The Laundryman's Boy, page 13
Heather flipped the pages of the textbook indifferently. “I’m afraid arithmetic’s always been my Achilles heel. I’ve no brain for numbers and ciphering.”
He could not keep his good news to himself. “But this easy! Miss Ah-Del say I go to grade eight in September!”
“Oh.” Heather’s face was flushed, and she blinked her eyes rapidly. “If it’s true, then I’m glad for you.”
He looked at her with sudden understanding. “You want go to school too?”
“Yes, of course! I don’t plan to be a scullery maid forever.”
“But you are girl!”
“And you’re Chinese!”
Hoi Wing sat back against the wall. He stared at her callused hands. Of course she wanted better for herself! And if their places had been reversed, could he have been glad for her? He liked to think so. “I know. We prepare together! You teach me English. I teach you mathematics.”
From then on, they spent part of each meeting reviewing Hoi Wing’s homework. Heather had never been coached in the basic operations of arithmetic, and Hoi Wing took to rectifying this situation. “What is five times seven? Eight times nine?”
She was far more adept than she professed, and her numeracy progressed much faster than he expected. To his surprise, she had an intuitive grasp of mathematics, and soon she was working out problems on her own and poking holes in the solutions he had devised. Somewhat flummoxed by the acuity of her brain—and yet another reversal of their positions—Hoi Wing asked her again about her duties in the master’s house.
“I’m the scullery maid—up at five o’clock every morning to clean the flues. All seven chimneys. I light the fires to warm the house. Then I polish the hearth, the stove head, the fender, and the grill until they shine. After that, I’m at the doorknobs, knockers, and mailbox with the Brasso, or dusting the crystal in the chandeliers, and scrubbing the stone steps and walkways. I work the boothole. That’s a closet where I polish shoes—blacks, browns, oxbloods, and tans. I even iron the laces. Then it’s pots and pans in the kitchen sink. Knives are worst—fruit knives, carving knives, pallet knives, bent knives, paring knives, every last one. And the spoons, forks, sieves, and sifters. Every day! And all before noon or I catch it from Cook.”
“What you catch?”
Heather rolled up her sleeve, and Hoi Wing saw purple bruises running over her forearm.
He sucked in his breath. “Cook hit you?”
“Squeezed me, more like.”
How dare anyone harm her! Hoi Wing’s heart ached at the nonchalance of her words. The uncles were fierce taskmasters, but they had never struck him. What were Heather’s origins? Where was her family? Although he had told her of how he had come to the Gold Mountain, she had kept silent about her own story.
In this way, she reminded him of his own honourable dead mother, Fong-Fong. She had died birthing Little Mei-Mei when he was eight, but he had never even learned his mother’s family name, nor met any of her relatives. He knew nothing of her history. The mystery became no clearer after her death. His father had remained tight-lipped as well.
Two days before the Chinese Lunar New Year, Hoi Wing stood before the doors of the St. Catharines Public Library and Reading Room. It was his noon-hour break. Slung across his shoulder was his leather satchel, and in his hand was his new library card. Elder Uncle had asked him where he had obtained the satchel, but Hoi Wing retorted that he was free to spend his hard-earned salary any way he wished.
Hoi Wing and Heather had now almost completed their reading of Anne of Green Gables, and he found himself blinking back tears when Heather read the penultimate chapter relating the death of Matthew Cuthbert. Ashamed of having been so moved by a book, he turned his face, but Heather noticed immediately. “Harry, you’re crying!”
With the end of Anne of Green Gables in sight, Hoi Wing decided he would explore the library and choose their next book. Leave it to the lofan to come up with such an institution! A place where you could read any book you wanted, for free!
Now, at the library, Hoi Wing pushed through the heavy doors. The noise of the street was stifled immediately. In the silence, he faced a wide, rectangular room. Miss Ah-Del was nowhere in sight, but bookshelves lined the walls, and stuffed birds in glass cases perched here and there, keeping watch with unblinking eyes. The odour of musty paper, bookbinding glue, and mothballs tickled his nostrils.
