Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 322

The New Tales of Old Shanghai
St.Joseph's College, Lao, Kenneth Wun Lam - 16
S
pring 1943, Old City of Shanghai, China -- war was coming. Numerous conflicts with foreign powers had
been devouring China for almost a century, since the Opium Wars first partitioned Shanghai into
foreign-controlled districts. There were uncountable foreign concessions. On every street in every city, there
were the bodies, bodies of the dead Chinese soldiers and warriors. To glorify their exemplary heroism and
patriotism, the dead bodies were configured in a way that lined the verges of roads, floated in the canals, jammed
together around the pillars of the bridges. In the trenches between the burial mounds, hundreds of dead soldiers
sat side by side, with their hands joined and heads against the torn earth, as if they had been stranded together, in
a deep dream of unending pain. Battles, divisions, corruptions, sacrifices, violence, homelessness, disorder,
despair - the wrath of heaven and the resentment of men could be felt everywhere.
Out of the darkness, a young shopgirl named Lin found herself sitting in the back of the automobile, leaning
against the windshield. Avenue Joffre was crowded with oceans of people, mostly the twenty-somethings - they
were all involved in animated conversations Lin could not hear. The automobile stopped for a light and Lin
caught sight of an elegant couple, arm-in-arm at a corner, crossing the avenue as the light altered. A strong gust
of wind gave the French woman some difficulty as she tried to knot a green silk scarf around her neck. As the
automobile reached the sidewalk, Lin turned back to face the avenue, then receded, swallowed by the swirling
lights and reflections.
DECEMBER 1942
A toy train whizzed past one miniature town after one another on a department store display. JEAN, seen from a
distance, in a winter coat, stood watching the train, transfixed.
He turned around, smiled charmingly.
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Lin arrived at Chang’s for lunch. There was no room left at any of the long tables, and more and more people
were arriving to wait back of the wooden barricades by the cash register. People who had already got their trays
of food wandered about between the tables in search of a spot they could squeeze into, or a place that somebody
was about to leave, but there was no place. Lin managed to find a place eventually. She ate nervously, faster than
usual, ravenous for food especially after working non-stop at the toy department store she had longed to quit.
She knew it deep down in her heart she was not a “shopgirl” material; her true passion was to be a photographer.
When she took a picture of people, it would be permanent, and that she had captured the truth of them in that
specific moment. She had very little faith in pursing her dreams – to become what she had always wanted to be.
Nearly every morning when she came to work on the fifth floor, Lin would stop for a moment to have a secret
glance at a certain toy train set. The train set was on a table by itself near the elevators of the toy department
store. It was not a big fine train, but there was a fury in its tiny little pumping pistons that the bigger trains did
not have. Its contradiction held Lin spellbound. The miniature train was always running when she stepped out of
the elevator in the morning every day. And when she finished work in the evening, the train would keep
running until it reached its destination.
This morning, Lin did not let the train set distract her from work, and went towards the direction of the doll
department, where she worked daily. She was confined to this space and was not allowed to leave before she
finished work, like a caged bird that was not meant to fly with its silver wings. At half past three, the toy
department store became more alive than ever. A few pieces of blue cloth levitated in the air; robots began to
toss balls into the air and catch them; the stuffed animals danced gracefully to the music, each and every dance
move of theirs could not seem to be more perfect. The handicrafts and the toys reminded her of her childhood -
innocent, curious, eager - which were the qualities she still possessed. While I was still living in my little world,
Mr Yang, manager of the department store, on the other hand, was stacking shelves with the new arrivals on the
glass counters. Mrs Lam-Wei was standing at the cashier to count the bills and coins from her moneybag, with
such focus that she could only give Lin a nod or a glance.
By now, customers were emerging from the elevators. When I looked closely to them, I discovered that the
customers wore a blonde wig. Not a single one of them wore a black one like I did. The customers looked
bewildered as if they were clueless about what knick-knacks their children had craved.