Lee Weeks - The Trophy Taker

‘It just didn’t work out.’

‘You did a marvellous job looking after her, but it’s time for you to live your life now. It’s time to find your wings and learn to fly.’

It made Georgina smile to remember how Iris always erred towards the theatrical. But it had stirred something within her, and that afternoon she’d gone to see the Hos. They sat at a table overlooking the market. Mrs Ho stayed with her while Mr Ho went to fetch her some of her favourite wonton soup. When he returned, Georgina told them she was thinking of going to Hong Kong.

‘Good idea,’ Mr Ho had replied.

‘Don’t be stupid!’ Mrs Ho had retorted angrily in Cantonese. ‘How will she cope out there, on her own? Look at her! Skin and bone!’

Mr Ho had stood his ground. ‘But she’s not coping here, is she? Better go where she has some family to look after her. New start for her.’

Mrs Ho had scowled at her husband, turned back to Georgina, and spoken to her in English.

‘You better stay here, Georgina. You have friends here, don’t you?’

Georgina pushed the wontons around her soup.

‘Not really,’ she answered. ‘Most of my friends went to university when I stayed here. I have you and Mr Ho. I have Iris. That’s it, really.’

‘Better stay here with us then, huh?’ It had broken Mrs Ho’s heart to see her so sad.

Then Georgina put down her spoon and looked past Mr and Mrs Ho, down to the market below where the stallholders were shutting up shop, and for a second she thought she saw her mother. She looked away quickly.

‘They are my cousins. But I’ve never met them. Do you think they would even want to see me?’

‘Of course they would want to see you, Georgina. Why wouldn’t they? But maybe it’s not such a good idea to go there right now.’

‘But I think, perhaps, I should .’ For a few seconds she felt the sadness, which seemed to be cemented to her heart, crack and fall away and hope begin its return.

Mr and Mrs Ho had looked from one to the other. Then Mrs Ho had shrugged and smiled resignedly. Reaching over, she’d brushed Georgina’s hair away from her face and kissed her cheek.

‘Okay then. Maybe you should go,’ she had said with a sigh. ‘Maybe you should go to Hong Kong, Georgina, and find your family.’

And now, for better or worse, Georgina had found them.

14

‘I’m gonna make you some tea, okay?’

‘Yes … sounds good … thanks.’ Georgina yawned and sat down heavily on the stool.

‘I hope I’m not stopping you from going to work, Lucy. I’ll be fine here by myself, honestly.’

‘Hey, no worry, right?’ Lucy handed her tea in a chipped cup. ‘Working later.’ She smiled, turned away and began busying herself. ‘Good, huh? Give me more time to get to know you, huh?’

‘So you work when you want to?’

‘For sure!’

Lucy turned away from Georgina and searched for something in a cupboard. ‘And what kind of work do you do, Lucy?’

There was a pause, as Lucy pondered the question that she knew she would have to answer sometime. She stopped and turned and met her cousin’s gaze.

‘I work in nightclub.’

‘You’re a singer!’ Georgina exploded. ‘How cool!’

Lucy laughed. ‘No … but my mommy was a singer, did you know that? Ah! Juz a momen. I remember something I want to show you.’ Lucy slipped out from behind the breakfast bar and shuffled into the bedroom. She stood on a chair and pulled down a box. ‘Georgina, come see what I have here,’ she called as she carried on rooting through the box’s contents and pulled out an old tattered photograph. She held it aloft to show Georgina as she walked in behind Lucy. ‘See anyone you know?’

Georgina sat on the bed beside Lucy. She took the photo from her and studied it. It was an old black and white print of a man and woman and two girls, all in traditional Chinese dress. They were posing in front of a painted backdrop: tranquil water and weeping willows. Georgina turned it over – there was writing on the back: December 1950, Hong Kong , and some Chinese script. Turning it back, it was her mother’s smile she recognised first, then the shape of her face. Feng Ying was the smaller of the children, holding on to her elder sister Xiaolin’s hand, and she was staring into the camera with her head tilted to one side.

‘Nice picture, huh?’

Georgina nodded, transfixed by the treasure she held in her hands. ‘So beautiful.’

‘I’m gonna get you a copy, okay?’

As Georgina looked up and nodded her appreciation, Lucy saw that her cousin’s eyes were watery. She jumped up. ‘More tea! We need more tea!’ And she scurried back out to the kitchen. ‘Chinese tea, the best! Do you like it?’ she called.

Georgina didn’t answer: she was transfixed by the photograph. Lucy came in again, carrying a tray. ‘Long time ago, this picture, huh? You know this picture was taken when our family first moved here to Hong Kong. See! There is father, mother, and two little girls. My mommy and yours, see? When our family came from mainland China, long time back … they had big hopes then, but …’ she shrugged ‘… didn’t work out so good, huh? But your mom, she did fine,’ Lucy continued. ‘She was good in school … learn a lot … worked in a bank. Really good how she manage to get that kind of job.’

‘She met my dad in that bank.’

‘Yes! Very lucky. My mommy not so lucky.’ Lucy shrugged. ‘Maybe she not so clever …’

Lucy poured out more tea. Georgina was still looking at the photo. ‘Have you got any more photos?’

‘No, shame, I have very little of our family. Now not many of us left, huh, juz the three of us now.’

‘Lucy, I am very grateful to you for letting me stay. But what about you and Ka Lei? You have to share a room now?’

‘No problem. We always share.’

‘My room is always empty?’

‘An American girl had your room. I don’t know where she is now.’ Lucy rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Nice girl, very pretty; blonde hair, long nails.’

He liked her nails. It was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. He liked women who looked after themselves. He had made her paint her nails especially, on that last day before he chased her through the forest. He’d made her paint them in stars and stripes, like the American flag. She had painted her nails with expert precision, each stripe was perfectly in line. In the centre of each nail she had painted one red star and sprinkled it with glitter. He smiled to himself, satisfied. Now he would always know which finger was hers.

15

Max lived in Sheung Sai Wan, Western District. It was an area that, despite its name, was the least westernised district of all Hong Kong. It was also the place that the British had first settled in, then hastily fled from when malaria came biting at their heels. Industries in the area were small and family run. Life was as it used to be. Profits were small and everyone had something to sell. Traditional skills and oriental sundries crowded the cobbled alleyways. Bolts of silk that were rolled from one-hundred-year-old spools. Chinese calligraphy that was carved into ornate ‘chops’ made from ivory and jade. Snakes had their gall bladders removed and presented to the purchaser to drink, before being placed back in their wooden box – gall-bladderless. But Western District’s days were numbered: new developments were poking their bony fingers out of the living decay and time-debris. The Fong family – Max, his brother Man Po and his father – lived on Herald Street. It was one of the broader, quieter roads at the lower end of the district. Most of the buildings on Herald Street had a shop front. Some shops were still in full use, merchandise spilling out and obstructing the pavement. Others had rusted-up metal shutters and decrepit doorways that had been a long time silent. There was a peaceful, dusty old quiet about Herald Street, but there was also a permanent smell of decay there: rotting, fermenting vegetation, cultivated by years of neglect. The Fong family lived in a four-storey building situated three-quarters of the way along the street. They had had a thriving business once. Father Fong had been a well-respected doctor. He had held his practice on the ground floor of the house, and the shop front had served as the dispensary. Queues had formed from the shop entrance and continued down Herald Street on most days, with people waiting patiently to see him. He was so respected that it was widely accepted he could perform miracle cures, and his notoriety spread in both Chinese and Western circles.