Li Jun and the Iron Road Read online

  “Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?”

  She squeezed water from the bottom of her jacket. “I swim fan-tastic!”

  “Nope. You swim like a stone.”

  James gathered up his clothes and pulled on his long johns. Little Tiger checked that her money was safe and hoped the sun and the breeze would dry out her pants and shirt. There was no way she’d take off her clothes in front of this man.

  “Boy, I can’t get over what you did in that tunnel!” said James. “My father’s jaw is gonna drop when he sees that opening all cleared. You did it, Tiger! In fifteen minutes you saved us three days of work. I tell you what — if we weren’t halfway to hell up here, I’d take you down to the dance hall in Yale and treat you to all the dances you want.”

  He sat down beside her and pulled on his pants. “I had the sweetest little filly down there last summer …”

  “You had what?” asked Little Tiger, afraid of what she might hear.

  “Filly. You know, a hootchy-kootchy girl. Ooh! She really had me going.”

  Little Tiger awkwardly squeezed water out of her sleeves and tried to bluff a macho reaction. “Oh, yes — a hootchy-kootchy.”

  “Yeah, she was pretty frisky,” said James with a wink.

  Little Tiger twisted her pant leg with a vengeance to get out the water and, while she would be loath to admit it, her jealousy. First the woman in pink and now a broken shoe.

  James gave her a sideways glance. “Those clothes would dry faster if you took them off and laid them on the rocks. Feel how hot they are.”

  Little Tiger shook her head, no.

  “Aww, I get it,” said James. “You’re nervous about going bare ass.”

  “Bare … ass? Oh, no. I never go bare ass in China. In China, things are much different.”

  “You’re telling me,” he laughed.

  A steam engine whistled in the distance. It wasn’t long ago that the noise of the iron horse terrified her. She’d been afraid of a lot of things when she first came to Gold Mountain: The callousness of the white men and the dangerous work. She could fall off the side of a cliff or be blown into the river by a badly placed dynamite charge. She might die of sickness, like so many others. It was only late summer but she was already dreading the winter ahead. She couldn’t imagine water freezing in the sky and falling to the ground in a blanket of white, but she knew from the old hands that it would happen soon. She heard that in winter, people got frostbite and their fingers and toes turned black, then shrivelled and fell off like pine cones. The wilderness itself — the sheer cliffs, wet mountain stone, black forests, and howling animals — created fear in her and all the others. They came from a land of a hundred shades of green and they breathed hot, wet air.

  Little Tiger worried about all of that, but the real terror was something she never shared with anyone. What she feared most was loneliness. When she heard the whistle of the steam engine, it sounded like a forlorn cry for the people and the places she had left behind. It always made her sad.

  James jumped up at the sound of the whistle drawing closer. “That will be my father coming back. Thank the Lord I’ve got good news for him.”

  He slapped Little Tiger on the shoulder and gave her a brotherly hug. “All due to you, my friend. Race you back.”

  James ran ahead of her into the bush. She lagged behind him, wishing that she wasn’t weighed down by her heavy, wet clothes. But it was a good thing. Little Tiger was afraid that if he touched her again she would want him to hold her for a very long time.

  When she got back to her tent the men were already snoring, deep in sleep. Her heart was beating fast as she relived the events of that day. So many exciting things had happened so close together: setting the dynamite in the tunnel, watching the rocks and rubble shoot out, seeing the light appear at the other end, going to the secret swimming hole with Mr. James, sitting beside him, being wrapped in his brotherly hug.

  She reached for her satchel and pulled out the photo of her family — her lovely, young mother holding her as a baby on her lap, her father standing tall and proud. Was there a chance that he was still alive? Wouldn’t that be wonderful!

  ***

  Early the next morning Bookman told her there was a change in her schedule. She would be delivering tea to a new dynamite crew much higher up on the mountain.

  “Why there?” she asked.

  “Big boss in big trouble. Mr. Nichol just back from meeting money men. He had to promise them he would finish the next section of track in sixty days.”

