Read The Red Thread for Free Online Page B

disembarkation was slow. Zhen and Qian watched as each skinny, brown coolie, with his bundle of rags, stepped up over the edge of the lighter and walked unsteadily down the gangplank, over the stones onto the beach. The sun was searingly hot, and both men wore their wide-brimmed straw hats. In his hand Zhen carried a yellow cloth. From time to time he opened it out and wiped his face. Qian had seen this cloth once on the ship. It carried the black printed outline of three peaches, and the characters for ‘peach garden’. When he had asked about it, Zhen had said his father had given it to him as a good luck token. This made sense; the peach was a symbol of longevity, and the three peaches represented the great Lord Guan Di, God of War, and his bond brothers, Zhang Fei and Liu Bei, symbolising loyalty and friendship, all things his son might need in a new land. But from their conversations, Qian had discovered that Zhen, though penniless like himself, had other reasons for leaving China. He suspected that Zhen had been in trouble with the authorities. Zhen was always circumspect on the subject, and he asked no more. However, he knew that Guan Di and his boon companions were used as a spiritual glue for the forbidden Tian Di Hui brotherhood society in China, which had vowed the overthrow of the Qing dynasty. Qian sighed. He was sure Zhen was involved with the brotherhood. He did not like it, but realist that he was, Qian knew that these ties could be useful here in Si Lat Po, where they knew no one.
    Finally, their turn arrived. Zhen had helped Qian descend the rope ladder from the ship, for the latter had a slight limp and a weakness in one leg, the result of a bout of sickness as a child. He was easily able to negotiate the gangplank. Nevertheless Zhen preceded him in case he needed to hold onto him as the plank trembled. Zhen had felt a strange protectiveness for this skinny fellow the moment they had met on the road to Amoy. Qian reminded him somewhat of his youngest brother, the runt of the litter, second child of his father’s fourth wife, who had died in childbirth. Zhen’s mother had raised this boy as her own, teaching him her Beijing dialect.
    They joined the throng squatting along the road, all patiently waiting for what came next. Now that Qian was on dry land, his spirits lifted and he began to take an interest in his surroundings.
    Hills, covered with a profuse and smothering array of vegetation, surrounded the bay, an arc of sandy and gravelly beach lapped by clear waves. Fishing platforms dotted the shallow waters. At the western end he could see mangrove swamps and coconut palms. A large house on a hill stood surrounded by numerous trees of varieties beyond his meagre knowledge. He was sure he could see monkeys and bright-winged birds flitting and skipping through the jungle growth. At the eastern end, the way they had come, lay a number of buildings, the most prominent of which had a large, double octagonal red roof and projected out over the water.
    The main street was home to a variety of houses and shops, mostly of two storeys, some well built, some ramshackle, some with verandahs and some which fronted directly onto the street. There was an ancient wooden attap-thatch building. Up the street stood a building with square, pagoda-like towers and small green domes projecting above the upper floor. Qian had no idea what this building could be for. Beyond that, he could make out a smaller Chinese temple.
    Men of every shape and hue moved up and down the beach side, carrying trays and poles laden with goods and foodstuffs the likes of which they had never seen. One fruit seller passed by with a large prickly fruit which smelled strongly of urine and rotten eggs. The coolies, not generally sensitive to even the most hideous smells, nevertheless covered their noses against this violent stench. The multifarious population of the beach side seemed to barely notice it.
    Along the length of the beach,