Page 43 of The Girl with a Thousand Faces
Then the tank is full and you’re moving again, on toward the island. They’re almost as relieved to see you go as you are to leave.
Shek Ham Chau in Cantonese, or Shak Ham Chiu if speaking Hakka. The syllables roll off the tongue, modest and gentle. The British translation on maps says:Stone Temple Island, though this is not quite accurate. A closer translation would beStone Shrine Island, though the nuance of that was probably lost in the English translation.
Regardless, there was a village on it once, going back hundreds of years. Your mother was born in this place, the daughter of salt farmers. That was her life and identity, until 1918 or so, when the worst typhoon in two centuries wrecked the community.
Everyone died except Mami and a few other children. Baba told you that she lost her entire family in the storm. All survivors relocated to the mainland, to live with distant relatives. Shek Ham Chau stands abandoned, now, aside from the lonely ghosts who linger in its remains.
However, fewer people means greater safety for you, because empty islands are worthless to Japanese invaders. And Mami owns the house where your grandmother once lived, with a farm attached. She’s never been able to sell the land, because of the ghosts. That is where you’re headed, the pair of you; a quiet refuge from the war, if there is such a thing.
A haunted island is a daunting retreat, but it’s only temporary. Just until Baba can get the supplies and money he needs, and come for you in a boat of his own. And then you’ll all go somewhere safe together. That’s the plan, and your heart is hinged on it.
“We are almost there.” Mami’s voice breaks a silence that has grown thick without you noticing.
“I can’t see it,” you say. “There’s too much mist.”
She points. “Look. Look there.”
The boat draws closer. It is indeed misty, the atmosphere cloying with the promise of rain. A cool breeze rolls in from the east. Squint, shade your eyes, and peer vainly into that white haze, seeking a first glimpse of your destination.
Then the sun comes out, quick as a child’s smile; clouds part at her warm touch. And Shek Ham Chau seems to rise in front of you like a woman surfacing for air.
Sunlight shimmers on the water. Boxy houses, brightly painted, refract color at unexpected angles. Glossy mangroves fuzz the shoreline as the boat glides toward docking, offering glimpses of tangled forests farther inland. Scintillating peace lingers.
It’s beautiful enough to send a flutter through your heart.
But it also doesn’t look remotely abandoned, which is odd. After years of neglect, you were expecting collapsing roofs, rotting planks, green life creeping through everything, lots of mold and rot. Yet the village is nearly pristine, as if preserved in time.
“Mami,” you say, catching her sleeve, “I thought you said the island was empty?”
She doesn’t look at you. “It is.”
“But the houses are so tidy. Everything looks new.”
The fisherman steering the boat hisses through his teeth.
“The ghosts look after the houses.”
“Oh.” Another thought strikes you: “Wasn’t the village destroyed in the storm?”
“I’m told the ghosts rebuilt it.” Mami bites a fingernail. “They are… industrious.”
Behind you, the fisherman spits in the water. “Ghosts shouldn’t linger so long,” he mutters, and Mami pretends not to have heard.
That’s nice of the ghosts to do such work, you decide, and wonder why everyone finds the idea so upsetting. If you were a ghost, you’d look after your old house, too.
The boat crunches up to the nearest pier. As you finally step ashore to the perfectly empty dock, luggage in hand, Mami says, feebly, “Well. What do you think?”
Behind you, the driver is revving the engine and heading back to the mainland. He does everything in a hurry, and doesn’t look back. Afraid of the bad luck that lingers, of the ghosts who still live here.
“It’s amazing!” Astonishment and awe paint your features. “I love it!”
“You do?” A look of surprise flashes across Mami’s face. “Well, that is very good. I hope you will not be bored.”
The idea of being bored leaves you dumbfounded. This is the first time you’ve been anywhere more than a few miles away from home. There were a few trips out when you were younger, to Lantau Island or once to Lamma Island, nothing exciting.
Other than that, you spent most days working at a local street restaurant. Weekends involved trailing after your perpetually exhausted mother as she combed the wet markets and dry seafood stalls for cheap foodstuffs. Drifting past incense-filled temples, which your parents never visited. Listening to war news on the radio for the final hours of every day. Dreading the air raid sirens, afraid of tomorrow’s dire headlines.
“I won’t be bored. I’ll be fine.” You’d have said so anyway, because self-sufficiency is the one thing she’s really needed from you these past few days. But in this case, you do mean it.