  “But we can’t do that in sixty days,” said Little Tiger, calculating how far they had come already. “It’s too far. It could take four months, maybe more.”

  “Not when the bosses change the route. Mr. Edgar has ordered us to blast away the side of the mountains, instead of going around them.”

  Little Tiger was flabbergasted. “The whole side of a mountain? This one is a wall of stone going straight up from the river. How’s he going to do that?”

  “By killing lots of us,” answered Bookman. “He told Mr. Nichol that if he uses lots more Chinese on the dynamite crews they can blow off the sides of the mountains, then they can lay track twice as fast and meet his deadline.”

  Little Tiger thought about her crew. “Most of these men are farmers. They’ve never worked with explosives before. What if they blow off their arms and legs? What then?”

  Bookman glared at her. “They’ll just use more of us.”

  She felt a sudden chill.

  Powder motioned her to pick up her tea pails. “We built the Great Wall of China,” he said. “The bosses figure we can do anything.”

  Bookman shook his head. “No — that would mean respect, and they have none of that for us. Sure, they pay a bit more for setting explosives, but they don’t care if we blow ourselves up. But you, Xiao Hu, you should respect yourself! Stop following the boss’s son like a pet dog. The gwailo will work you to death and then spit on your grave. Their friendship means nothing. Remember this: only Chinese look after Chinese.”

  Little Tiger picked up her yoke and tea pails and trudged to the site where the new dynamite crew had set up their work station. They had two large wooden hoists from which the hoist crew lowered the blasters down the side of the cliff on swing chairs. She was aghast when she saw that the seats of these chairs were little more than three pieces of wood bound together with rope. She watched the men being lowered in these flimsy chairs, saw them chip holes into the side of the cliff, place dynamite charges inside the crevices, light their fuses, then call out “Fire in the hole!“ and pray that the hoist men would crank them back up onto the ledge before the dynamite exploded.

  They were working at a dizzying height — more than two hundred feet above the grey, churning river. If a chair broke or the hoist men were too slow, or the charges went off too early, they’d be blown apart. But nobody seemed to care. The Chinese wanted the money and the bosses wanted the railway built faster to meet the deadline and satisfy the banker who had loaned them the money for the job.

  Little Tiger stood beside Wang Ma as he waited for his turn.

  “Look at you!” she said. “How’d you get on the dynamite crew while I’m still lugging tea pails?”

  Wang Ma shrugged his shoulders as if it were nothing. One day he was a farmer, the next he was packing explosives.

  “I volunteered,” he said. “I make an extra dollar a day so I can go home early.”

  Little Tiger raised her eyebrows. “One more buck every day? Wow!”

  She noticed the dynamite in Wang Ma’s satchel, reached over, took out a bundle of sticks, and examined their fuses. “It’s a hot, dry day,” she muttered.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “I worked in the firecracker factory. I know things. These dynamite sticks have short fuses — too short. They burn too fast on a day like this.”

  Little Tiger spotted Edgar talking to the dynamite boss. She grabbed the dynamite sticks and
was heading over to them when Wang Ma pulled her back.

  “Don’t complain, Xiao Hu. Please. It’s an extra dollar a day for me. Don’t ruin it.”

  She stopped in her tracks and stared at him. She saw how much it meant to him — an extra dollar a day! She thought a moment, then asked him for his cup of tea.

  “What for?” he asked.

  “Just pass it to me. I need a reason to talk to Bookman.”

  Puzzled, he handed it over. Bookman had set up a canopy and was working on his ledger, close to the hoist men. Carrying the cup, Little Tiger came up quietly behind him, not wanting to interrupt his concentration. Over his shoulder she could read the columns in the ledger with the crew’s names, the amount they were paid, and what they owed. Suddenly Bookman sensed she was there and slammed the book shut, fiercely angry.

  “Don’t ever sneak up on me again,” he snarled. “Do you hear?”