In the middle of the room were wooden tables where several patrons sat, each reading silently beneath a brass-hooded lamp. In a corner was a leather armchair on which an elderly woman was seated, perusing a newspaper. She lifted her head from her newsprint and eyed Hoi Wing suspiciously, up and down.
For a moment, Hoi Wing did nothing but relish the sight of so much knowledge. What would Ying the Scholar have said about this? If he could read but a hundredth of these books, how smart would he be?
For ten minutes, he wandered the stacks. There were thin picture books, medium-sized texts, and door-stopping tomes with gold-embossed titles. He ran his fingertips across their spines. How to tell a good book from its cover? It was a conundrum he had not expected. With so much choice, what should he borrow?
Unsure of what to do, he slid into a seat at one of the tables. Someone had left a small pile of books on the corner. Unconsciously, he flipped the first open. It was a science text, filled with formulae, letters, and symbols he didn’t recognize. The second was somewhat better: a wide-format hardcover, replete with colour plates of waterfowl. The birds were rendered in exquisite detail, but Hoi Wing wanted a novel.
He picked up the third book. Its cover page featured the head of a dog on a field of rock and snow. His mind went immediately to Heather and her beasts. What was this about? He flipped through the chapters, and an illustration leapt before his eyes: the same dog—now snarling, its fangs white and gleaming—was jumping at a man who gripped a club in one hand. Now this was something he might like!
Hoi Wing turned to the first chapter. The reading level was well beyond his abilities, but the first sentence hooked him like a fish. For a time, he read quickly, skipping words, phrases, and whole sentences he didn’t understand. Caught up in the narrative, he read ten or so pages before he sensed someone approaching his table.
“Hoi Wing!” said Adele. “I was wondering when you would visit us.”
For the next fifteen minutes, she gave Hoi Wing a tour of the library, taking him through the fiction and non-fiction sections, texts of general knowledge and information, and even the map room. She made recommendations from the young readers’ section, but Hoi Wing eschewed all her choices, having made his own.
Adele felt the book he had chosen was too far above his reading level but nonetheless stamped his card as he waited. Hoi Wing secured the new-found treasure in his satchel and exited the library in triumph, eliciting one last disapproving look from the elderly matron reading the newspaper. He was not sure, but he thought he recognized her as the woman who had come into the laundry months before to barter a lower price from Second Uncle.
Ten minutes later, he trudged through the streets of the Golden Li, inspired by his successful navigation of the library. Nothing could stop his march to an education. Moving through the snow-covered roads, he descended into the ravine behind the grand mansion where Heather worked. It was his intention to leave the new novel in the Sanctuary. He imagined the delight that would come to her face upon discovering it.
As he arrived at the Sanctuary, he waited to ensure there were no observers. Only when satisfied he was alone did he step forward to lift the hidden trap door. Inside, it took only a few moments to place the library book prominently on Heather’s cushion. Everything was ready for his little surprise. He was about to leave when he noticed a note on a shelf. Her missive made him forget his new book.
Urgent! Master Braddock hatching new plan to close laundry!
Hoi Wing raced back to the laundry. When he arrived there, the uncles were outside, arguing with the big policeman he had seen patrolling in town. The officer was barrel-shaped and had a neck like bread dough rising. As Hoi Wing watched, the constable looped a chain and snapped a padlock across the front door. A yellow cotton sheet, soaked in carbolic acid, had been hung over the storefront window, obscuring the name of the Sam Kee Luk Chinese Hand Laundry.
The officer turned a key in the padlock and tacked a paper to the door. “You’re shut down, do you hear me, Chinaman? Your laundry is close-ee! Close-ee!”
“What shut down?” said Elder Uncle. “Why you closing?”
The constable stabbed his finger at the notice. “By order of the Department of Municipal Health. We’ve received a complaint about your wash-ee wash-ee. You have vermin, and your premises are in a filthy, unsanitary condition.”
“What filthy? We no vermin here!”
“That’s not what the complainant said. The inspector will be here in two days to finalize this order.”
“What inspector? When two days?” asked Second Uncle.
