New Year's
In two days it would be Chinese New Year. All the staff in the studio were eagerly awaiting the annual "double pay" bonus which was given according to the business custom in Hong Kong.
How greatly disappointed we were, however, when we learned that we would only be receiving an extra hundred dollars each. I was quite shocked by this blatant extortion. What made it worse was that the management had the audacity to stand up in front of us all to make the announcement. All of us, both studio owner and staff, knew only too well the evils of "capitalism" and "exploitation," having received the same education under the communists on the mainland.
We even had to work on New Year's Eve. That day I found out by pure chance that the young fellow who used to work next to me, together with two others, had been stealing tubes of paint. My painting knife had disappeared too. That really upset me, since I so much despised this kind of behavior. It made me recall how I had stolen some fish on one or two occasions when I was sent away to the farm, but this had been more to vent my feelings than for personal gain.
What these fellows were doing made me so angry that I shouted out, "If I find out who's been stealing from me, I'll never let him forget it! I'll smash his face in!"
After work that day I hurried out to the shops. I bought some fruit and candies wrapped in beautiful paper, then went to my uncle's home to share in the New Year's Eve dinner with him and his family. Just a few days earlier he had
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called to say that he had solved his problems. When I arrived, my cousins' excitement led me to believe they were delighted to see me again.
The dinner had many courses and my aunt's cooking was delicious. After eating out for so long in little noodle shops with Chao and his friends, this good home-made food really made my mouth water.
My uncle looked much better than when I'd last seen him. He opened a bottle of whisky, then began to knock it back, glass after glass. In the meantime, amidst the laughing and chatter, my cousins and aunt were plying me with questions.
"What's it like on the mainland at New Year's? Do the people there still celebrate with a New Year's Eve dinner like we do?"
"Yes, they do," I told them, "except that the name has been changed to 'Spring Festival' on the calendar, but it's still a happy time. During the festival the government increases both the availability of food and the variety. For example, we rarely used to eat chicken, but at New Year's there would be a special supply so that each family unit could get one. But compared with Hong Kong, of course, it's nowhere near as nice."
My aunt was very sympathetic.
"It would be so nice if your parents could come. Life must be so hard for them over there," she commented.
"Huh! You really think so? I believe that they are enjoying good lives now, with many blessings, not hardships!" My uncle's harsh voice suddenly butted in, leaving me quite startled. Glancing at him I knew he wasn't drunk yet, though his face was becoming rather flushed.
He went on, boldly.
"Many people try to tell us that life is so bad on the mainland, but I don't believe them! There's nothing wrong there. Why? Everyone has a regular job and regular income. What more could they want? His father and mother surely enjoy much better lives than we do!"
My aunt was obviously embarrassed by this tirade. She
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tried to force a smile. "You've drunk too much," she said.
"I'm not drunk at all!" he shouted defensively. "What do you know about it, woman? Nothing, that's what! Let me tell you, they live well! Pooh!" He growled at her gruffly.
I felt extremely puzzled and most uncomfortable.
Could he mean all of what he had just said? What was the matter with him? How could he say all these things about my parents?
"Now you can't trust anybody," he continued. "Doesn't everyone look only after his own interests? I tell you, only your father will lead you in the true path of happiness; all others will only lead you astray."
When my uncle spoke it seemed as though he were talking to my cousins, who, pale with fright, were all eating with their heads down. But I knew he was really directing his remarks to me. We all listened in silence while he continued stuttering and slandering. Then, when he realized no one else was saying anything, he delivered his punch line.
"I contend that none of those boys who escape from the mainland should ever come to Hong Kong!"
Now there was no doubt left in my mind. He had been giving me a hard time on purpose, but what had I done to deserve it? "Why?" my confused mind seemed to cry out.
I felt as if I were in a chair with thousands of needles pricking me. I wanted to get up and leave immediately, but knew I couldn't. I wanted to jump up and refute everything he had said, but I couldn't because he was my elder. Besides, I first wanted to find out what had prompted him to behave in this manner.
Eventually the dinner was over. Uncle retired to his room and this seemed to clear the atmosphere considerably, but the matter still burned in my heart.
My cousins brought out the Mahjong and began playing, so I stayed for a short while to be polite, then found an excuse to leave. My aunt evidently felt for me. She looked at me intently as she invited me to come again to join them for the New Year's meal the following day, but I only gave her a half-hearted promise.
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Out on the street I found few people around. Most were still celebrating with their families, for this was the highlight of the Chinese year and a great time for family reunions. People would travel thousands of miles to be with their families at this time; for any man not to be with his family on this particular night would portend bad luck and misery. Yet, right now, that was exactly the position in which I found myself.
I stood alone at the bus station and shivered as the bitterly cold wind blew around me. After a long wait, a private van eventually came along. A sign in the window indicated a double fare on account of the holiday. I jumped aboard with only one thought in mind: "Let's get back to the Chih-ching Dou!" That place alone was home for me.
As the van jolted along I peered out through the windows at the people happily celebrating with their families. There seemed to be so much laughter, music and merriment. How joyful and happy they were! Tears welled up and began to sting my eyes as I turned my head away.
I felt intensely unhappy.
Arriving home at the Chih-ching Dou I found the place deserted, which just intensified my plight even further. Chao and the others were still at their relatives' homes enjoying their dinners and playing Mahjong. My world seemed strangely cold and horribly empty.
What should I do?
I climbed into bed, and, as I slid under the quilt, my uncle's words came back to haunt me.
"His father and mother live very well. They'll tell you the truth. These mainland boys shouldn't have come to Hong Kong at all!"
