Free Dead Man's Gold and Other Stories by Paul Yee Page A

immigration laws had changed. But Lok-hay did not send for them.
    Then the Communists seized power throughout China, vowing to take land and property from the rich and give it to the poor. The new government labeled those who used helpers in their fields as greedy landlords. So-ying’s friends and neighbors turned against her, accusing her family of owning too much land and whispering she had secretly buried her gold jewelry. Lok-hay feared for So-ying and Jee-wah’s lives and paid smugglers to whisk them to Hong Kong. There, tickets were waiting.
    So-ying gasped when the airplane roared off the runway and lifted over the rooftops and then the hills of Hong Kong. When she saw the ocean glittering far below, she shut her eyes, afraid of falling from such a height. How could such steel and metal soar like a bird, she wondered. She felt dizzy when the flight ended, but Lok-hay’s friends transported her to the train station in a big automobile with springy seats.
    The train ride through the mountains and across the prairies took three days, and Jee-wah sat glued to the window, watching towns and trees and power poles pass by. So-ying rejoiced at the quiet time. The thought of being reunited with Lok-hay after thirteen years brought color to her cheeks. They had wed twenty-five years ago when she was sixteen. He had sailed back to China several times to see her, but only one son had survived the years of war and hunger. And Jee-wah had never seen his father.
    As the train chugged along, So-ying dreamed of cooking invigorating soups for her husband. She would sew fitted shirts for him and massage his weary neck. Never had she imagined arriving in Gold Mountain and traveling in such splendid comfort. Now she would witness genera­tions reconnected as her son embraced his father. Lok-hay would show him the ways of North America.
    She tied her hair with a bright ribbon and practiced smiling in a mirror. Up and down the corridor she hobbled, trying to master high-heeled shoes. If fellow villagers had seen her, they would have fallen down laughing. The other passengers aboard the train smiled, for So-ying’s happiness infected everyone.
    When the train reached its destination, a conductor helped her down the steps, and through swirling snowflakes she saw Lok-hay in the crowd.
    â€œThat’s your baba,” she whispered to Jee-wah.
    Lok-hay’s hair had thinned, but his face glowed and his stomach stuck out. The family shook hands and smiled nervously. Mother and son had never seen their breath puff out like fog in the frigid air.
    Lok-hay hurried them into a taxicab, and when it came to a faded brick building, he announced, “I live here. This is the hotel I run.”
    The sign hung lopsided and its paint was peeling and cracking. On the stairs, a woman wearing a tight dress, crimson makeup and strong perfume stumbled by, weak from too much drink. The hallway reeked of bleach and broadcast the rumble of adults quarreling in small rooms. A tiny window at the hall’s end and weak lamps emitted dim light, as if secrets needed shade.
    Lok-hay opened a door. “This is your room,” he announced. It had puffy wallpaper, two beds as limp as hammocks and a washbasin. When So-ying peered into the closet, a mouse scampered out. The toilet and bath were located down the hall.
    So-ying gripped her bag tightly. Jee-wah stared at her with narrowed eyes as though she had lied to him all his life. Her gaze fell to the floor. This was not the gracious life she had pictured in her mind.
    Had Lok-hay lied to her? she wondered. Or had she let her imagination fly too wildly?
    Then her husband said, “Come, there are people to meet.”
    Behind the hotel office was a cheerful apartment filled with framed pictures and calendars, upholstered chairs and cushions, a radio and a big box television. A Chinese woman stood up smiling, as did two teenaged girls with curled hair.
    Lok-hay cleared his throat.