Fisherman by Chan Hay Ching

Fisherman

Chan Hay Ching

Translanslated by: Zhou Wenyuan(Zoe)

Jia Jun (Vera)

Liu Chun (Albee)

Zhou Ying (Cara)

Ding-dong…Ding-dong…

Chuen raised his arm, which had become his habitual action. Something came to him and he let his arm fall. The bus bell was installed recently, maybe because something unpleasant had happened between a passenger and a driver: when a passenger called his stop, the driver ignored it and didn’t raise his arm, so that the passenger missed the stop. Then a complaint came. Passengers are always right; therefore, the arm gestures have eventually been replaced by the ring bell. It occurred to Chuen that raising his arm when hearing passengers’ callings was not just a habit, but a subtle interaction and an unspoken understanding between a driver and the passengers. The arm gestures meant a lot to drivers, too. When to raise their arms, how high the arms would reach and how long they would keep that position, all needed to be given a deep thought. Drivers might be thought of being impatient or flattering if they responded too quickly. Slow move would, otherwise, strike passengers as indifferent and impolite.

Passengers’ worries could be dispelled by the driver’s unhurried arm gestures. At the same time, the bus would move toward the stop smoothly. Chuen usually did the arm gestures four or five times during the whole journey. From the driving seat, Chuen looked at the crowded vegetable markets on both sides of streets and all kinds of vehicles, nearly broken-down, unwashed, high-end and cheap. Watching what was happening around the city, Chuen considered himself a hermit who lived in seclusion from the society.

The passenger who rang the bell was a woman with a slim face and thin, tight lips. She reminded him of his wife. When she spoke, her mouth was sometimes pulled to one side, with veins (or maybe blood vessels) on the right side of her neck passing fleetingly, as if she were gnashing her teeth. So Chuen always wanted to do something to annoy the passenger. Once seeing students talking to her, Chuen got to know she was a university teacher. Although she always wore jeans and a T-shirt, it struck people as arrogant as if she was wearing a suit. After she rang the bell, Chuen deliberately missed the stop and didn’t slam on the brakes until the bus passed by a residential house, waiting for her to assail. If she did, he planned to drive the bus away without responding to her. Unexpectedly, the women stooped down and got off the bus, without even a glance back. Chuen was somehow disappointed with her response.

Chuen had been driving this route for 3 years. It took him 20 minutes from residential areas to the city center. He was so familiar with this route that he could remember where every streetlight and every corner was. It was no exaggeration that he could drive along this route with his eyes closed. Working as a bus driver was thought to be boring because it was hard to find somebody to chat with. Chuen, however, didn’t think so as he had his own way of killing time—by observing passengers’ fashion style and speech, he tried to figure out where they would get off, what their job was, what their worries were, and what their families were like. These musings enriched Chuen’s life. He sensed diffidence hidden in the pretentious words of university students; he saw dismay and worries wrapped up in the suits; he saw a large sack of bright-colored vegetables carried by housewives, a great contrast to their dull under-eye bags; he even saw the smudged makeup of the office ladies, who just got off from work and slyly took their foot out of the high-heel shoes.

In Chuen’s eyes, the mini bus was indeed a cozy nest.

After wiping the windshield, Chuen returned the folded whitish purple crane which hung in front of the windshield to its right place. Then he picked up a towel to sweep the steering wheel. Satisfied with the glossy outcome, he smiled and nodded. Unlike others’ cushions for sitting and leaning on, his were made of straws and knitted by himself. The ivory yellow cushion was as soft as a cape and for Chuen; an emperor’s seat was not better than his! Sitting on his cushion, Chuen removed the cap of a glass bottle to take a sip of the Pu’er tea, watching frowning people come and go. The setting sun shed its light on the window and warmed it. Chuen closed his eyes and took pleasure in his cozy and comfortable space.

“Uncle Chuen!”

Chuen tightened the cap and bent down to fumble for something, saying, “Come on, my ‘best partner’. Look what I have done for….”

He looked up and realized it was not the nanny who usually picked up Jun. He withdrew his hand and said “Jun, your mom picks you up today! Good evening, Mrs. Li, Jun is a good boy.”