  She tried to stay calm. “Sir, I want to work on the dynamite crew.”

  He shook his head vigorously. “Be a good tea boy and stay alive.”

  She handed him the cup of tea. He took a swig, handed it back, and shooed her away. Little Tiger vowed to herself that this would be the last drink she served on Gold Mountain. She would find a way to get on that dynamite crew.

  Chapter

  Nine

  When her long work day ended and night closed in it was still hot. Little Tiger decided to sneak away herself to the secret mountain pool. She sat on the rocks under a brilliant starry sky and giggled, remembering how scared she’d been when James pulled her into the water. Yes, it had been freezing cold but she had also told a bold-faced lie about being a “fantastic” swimmer. She’d never in her life been in water deeper than her knees.

  “Hey, you. What’s so funny?”

  She jumped at the sound of James’s voice. He’d come up behind her without her hearing him and she felt almost embarrassed by being at his secret spot. Shyly she confessed that she’d been wanting to come back ever since he’d brought her here.

  “I thought you might feel that way,” he said. “We seem to think a lot alike.”

  He sat down on the rock beside her and gazed up at the sky. “Look at all those stars … I guess you have the same stars over China. I mean, it’s not like Australia or some place where the stars are upside down.”

  Little Tiger laughed out loud. She laughed more with James than she had with anyone. He made her feel different, lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off her.

  “The same, yes,” she said and pointed right above them. “See that very, very bright star? She’s the weaving girl and he’s the cowboy.”

  “Cowboy, huh? Are there cowboys in China?”

  “Not exactly, but we like the Wild West. Anyway, a weaving girl from the spirit world takes a swim in the river and a cowboy from this world steals her dress. Because he sees her naked, she must become his wife. They fall in love.”

  James shifted uncomfortably on the rock. Little Tiger kept staring into the sky.

  “My mother told that story to me. Many nights she looks at the sky, praying that my father will come back from Gold Mountain.”

  “What happened to him — your father?”

  Little Tiger paused. She had a deep urge to share her secret with this gwailo, this man so different from her, but so much like her, too. Could she trust him? She decided she could.

  “It was a long time ago. First letters came, then no letters. What happened, we don’t know.”

  James leaned in. “Is that why you came to Gold Mountain, kid? So you could find your father?”

  Little Tiger nodded, blinking back the tears. “I never really knew him.”

  There was silence as she relived her emotions. She had never told anyone about the pain of having her father leave when she was so young. She knew he had to go to Gold Mountain but she wished he had come back. If he had, her mother might not have died, she wouldn’t be disguised as a boy, and she wouldn’t be on this quest to find him, dead or alive. Would James understand all this? Would he realize why she had to do it?

  “I hope you find him,” he said.

  Little Tiger tried to calm herself. “Me too.”

  James seemed to struggle with his own emotions. “I kinda know the feeling,” he mumbled, “about not really knowing your own father. My dad still sees me as some irresponsible playboy, doesn’t consult me on any of his decisions. But I’ve changed. He forgets that I was the one who went to China and brought back the men he needed.”

  Little Tiger edged a bit closer to him. “I’m glad you came to China, Mr. James.”

  He gave her a friendly punch in the arm. “And you, kid. You got a lot of guts coming here to Canada.”

  Little Tiger punched him back and giggled. “I’ve got respect for your guts, too.”

  He turned serious. “When we got off the boat and I heard those insults, I never knew people could have such hatred.”

  “But you don’t hate us, Mr. James.”

  “Of course not. We’re really all the same. And my God, the risks you’ve taken …”

  They sat in silence again, listening to the night sounds of the forest and the stream rippling over the rocks.

  James became earnest. “Ever since I got back from China, things seem different to me somehow. I didn’t use to think too seriously about things, but, I mean, look at what we’re doing here — pushing a railway through the wilderness. We’re changing the world forever, you and me.”

  Little Tiger looked over at him with longing. He was so passionate about the railway and the future. She wanted to share her hopes and dreams with him, but first she must tell him the truth about herself.

