After dinner, Mother set out a cake with two candles. She lighted them, smiling. “I’ll go get the bracelet.”
Almost immediately, Mother screamed like the chicken slaughtered for my birthday. I dashed into the bedroom and saw her clutching the empty jewelry box on her lap. “Your father has stolen your grandmother’s bracelet!”
Father didn’t come home that night. That piece of jade, worth ten thousand Hong Kong dollars, could maintain his gambling habit for a long time-long enough that he’d completely forgotten the day when his only daughter was born.
Father came home the next morning with bloodshot eyes and breath smelling of alcohol. Mother started to scream at him for his gambling away the household money.
Suddenly Father began to sing, “Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose…”
I almost burst into tears. “Baba, that’s a secret only between you and me!”
Mother cast me a questioning glance. “What secret?”
Father laughed. “Oh, don’t you remember we lost our baby boy on the gambling table?”
Mother went up to Father and slapped his face.
The air in the apartment suddenly became like that in a mortuary.
A long silence.
“Sorry,” Father finally said, “it’s my fault. I’ve lost everything.” His voice rang with heroic defeat.
“Where’s the money my mother sent us last month for the Mid-Autumn Festival, before she died?” Mother demanded. “There was two thousand dollars.”
“Gone” was Father’s reply.
“And the other jewelry in the bank safe? Then what about the stock my mother bought me several years ago?”
“Long gone,” Father said, avoiding our eyes.
It was then that we found out Father owed a loan shark ten thousand dollars. And if he couldn’t pay tomorrow, it would rise to fifteen thousand.
The next evening, when Father, Mother, and I came home together from a cheap dinner at a street stall, we found both our apartment door and the wall next to it splashed with characters in red paint dripping like blood.
My parents’ mouths dropped open.
“The Big Ear Hole!” Father exclaimed. The loan shark.
The huge, evil characters forced themselves onto my eyes:
WARNING:
IF WE CAN’T GET THE MONEY,
WE’LL GET THE THROAT
Mother pushed Father on the shoulder. “Hurry! Let’s get inside the house! Quick!”
Father fumbled in his pants pocket for several moments before he pulled out a string of keys, singled out the right one, and pushed it into the keyhole with trembling hands. “Damn!”
“What’s wrong?” Mother yelled.
“They glued the keyhole!”
Just then, a thirtyish man with a boy passed by our apartment in the long corridor. The bespectacled man peered at the graffiti, then lowered his head and dragged the boy away.
Hurrying his steps to follow his father, the little boy looked back at us and asked, “Baba, will they die?”
The man smacked his son’s scalp. “Shut up and mind your own business!” After that, the two disappeared around a corner.
It took Father almost ten minutes to scrape clear the glue with the Swiss Army knife he always carried. Then we entered the house and locked the door. In less than five minutes, the bell rang. Father jolted up from the sofa, but Mother pushed him down.
“Let me get it,” she hushed.
Mother looked through the peephole, then cleared her throat, her voice determined. “Who is it?”
“We’re looking for Du Wei,” said a raucous male voice. I pictured him standing right outside the thin door, his bulging muscles tattooed with a monstrous dragon and his eyes screaming murder.
Mother yelled, “No such person!”
Raucous Voice roared back, “Hey, bitch, don’t fool with me. I know Du Wei lives here. Get him out!”
Father and I listened with our ears pressed tightly to the door. I tipped my head to peek at him and saw big beads of perspiration oozing from his forehead.
Mother hollered again through the firmly closed door, “I’m not fooling with anyone, and I’ve told you already there’s no such person here!”
Silence-then another scratchy male voice said, “Hey, listen, bitch, the earlier Du Wei shows us his face the better-you understand?”
My heart plunged into a frenzied flip-flop when I heard Mother shout at the top of her voice, “Mister, I’ll call the police right now if you continue to harass me!” Then she almost paralyzed me by threatening, “I’ll also sue you for damaging my apartment wall!”
Yet, miraculously, after Mother’s threat, the scratchy voice dropped an octave. “All right, bitch, I’ll leave you alone now, but be careful if I find out the truth.”
Some heavy breathing, followed by loud footsteps. We pressed our ears against the door and listened until they faded like the dissolving of a nightmare.
Mother, Father, and I stood holding our breath for long moments. When we were sure that the two messengers from hell were gone, the three of us went to sit down on the sofa.
To my surprise, Mother didn’t scold Father, but instead said in a whisper, “Now we have to find a way to either put the Big Ear Holes off or to avoid them.”
“But how?”
Mother’s voice came out low, yet firm. “I don’t know, but we’ve got to figure out a way.”
But we didn’t.
A week later, I was walking back from school with my parents. As we were nearing our building, we smelled smoke. Then we saw a fire engine parked right by the entrance. A group of pedestrians, a few policemen, and firemen milled around. We immediately sensed it must be our apartment. Father, Mother, and I spat out simultaneously, “The Big Ear Hole!” The three of us pushed through the crowd and dashed up to the fourth floor, which smelled strongly of smoke. Once we jostled through our neighbors and saw our apartment, I burst out crying. Our whole home was gone! Literally. Past the door was only a black hole. Tangled bunches of wires hung down, the ceiling had fallen, and our furniture was only a few smoldering sticks. Seeing that my mother and I were crying, a policeman went up and asked whether we lived here. We said yes; then he went through the procedure of asking for our identity cards, names, and who did we think would do this. Father told him it must be the loan shark.
The government put us in a temporary house, and two weeks later Father went into the hospital and never came back. They told us that he died of a heart attack.
To make ends meet, I tutored school kids every afternoon after I finished my classes at college. My mother worked at home, supplying meals. One time Mother had her biggest source of business ruined. The order was for a twelve-person birthday banquet for an octogenarian. His son, who’d heard from a relative about my mother’s delicious home cooking, had canceled a restaurant reservation in order to place an order with her.
The twelve-course banquet was a big thing for us, both for the money and the opportunity for my mother to show off her culinary skill. Mother spent three days planning the menu and purchasing the ingredients. She even bought a new wok. “This is a banquet dish, so I have to use a banquet wok.” She smiled, weighing the huge, shiny utensil in her hand.
That day, in order to finish the dishes in time for delivery that evening, Mother woke up at five-thirty in the morning, washed, dressed, put on her new apron, then burned incense to whatever gods and goddesses she could conjure up in her mind to get their blessings. The whole day I stood by to help-cutting up meats and vegetables, mixing ingredients and sauces, passing mixing bowls, oil, condiments, knives, chopsticks.