ah Mee, gesticulated at Nicholas and waved his hand in the air as if to shoo them away from the table. Nicholas, keeping his face downcast, stood up to go but Ah Mee held his hand and quietly spoke again to the proprietor of the tea-house. Her words placated him. His rage died down and, instead, he leered and grunted curtly.

  ‘What did he say?’ Nicholas murmured, deeming it safe to whisper. He could see the man in the tea-house, standing at a steaming brass and copper urn.

  ‘I say I no want tea. I just very tired. Just want sit. He say we no can sit. This no free seat. We must buy tea. He say you look long time at his ear.’

  She glanced up. The man was returning with two bowls of tea, the steam rising from them catching the sunlight dappling through the tree.

  ‘No talk now,’ Ah Mee said quietl
y. ‘You no look his ear. We no want him more angry.’

  The proprietor slammed the bowls down, spilling some on to the scrubbed wood of the table. Ah Mee paid him two coins. Nicholas watched her eyes. He could tell she parted with the money with considerable reluctance. What the two bowls of tea cost might be the difference between life and death for Tang.

  The tea was a delicate shade of green, piping hot and slightly flavoured with jasmine flowers. It had a reviving effect on them. When she had drained her bowl, Ah Mee went into the village temple where, very hurriedly, she lit a joss-stick in front of the altar and muttered a quick prayer whilst Nicholas stood near a huge bronze temple bell engraved with mystical beasts.

  ‘This god name Kwan Tei,’ she said as she stepped over the raised lintel of the temple door. ‘He help us.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ Nicholas asked.

  ‘We go see Dr Wu,’ Ah Mee replied, then she took a firm hold of his hand. ‘You listen me. If I no can go, you go.’ She glanced around surreptitiously and took out a bundle of notes. ‘This much money. More than two hundred dollar. You do for me?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Nicholas answered.

  ‘Dr Wu house in Pak Hoi Street,’ Ah Mee continued. ‘Near Shanghai Street. You can find?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nicholas assured her, ‘I know Shanghai Street.’

  He thrust the money into his own pocket, almost stabbing his hand on his father’s propelling pencil which he often carried with him, except when working in Venerable Grandfather’s vegetable plot. In their rush to depart, he had forgotten to leave it behind.

  At half-past one, they reached a hamlet called Ho Chung where the road to Kowloon began. Parked under the shade of a tree was a very dilapidated Ford lorry, its exhaust belching smoke. Around the tailgate mingled a crowd.

  ‘Kwan Tei listen me,’ Ah Mee whispered. ‘We ride now.’

  Not wanting to spend precious money, Ah Mee haggled with the driver, finally making him accept a fare of four dried fish. As the engine revved, they climbed on to the back with all the other people.

  The lorry halted in a back street, the passengers quickly getting off to melt away into the surrounding alleys and doorways. No one said goodbye to his fellow travellers. There was no time. Everyone had to be out of sight before a Japanese patrol spotted them. The lorry moved off the moment the last passenger’s foot touched the ground.

  Nicholas and Ah Mee hurried in silence down a passage between two closed shops and arrived at a main street. On either side, the pavements ran beneath arcades. Usually, they would be thronged with shoppers but there was hardly a soul about. The shops were closed and there was not a single hawker selling vegetables or rice bowls, offering to sharpen knives or write letters for illiterate coolies. Curious, and seeing no one anywhere near them, Nicholas decided to risk a question.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ he whispered.

  Ah Mee did not look at him. She kept her eyes fastened on the street.

  ‘All people stay home,’ she said quietly. ‘Only come out do business.’

  ‘But the shops are all shut. Why isn’t even a single one open?’

  ‘Shop no got too much to sell,’ Ah Mee replied. ‘Hong Kong very poor place now. No business, no money.’

  ‘People still have to go to the shops,’ Nicholas reasoned. ‘They still have to buy food.’

  ‘Hong Kong no too much food now,’ Ah Mee said bluntly.

  They set off walking along an arcade, Ah Mee holding Nicholas’s hand. Her grip was so tight he had to wriggle his fingers to keep the blood flowing. People passed them, their heads bowed. A few carried small parcels but no one carried the kind of thing Nicholas used to see. Before the war, he could have stood on a street corner for ten minutes and seen passers-by or coolies carrying live hens trussed in bamboo twine, twitching fish or bloated frogs in baskets, bags of rice or dried mushrooms, whole roast suckling pigs with their skin the colour of polished camphor wood, boxes of tea, sacks of flour or Taikoo sugar, bunches of tiger lilies, bundles of vegetables or dried fish. Never, he thought, would he have guessed that one day it would be his daily chore to dry such fish.

  Turning a corner, they were suddenly confronted by a Japanese patrol blocking the arcaded pavement. They were searching a man whom they had pinioned against the wall, his face pressed into the stone, a bayonet hard against his spine.

  ‘No look, no look!’ Ah Mee hissed, her step faltering. ‘No talk, no stop!’

  They walked on, coming closer and closer to the patrol, not daring to change direction for fear of arousing suspicion. The Japanese officer in charge leafed through the contents of his prisoner’s wallet, flicking bits of paper and a photograph into the air, letting them flutter to the ground. With each piece of paper, he became more irate.

