Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 | Page 10

After I finish speaking their leader breaks the uncomfortable silence.
“We have a little business we want you to get done for us.” He snaps his fingers and two more men dressed
alike enter. They throw a bag down about the size of an infant onto the table, they want me to deliver it to
Cuttack, India. I realise this is on the way to where my father’s fleet will dock in Calicut. Delivering this
parcel for them could be the only way I can get food and board to make my journey, even though I don't
know its contents and expect it could something illicit.
Nanjing, January 20, 1431
At the rise of the dawn I quietly leave with the bag attached to the horse they have provided me for my
journey, and a few meagre supplies to get me started. Leaving Nanjing it will be many months before I can
even hope to catch up to the fleet as they journey southward. I will have to travel overland to get to
Cuttack, across China, then through Burma and the Delhi Sultanate.
Chittagong, April 2, 1432
More than a year has passed, riding on my horse. Through our journey, we had seen beautiful sunsets that
we thought nothing could compare too. But then the sunrises would come exploding with colour and
would be just as beautiful as the night before.
As we ride closer to the final destination, at times I forget the reason behind this. Although it always comes
back, igniting a flame inside of me.
Cuttack, June 15, 1432
With my hands steady on the reins, I glance down to check on the package I was delivering. I see it gently
bumping against the side of the saddle, untouched and unopened. Getting closer to the city houses begin to
appear, as we near the markets, I see the tables yielding with thousands of spices. I dismount the horse and
tie him up. A man approaches us, he catches a glimpse of the bag and then silently nods. I go around untie it
from the saddle and place it into his arms. Abruptly the man takes the reins and starts walking away. Sensing
fear the horse resists and begins to kick. I stroke him calmly on the forehead, stilling his movements. Calmed
I stroke him for the last time.
I walk down to the dock and find myself once again sitting on a bench. The dock is crowded with traders
and merchants making their sales. To my right is a small group, I overhear them discussing their next trip.
To Calicut. I walk over and introduce myself, “Hi, my name is Bo-Hai. “I couldn't help to overhear that
you plan to sail around to Calicut?” “Yes we are,” one of them replies “, and the name’s Mei-Xiu.” I smile
and ask, “Would it be okay for me to join? In return, I can prepare the meals.”
Calicut, July 7, 1432
Three weeks it had been, smooth sailing on the ocean currents. We had just docked and tied up the ropes. I
occupy myself with shipyard tasks as the months go by.
Calicut, December 10, 1432.
It has come to to the final month of the year and I begin to fear that I have missed them. But then, out from
the mist emerges a great fleet of boats. The same fleet of boats I had known so well. I proceed to the dock
mixed with caution and excitement. From the deck of the front boat, I see the head chef. We meet eyes and
he welcomes me on.
As the weeks go, to my father I’m invisible. The hardship I endured to be with him feels like a waste. I can
only hope over time some warmth and affection will find its way into his heart.
My left-hand grasps the icy door knocker belonging to the office of our Captain. In my right hand, a bowl
of tangmian soup. I knock once. No answer. I lumber in to find him sitting at his desk, back arched with
his head in his palms. I walk quietly to place the bowl on a nearby chair, careful not to disturb him. But I
know he’s aware that I’m there. His eyes focus on me, at last, I can see warmth in his eyes.
“Thank you...my son.”