How those words cut my heart! I began soul searching.
"What 'good' lives did we enjoy there?" I asked myself. "What about the shortages of the necessities of life? The forced transfer to the farm? The purge? The cruel political struggle and the heavy criticism without even a day's respite?"
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As Mao had said, "If you want to know the taste of a pear, you must change the pear by eating it yourself." Angrily I agreed: "If you have not tasted life on the mainland, you have no knowledge whatever, so have not earned the right to speak!"
"You just like to talk big, but don't want to believe those who've actually experienced these hardships!" I felt like shouting at my uncle. "You just don't want to accept the fact that thousands upon thousands of people have risked their lives to escape to Hong Kong, but how many Hong Kong men would want to escape to the mainland?
"And what about the countless bodies that float down the Pearl River? Why don't you consider the freedom you have which allows you to stand up in the morning and say, 'The National party is not bad and in the afternoon, 'Communism is good'? You enjoy the rights to this freedom, so why shouldn't we too? Have you ever been a Chih-ching? We were oppressed, despised and in the depths of despair. Should we be deprived of the right to escape from that situation? For this reason many young people have lost their lives. Could you say they would risk their lives simply because they were tired of the 'good life' only? True, the newspapers have recently reported some cases of mainland boys becoming robbers, but does that justify having a bad impression of the rest of us? I cannot condone what they do, and their actions certainly cause me some shame, but who should be held responsible for their actions? Who, or what, drove them into this kind of situation?"
Now I had no uncle and no relatives. I felt like an outcast in this flourishing yet cold, hard world. I was all on my own, utterly and completely, struggling to stay alive just like an ant. How pathetic and lonely I was!
No doubt my parents were thinking of me spending New Year's Eve at my uncle's. Little did they know I was alone. Suddenly, I felt very homesick for them. Beautiful scenes of our last New Year's together began playing one by one across my mind. I closed my eyes to enjoy the memories. Never before had I appreciated them so much; what lovely
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people! Soon I came to my senses, for I knew that all this could only exist in my mind. Never again could those happy times together ever be relived — not even to call them "Father" or "Mother" to their faces.
This fact gripped me with inexplicable horror, and a madness overtook me as if the end of the world had come and there was no way of escape from my cruel fate!
I got up and began to pace back and forth in my room like a caged animal.
"For one year now I have never been able to say 'Father' or 'Mother' and never again will I have the opportunity," I murmured to myself. "That's a fact! An unchangeable fact!" I shouted in my anguish. "But I can't accept it. No! No! No!"
In sheer desperation I rushed out of the room, but finding nobody, rushed back inside and shut the door. Then, on bended knee, and facing northwards toward China, I cried out at the top of my voice, "Pa, Ma! Pa, Ma! Pa, Ma!"
Then I burst into a flood of tears and held up my arms towards the sky.
New Year's Day came but I didn't go to my uncle's. Instead, I stayed home and ate bread and milk for my lunch since most of the restaurants were closed for the holiday.
A very dear lady from next door gave me a traditional Chinese red envelope containing money, for which I was so grateful. We only knew each other by sight, so I was almost moved to tears by her kindness.1 However, with all that had transpired during this past year, I had begun to shun Chinese traditional festivals which had been so much a part of my past life.
That afternoon my former classmate, Tseng, called to say that some friends were coming to see me. That made me so happy. They soon arrived, and after we had exchanged the traditional greeting, "Kung-hsi," I went to brew some special "Dragon-well" tea that I had bought in the "Mainland company" store.
Chen had brought a bag of red melon seeds which he
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shared around, and we sipped our tea and visited together. Tseng mentioned that the stomachaches he used to get on the farm sometimes recurred.
"Since we are all single people here," Liu suggested, "we ought to learn how to take care of ourselves so that we can stay healthy."
We all agreed wholeheartedly. I, too, used to get stomachaches. The year I was on the farm I harvested a sack of corn, so I sold my own monthly ration of rice on the free market and ate my corn instead in order to make some money. That was where my problem came from.
Suddenly, Tseng threw out a question, changing the subject.... "Any of you miss your families?" he asked with some shyness.
The room went quiet. Why should he ask a question like that?
"It's no use thinking about it. In fact, it's better not to think," Chen suggested, stroking his hair into place.
"But I do, I miss them." Liu was being honest.
I nodded, too. "Not only do I miss my family, but it almost drives my crazy when I think about it."
Tseng glanced at each of our faces. "In fact, I even feel like leaping out of the window!"
Again there was dead silence. All of us were very homesick. It was true: Chinese festivals that once brought happiness now brought us much pain. For those Chinese who had had strong family ties in the past, and who had now lost not only their country but also their families, it was a very great problem.
"It's all water under the bridge," I volunteered, trying to feel optimistic. "As Chen has said, 'It is useless to think.' If you must think, just grin and bear it; turn your grief into strength. Brace yourself."
But I knew this was far more easily said than done. I just hoped we could find some encouragement in these words.
Then we recalled past memories and old friends on the
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mainland. We talked about the situation there and felt very sorry for some of our classmates who had failed many times in their attempts to escape. At the end of this conversation, Chen suggested that we go to a movie, so we went to a cinema in Mong-kok.
That evening we bought a big roast goose and some seafood and cooked them in the kitchen of a factory where Chen worked. It was such a feast that we all ate and drank our fill. All the sad things faded from our minds as we enjoyed our fare.
We said goodbye and left in the early hours of the morning. Tipsily, I finally found my way home. "Today is not so bad . . . " I mumbled and collapsed on the floor.
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1. It was the first year I had never received a red envelope from my parents.