  Ah Mee’s fingers tightened even further. Nicholas felt himself break into a sweat. He realized the Japanese were looking for the man’s identity papers – and he and Ah Mee had none.

  They drew nearer still. The officer started to tear up some currency notes, letting the shredded money drift down to join the photograph. The soldiers were having a bit of cruel fun with their unfortunate victim, prodding him with their rifle butts and drawing their fingers around his throat in a hideous mockery of killing him.

  It seemed as if they were too busy at their savage sport to be bothered with a woman and her son but, just as Nicholas and Ah Mee passed the soldiers, stepping into the gutter to avoid them, one turned, reached out and grabbed Ah Mee by the shoulder, spinning her half round. Nicholas, still firmly held by her, nearly lost his balance.

  The soldier put his hand round Ah Mee’s neck, pulling her face to within centimetres of his own. Nicholas was terrified. His head was swimming with panic. Against Ah Mee’s orders, he looked up. The soldier was a good-looking young man with a soft forage cap on his head, his rifle slung over his shoulder. His leather belt and ammunition pouches shone with polish, the black handle of his bayonet hanging in its scabbard was as glossy as jet. Seeing the blade still in its sheath somehow calmed Nicholas. If the soldier was going to kill Ah Mee, he would have taken it out.

  With a quick movement, like a snake striking a mouse, the soldier tugged Ah Mee’s head to his own and kissed her hard on the mouth. Several of his comrades laughed uproariously. Then he let her go. She staggered back, Nicholas lurching with her. The soldier started to step towards them but the officer barked an order and he turned his attention back to their prisoner.

  As they hurried on, Nicholas glanced back. The man was lying on the ground and the soldier who had kissed Ah Mee was standing over him, wiping his bayonet on the prone figure’s trouser leg.

  In the next street, Ah Mee halted in an alleyway and let go of Nicholas’s hand. She was quite silent but tears ran down her face, dripping off her chin like drops of rain. Nicholas reached up and wiped them away with his sleeve.

  ‘It’s all right, Ah Mee,’ he consoled her. ‘We’re safe now.’

  ‘Japanese man bad man,’ she muttered through clenched teeth. She stepped a little way down the alley and found a standpipe with a tap. Turning the brass knob, a trickle ran out. For at least a minute, Ah Mee splashed water into her face, scrubbing at her lips with her wet fingers.

  At last, they reached Pak Hoi Street and found the door of the building in which the doctor lived. Beside it, a tarnished brass plate screwed to the wall announced Dr Wu Hsiang-lo – General Practitioner, Specialist in Tropical Medicine and Diseases of Ladies in both English and Chinese. Ah Mee opened the door and they ascended a dark staircase. The steps creaked and the air smelt faintly of carbolic soap and methylated spirits.

  The doctor’s surgery was nothing more than a room in the centre of which stood a cracked leather couch. Near it was a desk with a black telephone and two chairs. No sooner had they entered than another door opened and the doctor appeared. He was an elderly man dressed in a long flowing cheong sam, the hem brushing against his cotton slippers. Upon the end of his nose was a pair of gold-framed spe
ctacles. The nail on his left-hand little finger was at least four centimetres long and looked like a talon. This, Nicholas knew, was the sign of a learned man who never did manual labour.

  For a moment, the doctor studied them both then, looking straight at Nicholas, he said in English, ‘Hello. What is your name?’

  Nicholas was so amazed, his mouth nearly fell open but he caught it just in time. How did the doctor know he was English! He had his varnished cane hat on and was wearing Chinese clothes.

  ‘Come now,’ the doctor urged him. ‘You speak English.’

  ‘Wing-ming,’ Nicholas said at last. He reasoned he might get away with that. After all, he could be a Chinese who spoke English or, as Tang had told the Japanese gunso, he could be half-Chinese.

  ‘No, your English name,’ Dr Wu asked with a kindly voice, leaning forward and removing the hat. ‘You are English.’

  So flabbergasted was Nicholas, he replied, ‘Nicholas.’

  Dr Wu laughed and continued, ‘You wonder how I know? It is because I am a doctor. I study people. I can tell what a person is, or what a person is not.’

  He moved behind his desk and sat down. Nicholas looked at Ah Mee. Her face was stiff with anxiety.

  ‘Your secret is safe with me,’ Dr Wu said. Ah Mee’s face relaxed somewhat. ‘Only together can we survive this bad time. Yet do not trust everyone. There are people who work for the enemy. They kill their fellow countrymen and hoard food to sell at high prices. They are evil men.’ He paused for a moment then, brightening, went on, ‘Now, what do you want of me?’

  ‘We need quinine,’ Nicholas answered. ‘Ah Mee’s husband is sick with malaria.’

  Dr Wu pursed his lips.

  ‘All medicines are very scarce in Hong Kong now. The Japanese keep them in a store and do not release them. Quinine is very rare indeed.’

  ‘Can you get some for us?’ Nicholas asked.

  ‘Perhaps, a little, but it is very expensive.’

  From his pocket, Nicholas tugged the roll of notes Ah Mee had given him and passed it to Dr Wu who unfolded it.