“Thanks. He is very naughty, he must have brought you much trouble.”

“Not at all, we are actually best partners, aren’t we, Jun?”

“Yep! What’s that, uncle Chuen?”

“It’s a lantern made of pomelo peels. Do you like it? I’ll give it to you.”

“Yes, that’s great.”

“Jun, you shouldn’t always accept uncle’s gifts. You have many lanterns at home, don’t you? Chuen, don’t buy him. He is just kidding.”

“I only have Superman and Pikachu, not like this one!”

“This out-of-fashion toy is cheap and hard to find at the market. If Jun likes it, just take it and have fun!”

“Jun, say ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you, uncle!”

“Not at all, we are best partners! Study hard, and be a good son, will you?”

“Yes, I will! My teacher said I was good at telling stories. Uncle, do you want to listen to my story?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Chun, come here and sit down. The bus is about to leave.”

Mrs. Li brought Jun to the rear. Chuen took his glass bottle to have a drink. The water vapor raised up from the bottle, wetting the air around. Chuen sat straight, peeled off his glasses, and wiped them with his clothes, then he adjusted the rearview mirror. When Chuen heard Jun talking to his mom, he had a few dry coughs and took a clean cloth, wiping here and there. Opening her briefcase, Mrs. Li took out a stack of papers and started to read.

“My teacher said that a snip is a kind of water bird with a long bean. One day, a water bird came to the beach. Mom, when will we go to the beach again? When dad comes back, will we go to the beach again?”

“Hum, Hum. What was the water bird doing?” Mrs. Li turned the next page.

“It walked, swam and piled up sand. Mom, can a water bird pile up sand?”

“Go on,” Mrs. Li didn’t even raise her head. Chuen couldn’t put in a word, so he just scrubbed all spots around the driver position, which didn’t look like a part of the minibus.

“The snip came to the beach and saw a clam basking in the sunshine. But, since the clam had no feet, how did it come to the beach? Mom, are those clams what we usually eat?”

“Hum, think it yourself.”

Uncle Chuen was filling the driving log sheet. He filled the time, shifts and the number of people with neat writing. After this ride, he could get off work. It was still bright and warm.

“As soon as the water bird saw the clam, it pecked the body inside clam’s shell. Like this, the clam nipped the snip’s mouth with its shell, hah, like this, so funny. Mom, see my hands.” Jun was imitating the deadlocked scene.

“Sit down, sit down.” Mrs. Li reproached Jun.

Mrs. Li’s phone rang……

“Oh! It’s dad! Give it to me, let me answer……”

“Dad, where are you? When are you coming back? I …… Mom picked me up from school as she is on the Mid-Autumn Festival holiday. I am telling mom a story. Dad, can we go to the beach to pick snips and clams when you come back? The snip will bite the clam and the clam will nip the snip, then we can take them home. Dad, when are you coming back? Oh, Mom, dad wants you...”

So soon, it was going to be the Mid-Autumn Festival again. Chuen looked at the lantern. When he was a child, his mother would make a rice bucket by using air-dried pomelo peels. If it was filled with rice, they could have a meal of steamed rice, which they all expected. It was the Mid-Autumn Festival again. Time flies so fast.

Mrs. Li answered the phone in English. Chuen had been to school, so he knew some English words: how are you, I am fine, thank you, what’s your interest, I like apples… What Mrs. Li said was beyond his understanding. Looking back, he counted the number of passengers in the minibus. In the meantime, Mrs. Li shut her phone, looking out of the window. Her hands were so white that blue veins could be seen clearly. Her voice was lowered to a little tremble. Jun leaned back and pouted his mouth.

Chuen couldn’t help thinking about his own mother. Once at a Mid-Autumn Festival, his mother expected a meal of steamed rice. His wife saw this and said, “look at your mother, so hale and hearty, eating more than us.” The blue vein bulged on her neck, like an earthworm.

“Dad will not be coming back?” Jun waggled his shanks in the air, kicking the back of the seat.

Mrs. Li bent over to hold Jun’s shoulder. “Jun, be good. Dad is busy with business, otherwise, we can’t afford your tuition fee and can’t buy lanterns,” Mrs. Li said with a smile.

