Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 212

The New Tales of Old Shanghai
International College Hong Kong, Gobbi, Giulia – 12
M
y name is Li Suan Bai. People make fun of me because of that humiliating name. Li is my surman, it means
strong; Suan as in sour, another disgraceful name that was my mother’s maiden name; My first name, as the
pitiful British call it, is Bai, as in white. My mother said your name is part of you, I must learn to embrace it.
Here in Shanghai that would be very hard as racism will not be compassed in the next recent years. My
family has‘三口人’, three people in it, that would be me, my mum and my dad. I am thirteen but look ten because if
you saw my babyface and scrawny body you would understand.
I live in a town on the East side of Shanghai, it is a very small one nevertheless a town with it’s loud old ladies trying
to sell goods and fruit, they are quite annoying; we also have a lot of men pulled carriages which is sort of strange
since we have something called ‘horses’ to pull them but I’m guessing we’re all penniless and in that case no one
can’t afford one. At this moment in time we also have a lot of banners and not to mention lanterns for the new
Lunar year, everyone’s favorite holiday. At the end of this town we have the creepiest temple there will ever be made
with it’s pitch black rooms and large doors with torn pieces of silk on them however in spite of this we still go there
to pray in front of a large golden statue for good fortune in our life to come. But to me none of that matters
anymore.
I was born the day the British settlers came to Shanghai, they live on our side of the city which causes violent fights
and unbearable shrieking. I don’t mind them and they are quite peculiar with their coats? Or was it doats? I don’t
remember, it was quite a contrast to compared to our ripped and disgusting ‘clothes’.There was a boy which I found
quite interesting. I learned his name was Christopher, I also learned after the man who apparently found a country
called 美國, America.
One Sunday morning my family went to that ancient temple again. As we walked on the street we made clear of
some very loud shouting and then a gunshot. Pail now we scurry off into the temple to give our blessings
pretending like nothing had happened. As the silent praying begun I heard an unmistakable sneeze? It came from
somewhere around in the temple yet my parents had not heard.
3 hours after our praying session I was still investigating for what had made that soft sound but I had nothing, nil
and it was hopeless, not to mention that intimidating bamboo stick at home was to relentlessly smack against my
palms, my forehead beading with sweat while those bone legs of mine are trembling that I can barely stand straight.
That was the first time. Since then it has happened 8 more times and I do not wish for it to happen again and for
that reasons I sprinted home. Yet it still troubled me till the next day.
After the agonizing 8 hours of the torture house I was so intrigued by that soft sound I had to go back and check
the place again. I looked under, in and on top of every piece of furniture until the whole room was completely
upside down and I was exhausted, completely exhausted that I gave up overall. On the way out though I got my
shoulder hard on the door that I fell and coiled on the stony rough ground. All I could do was lay on the stone a feel
pain like an animal start devouring the rest of my shoulder to my chest where my heart was beating furiously, both
of anger and hopelessness. I lay there for what felt like an eternity until a cold hand started wrapping a wooly
bandage around my shoulder murmuring things in a foreign language. English.