Flustered, Li Mei tugged insistently at Sally’s sleeve. The little girl grudgingly forfeited the staring contest with the snake. Blinking, she turned her green eyes on Li Mei and pointed at the cobra.
“I want one,” she said simply.
Li Mei sighed and shook her head. “Come, Sally.” She took the little girl’s hand and resumed walking. “We mustn’t be late, and we have two more stops to make.”
They cut across Wing Lok Street and headed down Bonham Strand West, where ginseng wholesalers shared the street with banks made of chrome and marble. The street was a microcosm of Hong Kong, an endless juxtaposition of ancient customs and modern commerce. Throughout the city, East and West stood side by side but rarely came in contact.
A few minutes later came Central Market, a four-story structure where Queen Victoria meets Des Voex Road. Li Mei hurried Sally inside, where hapless turtles awaited a grisly end alongside sea cucumbers and salamanders, oblivious to their fate. As they passed through the meat section where tongues, intestines, and chicken feet lined the counters, Sally pointed to a collection of scrotums with a questioning look.
“What are those?”
Li Mei hesitated before answering. “Those,” she said finally, “are the worst part of men.” Never mind that they were dog scrotums and considered a delicacy, Li Mei had her own opinions. Before Sally could ask anything else, Li Mei grabbed the young girl’s hand and dragged her down the aisle, finally coming to a stop at the fruit stands.
Reaching into a wooden crate, she grabbed half a dozen tangerines. She knew of a stall on the ground floor where they could buy some sweet pastries for the rest of their morning snack. She was standing in line to pay when she felt a tugging at her clothes. Sally was pointing at a spiky yellow-green fruit that resembled a medieval mace, roughly the size of a volleyball with triangular points jutting out from the center.
Li Mei shook her head. “That is a durian, Sally. You wouldn’t like it.”
Sally started to make a face when the woman behind the counter held up a hand. Li Mei smiled and nodded. The woman reached over and broke off a piece of the durian, holding it for Sally to take.
Sally wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue before the fruit even touched her lips, a smell like a gas leak permeating the air. Li Mei and the woman both laughed.
“It’s called the stinky fruit,” explained Li Mei. “Go ahead, try it.”
Sally frowned at the fruit as she studied its custard yellow texture. Her expression made it clear she had lost any interest in trying this exotic and malodorous rarity.
“Don’t be afraid, Sally,” chided Li Mei. “It is only a fruit.”
The gentle taunt got an immediate reaction. Turning her gaze to Li Mei, Sally shoved the fruit into her mouth. She almost gagged but kept chewing, her eyes locked on Li Mei the entire time. By the time she swallowed, her eyes were watering.
Li Mei chuckled and shook her head. “Next time let me pick the fruit, little one.” She peeled a tangerine and handed it to Sally, who was clearly anxious to get a new taste into her mouth.
After Sally finished eating, Li Mei handed her another tangerine and told her to put it in her pocket. “One more stop before we reach your new school.” They passed a series of apartment buildings, each tower more dilapidated than the previous one. Elaborate bamboo scaffolding covered the facades of most of the buildings, workers crawling overhead like spiders while tenants and pedestrians scurried below like ants.
At Hollywood Road and Ladder Street, tucked between two graying apartment towers, they came to a temple. The stone of the outer wall was pitted and crumbling, the path to the front door worn from the passage of generations of supplicants. Taking Sally by the hand, Li Mei led her inside.
Coils of incense hung like giant beehives from the ceiling, their cloying stench heavy in the air. Sally’s nose twitched as she tried not to sneeze. The temple consisted of one large, crowded room. Minor Taoist and Buddhist deities lined the walls on either side of the entrance. Cats walked lazily back and forth, and fortunetellers sat cross-legged along the walls, tipping bamboo chim sticks from bowls onto the ground. At the far end of the room stood four larger statues, each wearing an elaborately embroidered jacket draped over its stone shoulders.
Pushing through the small crowd of people, Li Mei led Sally toward the heart of the temple.
“This is Man Cheong,” said Li Mei, gesturing toward the first statue. “The god of writing-you see the pen?” She swept her arm toward the next figure. “And this is Kwan Tai, the god of war.” Li Mei let Sally study each figure in turn before pointing to the third statue. “This is Shing Wong, who protects this part of Hong Kong from evil, and this-” she paused, wanting to make sure Sally was following her. “This is Pao Kung, the god of justice.”
“Pao Kung.” Sally mouthed the name silently to herself. She remembered the night they first arrived in Hong Kong, when Li Mei told her of the man who killed her parents and spoke of justice. She still wasn’t sure exactly what Li Mei meant by justice, but she knew it was something she desperately wanted. And now they were standing in front of the god of justice, after Li Mei had said it was hard to find. Sally stared at the impassive figure on the altar, waiting for some kind of sign.
She jumped as a gong and drum were struck simultaneously, the combined boom echoing around the small space. Li Mei, seeing the shock in Sally’s eyes, patted her on the head.
“Someone has made an offering, Sally.” She pointed to the wooden boxes next to the statues. “When someone petitions the gods, the drum and gong are sounded.”
Sally looked from Li Mei to the statue in front of her, her tiny brow wrinkled with thought. After a long moment, she reached into her pocket and took out the tangerine. Walking to the wooden box at Pao Kung’s feet, she raised the lid and carefully placed the fruit inside. As she turned from the altar, an attendant at the back of the temple struck the gong and drum. As the base notes cascaded off the walls, Sally walked out of the temple, her mouth set in a determined line, green eyes bright with anticipation.
It took another half hour of walking before they were near the school. Turning down an alley lined with high stone walls, Li Mei slowed as if searching for an address, though none of the doors in this neighborhood seemed to be marked. Sally was beginning to suspect they were lost when Li Mei cried out and pointed to a solid oak door set deep into the wall and painted black. Carved into the center of the door were Chinese characters that had been painted red. Next to the door, set on a nail, was a hand-held gong and mallet.
Li Mei took the gong and struck it three times. In the enclosed space of the alley the sound carried, each new strike bringing another wave of energy to the summons.
They didn’t have to wait very long.
The door creaked loudly as it swung outward, revealing a young woman of no more than fourteen. She spoke rapidly to Li Mei in Cantonese, too fast for Sally to follow. Sally spoke Cantonese well for her age, thanks to Li Mei, but was most comfortable with Japanese, her mother’s language. English had been spoken whenever her father was home. Sally moved naturally in and out of each language depending on who she was with, not differentiating as an adult normally would. She just knew words, and which words went together to express her ideas, and that seemed to work fine. But when adults talked quickly, she sometimes found herself getting lost, only tracking every third word or so.