“I don’t need to go to school. I don’t need lanterns.” He kicked harder.

“Fine, we should have told dad not to send the lantern. He bought a lantern for you!” Straightening up, Mrs. Li opened her cellphone screen.

“Dad bought me a lantern? In what shape? Where is it?” Jun sat up suddenly, shaking his mother’s arm.

“Dad said you must like it. We may get it when we arrive home.”

“Wow, amazing! It must be a Batman or a Transformer. Uncle Chuen, my dad sent me a lantern!” The pomelo lantern was shoved, then rolled in the aisle. Jun ran to pick it up. After hesitating for a moment, he delivered it to Chuen, and then ran back to his seat. Mrs. Li was dialing again.

Chuen touched the pomelo-lantern whose calloused surface was just like his hands with calluses.

It was the Festival again. He could imagine that when he came home, a substantial meal would be ready for him. However, he was in no mood to enjoy it.

“... buy one ...transformer...box in the shoe cabinet...stamps....do not forget...”

“What stamp, Mom? Have we already got it?”

“I’m asking Mary... Keep quiet!”

Climbing on the back of the seat, Jun was counting the passengers, eager to get home quickly. As soon as he saw the last passenger get on the minibus, he shouted at once, “Uncle Chuen! Let’s go!” Buckling up his seat-belt, Chuen waved his hand as if he was going to start to sail, and then he turned the steering wheel. The minibus slid out.

When they got off, Mrs. Li was calling someone again. Jun jumped out of the minibus and ran straightly forward, forgetting to say goodbye to Chuen. Sitting in the driver’s seat, Chuen saw a housewife with a flush face stretching her body after fighting her way out of the market. There were some weed-wrapped crabs in her net bag, huddling up as if they were faint. Another bus came to the stop of which a swarm of people were getting out, rushing for home.

But he did not want to go home. Usually, after a twelve-hour drive, he went back for a bite, a shower and a sleep. Even as they lived under the same roof, this old couple did not interfere with each other as if they were the river water and the well water, never mixing. Chuen was the river water, the one who was supposed to change himself. That was the retribution he deserved. When they were young, he and his wife hardly met each other. Once he got drunk, he beat her to death. Years had passed. They finally lived together, and their children got married and moved out. His wife became the one who took charge of everything, ranging from stock trading to daily necessities purchasing.

Since his mother was living with them, the daily cost increased a lot. But that’s no big deal. What really mattered and made Chuen awkward was his mixed feelings towards his mother: he loved her and hated her. He was angry when he saw his mother enduring his wife’s insult; and he felt more outrageous to see them quarreling. His mother had lived with them for 10 years. Whenever his wife felt wronged by his mother, she would drum his mother out. Then Chuen would lose his temper with his wife. All of these resulted in a worse relationship between them. Later, his mother was ill, coughing up blood and passed away a few months later. In the last two weeks of her life, she was skinny and couldn’t swallow anything. On her last day, she said she wanted to eat some amaranth, but she puked them up after several chews. Before she went to the hospital, she brought several clothes and jewelry with her. She was ready for her death, so she agreed whatever Chuen had arranged for her. Before she died, she told her son to stop quarreling and her daughter-in-law to be mature.

After work, Chuen got on a minibus with his pomelo-lantern in hand. This time, he was a passenger. On the way home, two middle-aged women stretched their arms to stop the bus. As they got on, their voices made the minibus noisy.

“Aren’t you afraid of spraining your arm by stretching it that far?” the driver asked.

“Never mind. I have waited for a long time to take your ride,” one woman answered.

“Aren’t you afraid of spraining your arm? Be careful, or you could not cook any meal for the Festival,” the driver continued.

“Well, stretching that far to take your ride. I would not take other buses,” the woman said.

“Tomorrow is the holiday. Why don’t you go to yum cha and celebrate?”

“What? Celebrate? With who? Those people celebrate because they will be with their family on the Festival. It is their family day.”

“You need to buy some vegetables, don't you? Go shopping and yum cha to enjoy the life! Lucky you!”

“Me? They go to yum cha to enjoy their family day while we can only buy ourselves a cup of ‘cha’?”

