Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 195

Another cough wracked Mat-Su exhausted body. “My apologies for the outburst, child.”
It took some convincing to show that Mat-Su wasn’t a threat, and quite a bit more to get Ngendo talking.
The girl didn’t know of any “Ming Empire” or her grand “Treasure Junks”, but that could be chalked
down to her ignorance. Mat-Su was far away from home in the realm of Kenya, a distant land that the
treasure junks Admiral Zheng He had ordered to be surveyed and charted. The Admiral had said that it was
a tribal land populated by savages, but the truth was rather different: the natives dwelt in small mud huts,
tending to their fields much like the Chinese peasantry. The only thing that alerted her to her displacement
from home was the dark-skinned, large-eyed features of the natives.
“Do I scare you?” Mat-Su asked.
Ngendo nodded hesitantly. Wordlessly, Mat-Su smiled warmly and caressed the young girl’s hair. A sense
of fumbling awkwardness pervaded between the two, but Ngendo composed herself and looked up at the
kind stranger.
“Tell me,” continued Mat-Su, “have you ever seen people like me? Foreigners, Chinese?”
“Some. They look like you but dress differently. I saw them gathered around a huge ship, as if… fixing it.
When Mother was still alive, we sold them fruits. They called the ship a 'treasure junk'…”
Mat-Su's eyes lit up at once. “Ngendo, I need to meet these people—they are my countrymen and they
need me. They prayed for me to save them in their darkest hour.”
Cajoling and urging paid dividends for Mat-Su. "They're to the North, a two hours' trek from here. We
follow the vultures along the seashore. The ship is where the desert meets the sea."
***
The duo made their way across the Kenyan coast. When the vultures circled above, they followed. When
the vultures left, they stumbled forward through simple intuition. After an endless march, they finally
arrived where desert met the sea, where the sun's harsh rays bounced off the glittering sand for miles. The
desolate coastline had but one feature: a treasure junk lodged in the Kenyan shore.
Surrounding the ship was a crowd of archaeologists and guards, who circled the vessel like bees to honey.
Mat-Su gasped – home . She saw the majestic sails of the Qinghe. The faded carvings. The pagoda-like
captain's quarters. Home, where her pious countrymen lay waiting for her, industrious sailors tending to
their treasures. The stroll downhill became a jog, and the jog became a sprint. Ngendo struggled to catch
up as Mat-Su jumped from rock to rock until she landed before the junk. Her eyes became increasingly
blurred by emotions with each step she took.
A pair of baton-wielding blue berets stepped in to stop the intrusion as a crowd of dirt-stained workers
began to gather around her. The pious had come to worship, Mat-Su figured. Ngendo was right – they
were dressed oddly. She didn't expect dockworkers to be clad with any sophistication, but the sartorial
gaucherie on display was alien and visually irritating. As Ngendo reached Mat-Su's side, the Goddess
noticed that the guards had abandoned ornate armor for simple pieces of cloth, and that there was neither a
robe nor a sword in sight.
“This is an archeological site under the jurisdiction of the People’s Republic of China. What are you doing
here?” Mat-Su turned to see a red-faced worker in rugged overalls. Did this mortal not recognize his
Goddess? His protector from the storms? She who brought them to this far-off land?
“My countrymen – do you not recognize me?” she cried, “I am the silent one, I am the Heavenly mother, I
am Mat-su, patron of sailors. You have summoned me to the mortal realm, and I shall hear your prayers!”
The dumbfounded crowd fell silent. Panic dawned on the Goddess. These are not my followers! They are
slave traders! My followers must be in the junk! Enraged, Mat-Su’s motherly appearance was no more. The
sky darkened; she roared as she let loose winds and storms to strike the blasphemers. Bright streaks of
lightning struck the ground, flinging workers and guards around the beach like ragdolls. Mat-Su hoisted
Ngendo, paralysed with fear, into her arms and raced towards the junk's interior to rescue her people.
The junk was eerily quiet. In bygone days, there would've been incessant, raucous chattering. Now, the
only lights were specks of sunlight that peered in through holes in the wooden deck.
Ngendo, recovering from the shock, broke the silence. “The… cabin looks… empty…”
That much was clear to Mat-su.
***
A grand vault lay just below the deck. In the heyday of the treasure voyages, Mat-Su would see hundreds
of coolies in the cramped spaces, gardeners tending to flora and fauna, artisans cleaning sculptures with great
care. She would have breathed in a thousand mixing spices from the ports of India and Arabia, heard a
hundred dialects and tongues from across the great seas and seen books of history and science.