Spilled Water Page 13

  Uncle talked frankly about Mother and how, when she had fallen ill, she had begged him to find me and bring me home. A letter had come from Mrs Hong saying that I was on my way, but when I hadn’t arrived Mother’s condition had worsened. Uncle had set out to look for me, but had been called back as my mother’s life failed her.

  He talked about Li-hu, how he had grown, and how much he looked like our father. I could see that Uncle adored my brother, that my brother had unlocked his heart. I doubted Uncle would ever feel like that about me, and feared that it would only ever be guilt that made him accept me back.

  Mostly, I just listened. I grasped at little bits of information that helped me to build pictures of my mother and Li-hu at home without me: Uncle playing with Li-hu; Mother struggling to cope; Mother lying ill; my brother without Mother at home with Uncle. They were uncomfortable pictures, but I needed to see them. I watched for signs that would show the old Uncle was still only just below the surface, ready to re-emerge. I studied him hard, trying to work out whether or not his regret was honest. Part of me wanted to believe it because, apart from Li-hu, Uncle was the only family I had left. The other part of me fought against such belief, because I wasn’t ready to take his side.

  Li Mei disappeared during that week, saying that she had something to sort out and that she would visit again before I left. She returned one afternoon with a big smile on her face and clutching a brown envelope.

  ‘This is for you,’ she said triumphantly.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Open it and see.’

  I unsealed the envelope and pulled out a wad of notes.

  ‘It’s the money the Wangs owed you, and I managed to extract some extra,’ she grinned. ‘They were worried that your uncle might report them for employing underage children and other illegal working practices. Mr Wang was extremely friendly and very happy to pay you what I demanded.’

  I laughed at the thought of the obnoxious Mr Wang humbly doing what Li Mei told him.

  ‘Will you go back?’ I wanted to know.

  ‘I don’t think they’d have me, somehow,’ chuckled Li Mei, ‘but with the extra that Mr Wang insisted I too deserved, I’m going home as well, Lu Si-yan, and then I shall find work somewhere else.’

  ‘Somewhere better,’ I said. ‘Let it be somewhere better.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Fragments of a Song

  As soon as I was well enough to travel, we began the long journey home. Uncle called a taxi early one afternoon and helped me into the back. Li Mei sat alongside me, her own journey home taking her part of the way with us. I soon fell asleep, my head bouncing up and down on her shoulder. I woke when we came to a halt. It was dark outside, but I could hear the eerie sounds of distant engines and horns.

  We had come to a river. A huge ferry was moored at the end of a jetty. Men with wicker baskets on their backs were walking down to it, bent double under the weight of oranges and vegetables. Others had long poles slung across their shoulders, at the ends of which were buckets full of fish. Two men were pushing a cart piled high with meat.

  ‘Are we going on that enormous ferry?’ I asked.

  ‘For the next two days and five hundred miles,’ said Uncle.

  Uncle carried me aboard. I was still too weak to walk very far. He took me to the cabin I was to share with Li Mei, settled me on one of the beds, then left us to go and find something to drink. I pulled back the curtains to look at the river, but all I could see was the dappling of reflected light across a blanket of black. I turned to Li Mei.

  ‘While I have been away, I have believed that as long as I could see the river, any river, one day it would take me home. Yet so often it has disappeared from sight or been shrouded in black. Now, at last, the river is taking me home, but still it is hidden from me, and my dream has been smashed.’

  I began to weep and Li Mei rushed to my side. There was nothing she could say, but her presence was a comfort and I was so happy to have her with me for a little while longer.

  After we had eaten, we both fell asleep. I woke the next morning alone in the cabin. I had no idea what time it was, but from the noise of the engines I could tell that we were moving. Sunlight was smouldering through the curtains. I opened them on to a pure blue sky. I gazed in fascination as the river bustled by, sparkling and frolicsome. Another ferry drew level with us and its passengers waved. I waved back until I could no longer see them. I made up my mind then to dress and go up on deck.

  It took all my willpower to climb the steps and make my way to the front of the ship. Ahead of me, Li Mei was facing forwards, leaning against the railings, the wind streaming through her hair. The wind carried fragments of a song, which knitted together as I drew closer. It was Li Mei’s song, her beautiful song about mist and mountains, rivers and waterfalls, a cormorant fisherman sailing quietly along in the golden light of an evening sun. I stood by her side and began to sing with her. Then, as I looked all around me, I saw Uncle on the deck below brushing a tear from his eyes.

  ‘The journey of a thousand miles starts from beneath your feet’ was one of my father’s favourite sayings. Where was I now on my journey? Or was this a new journey about to begin?