How absurd it is! Such a vivid life should elapse so fast and easily. Mother passed away. Chuen’s wife handled the registration of death, and Chuen threw the cremains into the sea rather than holding a funeral and asking relatives and friends to come. “Be nice to people when you are alive,” he said, “so you don’t need to waste money after death, for an extravagant funeral is nothing but a comfort.” In the next month, Chuen didn’t talk to his wife; instead, he went out early. Back home, he didn’t eat or sleep, but set about redecorating the house as soon as he changed his clothes. The ceiling and walls were repainted into a white and bright color. As a result, when the house was nicely done, Chuen was terribly ill. Feeling chilly and feverish, he began to vomit, and even worse, he couldn’t see much while driving. At last, although he ignored his wife’s repeated persuasion, he was forced to take injections.

Feeling better, Chuen changed a lot. It seemed that he got more involved in his life, but sometimes he appeared indifferent to the world. In old days, he snapped at his wife for the stock and money while these days, he kept silent to whatever his wife did, as if it were none of his business. He went to work and came back home as usual. Every day after he came back home, his wife made soup and served to him, but he didn’t even take a look at it or drink it. Having had thin rice gruel with a few pickles, he locked himself in the chamber, sitting in meditation and doing exercises with dumbbells. One day, Chuen stumbled across one of his mother’s books, in which a flat paper crane lied. It had been purple, but the color had faded. He held it in hand, tears welling from his eyes.

Hence, he started to make paper cranes and other handicrafts such as stars, flower baskets, bottle covers, scarves, kites, and lanterns, and then he gave those handiworks to his customers, especially to Jun, his regular. Three years rolled away, Chuen hardly remembered the old days.

Carrying the pomelo lantern, he came to the port where a guy was fishing. Chuen strode over the rails and looked into the stone crevices, disturbing one or two water cockroaches. He turned over a rock and saw a tiny crab escaping sideways. Then, rocks and rocks were turned over obsessively for finding nothing. Chuen didn’t feel tired until he reached a tall banyan tree, so he sat down and lighted up a cigarette. Puffing a few and taking a big breath with the smoke coming forth endlessly, he felt somewhat released.

Suddenly, a past event, though irrelevant, came to mind. It’s been years since Chuen was taken to the church by a fellow. He had totally forgotten the mood and details back then, but one scene still occurred to him clearly: A Japanese woman in kimono kneeling on the stage, said that she hoped that the cross would wash away the hatred between the two nations. She was willing to wash the feet of everyone in the congregation to smooth over what Japan had done to China. A trembling old man with a walking stick was helped to the stage, and he waved his hand to refuse the woman. “That is too much.” He cried, “I cannot bear it!” The pastor tried to explain but the old man still folded his hands and shouted: “We are brothers, so there is no need for apology. There is nothing to forgive.” He said these words again and again: “Japan is a small country where people have to suffer from volcanos. Living in Japan is no picnic. No picnic! As a big brother, we need to protect Japan……” Words echoing, Chuen felt excited and fluttered.

The violet blue sky looked like a scenery picture on the calendar. The crane, fishing vessel, and sea surface reflected the peacefulness of the twilight. The fisherman left with his plastic basket in hand. Parents brought out their kids, carrying lanterns shaped as colorful cartoon figures or the pink cherry flowers in Japanese style, but no one lighted the candle. Chuen patted his pomelo lantern and thought: it’s time to go home. He stood up, the lantern swinging against his leg.

The dinner was ready. Red crabs glittered with oil; and other dishes —— mutton, mushrooms with faat choy, scalded pawns, mooncake and fruits —— were served on the table. Chuen’s wife came out from the kitchen with a dish of bitter lettuce. She saw Chuen but she said nothing. She went back to the kitchen again and took the soup out. “Come to have dinner,” she said. Putting down the lantern, Chuen washed his hands and sat down. He sipped the liquor and smacked his lips; and then he picked up some scallions in the dish of crab

and ate them; again, he took another sip. Chuen stared at his wife, whose hair was dry in the light, hogging her round shoulders and gobbling her food as if she was protecting something. He held his cup and bottomed it up, his chest scorching by the liquor.

“Later, I need to have a good feet-washing.”