Fiction: Group 3
An Old Man's Life
Diocesan Boys' School (Secondary Division), So, Justin - 12, Fiction: Group 3
his had been one of the coldest winters Hong Kong had seen for a long time. On Christmas Day
afternoon, an old man with a crooked back was standing alone on a deserted street. Only one shop
was opened: the Cha Chaan Teng located on the corner. The old man shivered in the cold,
wrapped his arms around himself, and entered the tea restaurant.
The old man sat down at an empty booth. Usually buzzing with activity and customers chatting
noisily, the Cha Chaan Teng was very quiet that day. Most of the seats were unoccupied, with only a few
people in the restaurant. The waiters were leaning against the bar counter, with not much work to do. The
oldest waiter, the one with whom the old man was friends, walked towards his table.
Whipping a pen from his ear and taking out a notepad from the chest pocket of his short-sleeved
white shirt, the waiter asked with a slow smile, “The usual?” Strangely, along with his smile came a hint of
melancholy.
The old man returned the smile and placed his veined hands on the cool glass surface of the table.
“The usual.” The waiter nodded and walked back to the counter, where a lot of “Black & White” cups
were piled - the traditional Cha Chaan Teng cups used for milk tea or coffee. Some cardboard boxes filled
with cutlery were lined up at the back, whereas some of the labels stuck to the wall, listing out signature
dishes, had already been taken off.
After five minutes or so, the waiter came back with a steaming cup of
yuanyang
and a golden
brown pineapple bun, a slab of butter peeking out from the centre.
“Is the restaurant moving to another location or getting renovated?” The old man inquired. He
would miss the look of the eatery- the ceiling fans revolving slowly above his head, the glass table tops with
the menus sealed under them and the square linoleum floor tiles under his feet.
“I am sorry, but the restaurant will be closing down tomorrow. Today is really the last day we are
open to diners. The increasing rental costs forced our boss into shutting down the business. Please enjoy
your last meal here.” The waiter gave the old man a hearty slap on the back- a gesture that seemed to speak
a thousand words - and retreated to tidy up the kitchen.
The old man stared down at his freshly baked pineapple bun in shock. Then he looked at the
ragged teen sitting sullenly at the table next to him.
I was twelve when I came to Hong Kong with my parents from Mainland China, from a small
village along the Pearl River. We smuggled ourselves into Hong Kong territory by swimming for three
days. We were completely exhausted and dripping from head to toe. Having finally settled down at the
home of a friend of Father’s, Mother gave me a few coins and told me to get some food. I found a Cha
Chaan Teng just a rock’s throw away, completely unaware that it was a culinary landmark of Hong Kong,
and ordered the cheapest item on the menu - the pineapple bun. I was quite curious about how it would
taste, and the unassuming little bun exceeded all my expectations. The bun itself was crunchy and tender,
but it was the slab of butter that really was the creamy highlight of the snack. At that moment, with my
stomach finally full after days of gnawing hunger, I thought this had to be what Heaven tasted like. That was
sixty years ago. And to think I can never order this bun again from this place, or come back for afternoon
tea. This had really been a second home.
The old man glanced at the father and son a few tables from him. The father was sipping his milk
tea slowly while watching his son devour a huge plate of curry. The son burped after almost licking his hand
clean - but out of nowhere the waiter presented a piece of glistening Hong Kong style French toast with a
flourish. The old man held back a chuckle as the boy exclaimed in greedy excitement.
I was eighteen, having just received my HKCEE results that morning. Father brought me to this
Cha Chaan Teng to reward me for my excellent grades. He let me order whatever I wanted. I decided on
the sumptuous beef brisket curry along with the delicious French toast. The ingenious use of exotic spices
paired with beef brisket braised to perfect tenderness was unforgettable. I realized I had discovered my
favourite dish despite panting for a glass of water due to the aggressive chili - but that moment was all the
more memorable because of Father’s proud gaze as I devoured the meal.
T
