Kingston look like the worst kind of shanty town I ever did see. But then I never see anything from the top deck of a cargo ship before, so most likely Guangzhou look just the same. I didn’t know. When I left there all I saw was the Japanese lighting up the night.
The wharf look like it a sea of black ants heaving and humping and sweating. They got crates pile up this way and that, and a big zinc shed that they must burn up inside on a hot day, and a little concrete building stand next to it.
And that is when I see the two of them standing on the dock. The little Round One look excited and waving his arm in the air, but the other one don’t look too interested. That is the one I think I recognise from the way Ma describe him to me, tall and straight, proud and strong. I think this is Zhang, Zhang Xiuquan, my father’s best friend from China. My older brother name after him, Yang Xiuquan. Zhang is the one that send passage for us after my father get murdered by British and French soldiers at Shaji. But what with the war and everything it take a long time for us to get here.
When we get inside the little concrete building Round One is there arguing with a white man in a uniform. The white man sitting at the desk and Round One is standing next to him nodding his head, ‘Yes, yes.’ White man shaking his head, ‘No, no.’ Then Round One go away and come back a bit later with a brown envelope and put it on the desk. Him sort of pat it with his hand and step back. White man pick up the envelope and look inside it. Then him put the envelope in his pocket and wave his hand to tell us to come forward.
When him ask my name I tell him Yang Pao, but he have me tell him again two more times and then him write on a piece of light brown paper and thump down heavy on it with a big red rubber stamp. Him hold out the paper to me and I take it. I was going to bow and say, ‘
Outside on the dock we get introduced. There is me, Ma and Xiuquan just come off the boat; and Zhang and Round One who come to meet us. Round One turn out to be called Mr Chin. He is the chairman of the Kingston Chinatown Committee. He is Zhang’s employer.
When Zhang and Ma come face to face they just stand there and look. I was thinking they would say something after not seeing each other for such a long time, but Zhang just bow his head and Ma bow as well. Zhang look just like Ma say but older than I had him fix in my mind. He even starting to get grey on his head.
Mr Chin got a buggy waiting for him. It got one horse and two big wheels and a black canvas canopy to keep the sun off. He tell Ma she must come ride with him, but is only two people can fit in the buggy so then he say to Zhang that maybe they should have bring another one. But Zhang say no, boys can walk. And Mr Chin say OK because Matthews Lane not too far, turn left and right and straight up. Then Mr Chin call over a barefoot boy with a pushcart and Zhang put the bags on it.
All the time we walking my legs wobbly from so long at sea. And then I realise I must be some kind of curiosity because every corner and doorway got people hanging there just to look at us. Plus, little pushcart boy cannot take his eyes off me. I try not look at him, but every now and again I let my eyes wander to see if him still staring at me, and sure enough him looking straight back, even though every time I catch him he lower his eyes or look away to pretend him not watching me. The thing I notice ’bout pushcart boy is how dark his skin is. And how his hair tight on his head, and how his eyes round. And how he don’t look nothing like me.
When we get to the house it is a concrete yard behind a door in a fence. To the left, Mr Chin say, is a storeroom. It have a deep red wooden door with a big galvanised metal padlock on it. A little further in on the right, there is a row of five single rooms, each with its own door and two small steps into the yard. The shower cubicle is on the opposite side to the rooms and made from corrugated zinc, and between the shower and the first two rooms is a piece of zinc over the top of the open space, to keep out the weather. Underneath it is a oblong wooden table and a little stove. Up the top of the yard there is a dugout pond, and ducks. And beyond that, the toilet shed.
The first room is for Ma to sleep in, Zhang say, then the next door me and Xiuquan to share, and him at the far end. Two empty rooms between him and us, to show respect. Mr Chin say, ‘Hope you and family happy in house.’
Zhang say, ‘
Then Madame Chin come with all the Chinatown Committee and them wives. They bring food for everybody to share, like a celebration, and all of them saying welcome, welcome.