“I don’t have time to explain this to you! Read the notice! In two days the City Health Inspector will shut you down for good.”
Hoi Wing ran up just as the officer departed. “What’s happened here?”
“Farmboy, make yourself useful. What does this notice say?” Elder Uncle asked.
The three laundrymen put their heads together to decipher the words of the edict. Hoi Wing entered the laundry through the back door and brought out Ying the Scholar’s dictionary.
Notice of Violation Under By-law 19-13(b): By Order of the St. Catharines Municipal Health and Sanitation Department, this washing-drying establishment, the Sam Kee Luk Chinese Hand Laundry, is hereby closed pending inspection, due to unsanitary conditions, unclean vectors, contagions, lack of hygienic practices, and the presence of vermin.
City Health Inspector: Mark Joseph Smythe
“But how can they do this?” said Hoi Wing. “We’ve been cleaning for days in anticipation of the New Year. We have no vermin or unsanitary conditions!”
Elder Uncle shook his head. “I sense the invisible hand of our great enemy, Blah-dok, using the city’s corrupt officials to shut us down.”
“Yes, without a doubt, this is Blah-dok’s doing.” Hoi Wing remembered Heather’s warning.
Second Uncle looked at him. “We’ll have to clean the entire laundry again. It must be spotless for the inspection.”
Hoi Wing noted pedestrians making a wide detour past the yellow sheet covering the window. Some grimaced and spat as they hurried by. “We are losing clientele as we speak,” said Hoi Wing. “And if the inspector is corrupt, how will we convince him to pass our laundry, no matter how clean it is?”
“We can beat these damn lofan at their own game,” answered Second Uncle.
“How will we do that?” asked Hoi Wing.
“Simple.” Elder Uncle grinned. “We will bribe the inspector.”
With the laundry closed, the men spent the rest of the day cleaning. Everything they had done over the past weeks was repeated. Hoi Wing scrubbed the floors, Second Uncle sanitized the kitchen, and Elder Uncle tackled the main work area. In the late evening, the men ate a hasty supper and retired to bed. Exhausted, Hoi Wing went downstairs with the intention of sneaking out again to visit Heather, but the efforts of the day had been too much. He fell asleep sitting up and woke the next morning in his winter coat.
The laundrymen spent a second day cleaning. Hoi Wing concentrated on the basement, and the older men put their efforts into the attic. None of them knew the extent of the inspection to come. It was late evening when the men paused in their labour, but the laundry sparkled and shone. Not a speck of dirt was to be found anywhere. Even the big storefront window, hidden under its sheet of yellow cotton, was spit-shined to a high gloss.
“It is enough.” Elder Uncle wiped his brow. “The laundry is immaculate.”
Hoi Wing felt a surprising sense of pride. “It’s pristine.”
Each man looked into the others’ faces, knowing he had given his all. The inspection would take place on New Year’s Day, the most portentous date in the Chinese calendar.
“Our doors will be closed forever,” said Second Uncle, “if the lofan inspector does not accept our bribe.”
“He will take the bribe,” said Elder Uncle. “I know these lofan. We will outsmart Blah-dok and his greedy officials.”
Hoi Wing yawned. He was exhausted and did not feel any of Elder Uncle’s confidence. Without another word, he went downstairs to bed.
12
It was January 29, 1914, Chinese New Year’s Day. The morning dawned bright and cold. The men were up early and wished each other Happy New Year in the stark light of the dawn.
At breakfast, the uncles surprised Hoi Wing by handing him a houng bao, a small red envelope that held one silver dollar of “lucky money,” the traditional New Year’s gift given to children in every Chinese family. Elder Uncle had another red envelope in his back pocket for the lofan inspector. He would bide his time for the opportune moment and surprise him with the bribe.
For the rest of the morning, the men waited. None of them could remember if the policeman had mentioned the time of the inspection, and there was some debate as to whether they had misunderstood the date of the inspection itself. Just when they began to think there might be no inspection at all, there was a knock at the door. The men heard the metallic click of the padlock and the rattle of the chain as it was pulled aside. Elder Uncle opened the door.
