Servers wearing aprons brought carts of food in bamboo steamers to our table. Bea and I pretended we were royalty being presented with the kingdom’s best gourmet meals on silver-domed serving platters. We sampled the food and chose which should be served in the palace. My favourite was cheong fan. I savoured the smoky-sweet barbecue pork. Bea loved the tender shrimp and pork shiu mai, while Mother relished the chicken feet. Father ordered the nuo mi fan and slowly peeled the lotus leaves open, revealing a ball of rice studded with surprises of pork, peanuts, and other tasty morsels.

After lunch, Father bought us ice cream for dessert. The day was hot and he wanted to walk by the Bow River, so we went towards Sien Lok Park. Father and Bea were ahead, walking quickly. After passing the two lions guarding the entrance to the park, Mother and I gravitated towards the large cone in the centre. The sculpture was called In Search of Gold Mountain.

“Where is Gold Mountain, Mom?” I asked.

“That is what Chinese people called Canada in the past,” she said.

“Why? Was there a lot of gold here?”

“It was called Gold Mountain because many people thought there were good opportunities to work and make money here. Many Chinese men who came sent money home, and those in China were able to build houses and survive.”

“Do Chinese people still call it Gold Mountain?”

“I don’t know. Maybe some feel it is still the land of opportunity.”

“Did you?”

“I didn’t think about coming here before I met your father. It was his dream.”

I held Mother’s hand tighter. She let it go and stopped walking to hug me instead. She looked into my eyes and kissed me on the forehead.

As we ate our ice cream, I watched the old Chinese men sitting around the sculpture playing Chinese checkers and other games I had never seen before.

“Mom, why are they out here playing games? Are only men allowed to play?” I asked.

“They’re the old men who first came to Canada. When they came, they weren’t allowed to bring women or their families, and now they have no one but themselves, growing old with no wives or children.”

Mother watched them like she was peering into the mirror and trying to smooth the wrinkles on her face. “Let’s go,” she said abruptly. “Your Father wanted to walk by the river.”

足Foot

IT WAS MIDSUMMER, and the buzz from our road trip had long dissipated. I peered out the open back door to see Bea sitting on the steps in her T-shirt and shorts reading a book, her hair was in two braids down her back. The door was wide open, and I was waiting for Mother to yell at her to shut it. Instead, she was transfixed by the view. The green trees climbing out of the ground in the backyard looked like a jungle, as if my sister were sitting at the precipice of another world. The grey, white, and blue of the kitchen framing the doorway looked sterile, antiseptic, and empty, while the world beyond looked alive, vibrant, and wild. I loved seeing Mother at peace.