  “Hey, listen, buddy,” said James, trying to lighten the tone. “Anytime you want me to shut the hell up, go right ahead and tell me.”

  “Mr. James,” she began, and placed her hand gently on his.

  He jerked his hand away. “Whoa! What’re you doing, kid?”

  Little Tiger hadn’t planned when or how to tell him her secret but she knew that this moment, under a perfect sky, in their own magical place, might be her only chance. She leaned in close. “Mr. James. I think about you all the time. I have to tell you something.”

  James jumped up. “What the hell!”

  Little Tiger stood up too. Slowly she took off her hat, unwound the scarf around her forehead, and loosened her long braid until her shining black hair fell in cascades around her face and over her shoulders. Quietly and simply she said, “I am a girl.”

  James’s mouth fell open. His breath was taken away as he looked at the beautiful woman standing before him.

  “How stupid could I have been?” he said.

  “Mr. James …” She moved toward him but he held both hands up as if to protect himself.

  “No, no! Stay where you are. Stay right there. I don’t even know who the hell you are!”

  Tears pooled in her eyes. “I am Little Tiger. Same as before.”

  “Is this a con? Some kind of trick?”

  “Trick? No! I show you I am a girl so I can tell you my feelings.”

  James pulled at his hair and walked in circles. “You can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?”

  Wild eyed, he looked at her as if she were crazy. “Because, goddamnit, we’re building a railway here. There are thousands of men here. It’s no place for a girl!”

  It was Little Tiger’s turn to look astounded. “Living on my own in Hong Kong was no place for a girl, either, but I did that. I had no food, I had to eat garbage, and I did that, too. I became a boy because I had to.”

  “That’s different,” said James.

  “No, what’s different is that you say it is all right for a girl to sell herself for hootchy- kootchy but wrong for me to disguise myself to find honest work?”

  James was more perplexed than ever. “You listen to me …” he began.

  “No!” she shot back. “You listen to me. I watch my mother sit and cry and wait for my father to com
e back to her. I watch her sick and hungry. I work for a stinking pig to make enough money to support her, work for nothing until she die. I cannot live that life again.”

  James was adamant. “You can’t stay here. And that’s that.”

  “Please don’t send me back to where I have nothing and no one,” Little Tiger pleaded.

  James moved away, angry and overwhelmed. “To hell with it!” he said and ran off into the bush.

  Little Tiger wrapped her arms around herself and watched him go, feeling entirely alone in the world. In her heart she’d hoped James would wrap her in his arms and tell her he cared for her. Instead he’d run away. She sat under the stars, sobbing, thinking about what to do next.

  Eventually she had to make her way back to her tent and crawl onto the sleeping platform next to Wang Ma. Turning away from him, she covered her face and wept. Wang Ma was having his own restless night. He rolled onto his side and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

  “I know you miss home,” he said. “So do I.”

  She kept her back to him, desperate not to have to explain anything.

  ***

  The next day, she was in despair as she washed the tin bowls for breakfast and waited for the water to boil for the tea. Powder, the one-armed cook, watched her suspiciously. Did he sense what was wrong?

  “You wonder how I became a cook?” he asked.

  Little Tiger knew the story. Everyone did. Powder was a blaster, a good one, but one hot day on a cliff, the bosses were using cheap dynamite with short fuses in order to save money. The dynamite blew up too soon and his left arm was sheared off by a sharp piece of flying rock.

  “I trusted a white man. He told me the fuses were long enough. Now I cook rice. Safer.”

  Little Tiger tried to lighten the mood. “Only safer when there are no bugs in the rice. This crew is ready to kill you for that.”

  Powder flashed a rare smile and wagged his finger at her. “Never trust the gwailo.”

  Little Tiger shrugged. “I want to make a life here after the railway.”

  “Maybe you can. Not me. I want to see China again,” he said, wiping his one hand on his apron. “You train as a cook, maybe you can stay on after the railway is built.”