After they gone Zhang say for us boys to take a shower and go to bed and him go to his room. The shower cold and refreshing, and afterwards when I lay in the crisp cotton sheets I think to myself this is no Chinese farm. No green rice fields or gold rape carpet. But it is all we need. Best thing, no Japanese soldiers outside. And then I close my eyes. I so tired all I want to do is sleep the rest of my life, but all I do instead is listen to dogs bark and people making a ruckus somewhere off in the distance.
Next morning Zhang say me and Xiuquan must put on our best clothes and come with him. The best we have is our changshan. We both got them, in black. They old fashion we know, and even in China people hardly wear them now except for a special occasion when some people still like you to wear a gown. But it is what we have. When Zhang see us he shake his head and mutter something to himself ’bout men and changshan, and pigtails and the revolution, but he march us outta the gate anyway into the blistering heat and the stench of the drains.
We walk up Matthews Lane till we get to Barry Street and as we turn the corner all I see is the buggies. One after another, line up in one long, neat row, all the way up the street. With their little black canopies and the horses, and the drivers cleaning up the stinking piles that dropping from under their tails because, Zhang say, they going sell the manure to the Indians for growing the vegetables. When we get to the post office we turn into King Street and into a shop call Issa’s that sell everything, including what Zhang want us to have – underpants, vests, socks and shirts. Then he march us outta there and into a shop where they sell sturdy lace-up shoes, which we have to try on wearing the new socks; and then he put us in a buggy, where he sit up front with the driver, and go to another place where he choose some material, and buy the whole bolt; and then to a tailor who got a little cap on his head and who measure us for trousers, after we put on a pair of the new underpants. Two pairs of trousers each outta the same fabric, which Zhang want in a hurry so the man promise that the trousers soon come. And then the buggy take us back to Matthews Lane and Zhang seem satisfied with that.
He sit us down in the yard and cut our hair himself, which Xiuquan not too happy about, I don’t know why. Maybe because he used to Ma doing it. Maybe he think Zhang taking too much liberty taking charge of us like this. Because the hair not that long, it just too long for Zhang’s liking. But when I look at Ma she sitting there and she smiling, and she putting her palm flat against her cheek and leaning her head to one side like she enjoying watching what going on. So I reckon if it alright with her then it alright with me.
The thing that strike me all the time we going about is not just how the streets and the buildings look different from China, or how the place smell different, more sorta salty than earthy. What strike me is how different the people look. There was ones with dark, dark skin and the broad nose and thick lips and tight hair. And even the ones that got lighter skin still got the nose and the hair. They got every shade from blue-black to all sorts of brown. They even got some with ginger hair. Then they got some with skin sorta smooth and sallow, and they got straight nose and straight hair. And they got ones with white, white skin, and yellow-white hair and red eyes. I never know there was so many different ways a person could look. All I knew about was the straight black hair and the flat nose and the eyes.
The next day I find out why Zhang in such a hurry for the trousers. We have to go to a banquet. So when the tailor come in the yard with one pair for each of us, Zhang relieved. And he tell us to go get dressed. When Xiuquan ready Zhang tell him to run up to Barry Street and fetch two buggies and when he come back we leave with Ma wearing a traditional cheongsam in deep red with white plum blossom, and Zhang dressed in a dark blue Zhongshan suit, with its turndown collar and four symmetrically placed pockets, named after Dr Sun Yat-sen and now the army uniform for Mao Zedong.
The place they have the banquet got a big room with wooden tables and benches and a veranda all the way ’round outside. And then it got that same thing again upstairs. The stairs go up straight out of the middle of the room. Every inch of this place is packed so I reckon the whole of Chinatown must be here. Mr Chin at the door to welcome us and escort us to his family table where Madame Chin sitting with their three daughters and two sons and one daughter-in-law and one son-in-law and the children. Everybody bow and happy to see us.
All ’round the corners of the room there is big barrels full of rice, and a lid to keep it warm. So when you need
