Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 12 | Page 53

New Tales of old Shanghai
Alliance Primary School Kowloon Tong, Leung, Tsz Wun Andrew - 12
I
woke up, my vision blurry, my bones aching as I regain consciousness.
I forgot why I was here. I looked around and found myself lying on some bamboo baskets in a dark alley. I tried
to recall what happened, but nothing came to mind. Then it occurred to me: did I lose my memory? Fortunately,
I still know that my name is Zhang. I remember that I’m a 14 years old Chinese boy, so I guessed I was fine. I
figured that I couldn’t stay here for that long, and I should have got going. I tried to push myself up, but
immediately pain shot up from my wrist to my shoulders. I screamed and tears rolled down from my eyes. I took a
look at my arms and was surprised to see them covered in bruises. So I tried another tactic: I leaned against the
wall and limped towards the main street ahead.
As soon as I got out of the dark alley, the bright sun light shone and stung my eyes. My arms still hurt, and my
legs were weak and heavy, so I dragged myself towards the front of a westerner clinic. On the floor, there was a
wooden walking stick. I kicked it up with my leg and carefully put my arm and my weight on it. It was easier to
walk again, so I walked along the pedestrian lane. Luckily, I was able to remember where I lived at. I walked on
the usual route to home and started to think. Why did I wake up in the dark alley with no memory of what
happened? Why was I hurt that badly? And most important: Who did this to me?
Just when I was about to get lost in thought, someone bumped into me and once again, pain flared in my
shoulder. I pinched it and look up with a face full of agony. Suddenly, I realized who bumped into me. She was
my friend, Ling. She was also 14 years old. She have been my best friend since I was 8. Ling’s expression changed
from concern to joy when she saw me. “Where have you been for the last two days?” She exclaimed. Then, she
realized what was wrong with me (as if the walking stick was not obvious enough) and offered to help me back to
my home.
My home was in the “Old City” of Shanghai where lots of Chinese people lived in. As much as I knew,
Shanghai was meant for foreigners, but the “Old City” functioned like a sort of ghetto. Anyway, the moment I
walked in the door, my brother ran to my aid and helped me to my bed. Our parents died when I was 8, and we
lived with each other ever since. There wasn’t much he could do, since we were poor and we couldn’t afford any
medicine. So instead, he rested me in my bed, made some porridge for me and started to asked questions. He kept
on asking different questions like “Who did this to you?” “Are you feeling better?” “Where is you left shoe?” and
I kept on saying “I don’t know.” Eventually, my brother let me rest.
A few days after, as soon as my bones didn’t ache and my legs didn’t feel like jelly, Ling and I went to a
restaurant to work. When I meant restaurant, I didn’t mean a small little shop which served dim sum for a living. I
meant a 5-story tall, “each level different theme” kind of restaurant. Ling was a dish washer, and I was a servant
who the swept floors and cleaned the tables. We happened to work on the second floor, and during our breaks,
we always talked and rested together.
One day, I was taking a break while Ling was dealing with the extra dishes that urgently needed to get washed.
I was sitting on a bench when the boss of the restaurant, Mr.Galtato walked by. I realized that Mr.Galtato was
mumbling to himself quietly, ”…four...take…Shanghai…” I was tempted to jump out of the bench and ask
Mr.Galtato what on Chinese Sea did he meant, but I suspected that something was not right. So I didn’t tell
anyone, not even Ling, what I eavesdropped.