“Mr. Chan?” A grey-haired lofan carrying a heavy leather valise stood in the doorway. “My name is Smythe. I’m here to inspect your premises for suspected violations to the city’s health codes.”
Hoi Wing gave a tiny gasp. There was no mistaking the lofan’s grey-tinged beard and wind-burned face. He remembered how the man had sat upon his saddle as though he had been born to it. The inspector was none other than the Master of the Hounds from the fox hunt!
Second Uncle joined the men at the door. Within a minute, the uncles moved aside and the inspector entered the vestibule, removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves. As he placed his valise on the counter, he caught Hoi Wing’s gaze, and there was the slightest flash of something—recognition?—in his eye. It disappeared instantly, and the man nodded nonchalantly. “Hello, lad.”
The inspector laid out a white sheet on which he placed tweezers, brushes and combs, a whisk broom, a tin dustpan, cotton swabs, several bottles of blue and green liquid, glass jars and tubes, and a pile of folded towels. Then he pulled on a pair of white cotton gloves and fitted wire-framed spectacles on his face. He tied a mask over his mouth and nose.
For the next three hours, the man conducted a meticulous inspection of the laundry, kneeling before and wiping the undersides of the counters, running his linens over the walls and floorboards, peering and sweeping behind and beneath the machinery, sniffing, swabbing, and scraping the bottoms of the tubs and baskets. Moving methodically and purposefully from room to room, he opened closets, cupboards, and boxes. He examined the sinks, pump, and drains, and used a knife to scrape and pick at the lead pipes.
During the assessment, the laundrymen did nothing. Hoi Wing scrutinized the inspector’s every move. He remembered that the man had not wanted to proceed with a search through the woods on the day of the fox hunt.
Not a square inch of the laundry was overlooked by the man’s inspection. At one point, he uncorked a small bottle near the rack of irons and waved his hand over the opening. Then he added several drops of blue liquid from another bottle and shook the first in his hand. The resulting solution became pink, and he examined the tint in the light of the small window before comparing it to a coloured sheet he brought out of his briefcase.
Finally, the inspection seemed finished. The inspector returned to the counter and checked his timepiece. He took out a pen and ink. Then he flipped open a large ledger and made copious notations. When he finished, he began to put the tools of his trade back into his valise.
Elder Uncle shot Second Uncle a glance. Now was the time to offer the bribe. His hand in his back pocket, he approached the lofan. He drew out the envelope. “Ah-Inspector, it Chinese New Year today. We have gift for you.”
The inspector shrank back. “What are you talking about, Mr. Chan?”
Elder Uncle waved the red envelope in the other’s face. “This is gift. For you, Inspector. Happy New Year!”
“I don’t want any gift!”
“You no want? This money for you. For very good luck today!”
The inspector fended off Elder Uncle. “Put away your thirty pieces of silver, man, and I’ll pretend you did not attempt to bribe an officer of the city! I’ve completed my inspection, and I’ve discovered no trace of contagions, bad vectors, unsanitary conditions, or vermin. You have passed the inspection!”
“Passed?” Elder Uncle’s hand dropped, and his mouth fell open.
“Aye. You’ve passed. Had I found otherwise, all the gold in the world would not have availed you, but I’ll not fault you greatly for your maladroit attempt at bribery. I dare say you’ve come up against crooked examiners before.”
“You mean we not clos-ed?” asked Second Uncle.
The inspector put on his coat. He picked up his valise. At the door, he crumpled the notice of violation in his hand. Then he went to the big window and tore away the yellow sheet. The noonday light flooded the laundry, lending an oaken glow to the floorboards and glinting off the irons.
“Your premises are as clean as any, and that will be my report to the Municipal Health Department. You’re free to go about your business. Now I have other work to attend to. Good day.”
As he turned to go, he gave Hoi Wing a tiny smile. “And you, lad, stay out of the forests. It’s no place to be trampling about in the winter.”
The laundrymen watched him stride down the street, his back straight and his head held high. Elder Uncle shook his head with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. “He didn’t want our bribe.”
“Did you offer him thirty pieces of silver?” asked Second Uncle.
