Free Red Jade by Henry Chang

distance. She saw rugged bedrock ridges, steep-walled valleys, pristine wilderness, a lake, and a section of river. They came through rolling uplands, the far-off jagged peaks towering above them. Occasionally, she caught a glimpse of the ocean, beyond a stretch of bays that were dotted with green-brown islands.
    The natural vistas reminded her of her journey across America, on a one-way train from New York to Saam Fansi , San Francisco. It did not seem that long ago. Now she was hundreds of miles farther north, evidenced by the colder weather and the unrelenting rain. From her next destination, Vancouver, once she moved there, she could head south to Chinese communities in Peru, or east to Toronto or Montreal, or even farther east to Europe, England or France perhaps.
    The world of the wah kue , overseas Chinese, seemed boundless.
    An hour into the tour, she smelled the aroma of po nai , tea, cha siew baos , roast pork buns, and assorted dim sum that the other old women produced from their nylon shoulder bags and plastic thermoses.
    But they were finished with breakfast by the time the tour bus crossed into the checkpoint.
    An immigration agent came aboard and checked the driver’s papers. He looked over the group of elderly Chinese women, and silently took a head count, matching the total against the manifest. He glanced at his watch, looked around cursorilly, and stepped off the bus.
    The line of vehicles had backed up along the highway, idling well beyond the checkpoint, the air thick with exhaust and the smell of rubber.
    The agent waved the charter tour bus through.
    No passport needed, Mona noted, an easy pass.
    The brief stop had allowed the winter cold aboard. Mona felt the chill and was glad to have worn the cheap down jacket.
    Back on the road, she noticed that some of the signs were in French. The highway led them to a bridge over a river, and abruptly to a big city spread below them—steel and glass towers, a modern metropolis set against a backdrop of dark but majestic mountains.
    She squeezed the jade, pressed out Fire over Mountain . Auspicious for the traveler. There is promise in the journey.
    Soon enough they were passing under a huge Chinatown gate in Won Kor Wah , Vancouver, tall concrete columns supporting a facade of yellow ceramic dragonheads in a classic pagoda motif. She saw buildings and parks bearing Chinese names, and Chinese words on the street signs.
    There were old, narrow buildings, many of which were rundown, showing an older traditional Chinatown. They visited a classical Chinese garden dedicated to Dr. Sun Yat-sen, father of modern China.
    She purchased a souvenir letter opener from a gift shop. It resembled a dagger and its metal handle was embossed with a colorful dragon design over the word C HINATOWN . Weighing its heft in her hand reminded Mona of Fa Mulan, the woman warrior.
    She put the souvenir dagger into her handbag. Then something red caught her eye; it was a red jade bangle. A simple jadeite bangle that was colored dark red, like chicken blood. Real red jade was rare, and she knew this bangle was only a gift-shop trinket, but she wanted to add to her luck. Red jade was especially lucky, and also brought longevity. It inspired courage.
    She purchased it as well, and while slipping it onto her unadorned left wrist, she stepped back into the Vancouver Chinatown afternoon. Walking along the streets she heard Toishanese and Cantonese dialects, and even Spanish. Chinese from Peru, she guessed, from Mexico, perhaps Panama.
    The tour guide announced they were scheduled for dinner at the Good Fortune Restaurant.
    The bus wound its way through the city. She saw British signs that reminded her of Hong Kong places: Queen Elizabeth Theatre, King George Place, Stanley Park.
    They passed through a Japantown. The Japanese maple and cherry trees were pretty, she thought, but the history of hatred made her feel sad.
    The dinner at Good Fortune was very tasty, but inferior to the Chinese feasts