Fiction: Group 4
New Tales of the Pearl River Delta
Dulwich College Beijing, Chan, Elvis - 13, Fiction: Group 4
taring down, I am mesmerized by the receding tides that leave a glossy sheen on the beach of shingle.
In an instant, the guano-splattered rocks magically morph into glistening pearls that washed up from
the unforgiving depths of the ocean. The spray of the seawater distorts the lights for a moment, and
then it shimmers as it reveals a sunbow, proudly laying out its colours for all to admire.
I reach my hand out in an attempt to catch the beam, but stop dead in my tracks when I hear the
deafening blare of an approaching junk. The water submerges the pebbles one again and waves ripple across
the surface in an angry protest before dissipating into nothing. Leaping into the frigid water, I charge
towards the approaching junk.
I have been waiting for this day my whole life!
From this distance, I can faintly make out a figure frantically waving his arms around. It has to be
Pa! I rush towards the junk with renewed vigour, the steep descent forcing the water up to my shoulders.
Even then, I tilt my head up and tiptoe in what I can only guess is the approximate direction of the junk.
The sun hits my eyes in a blinding flash. I shut my eyes a fraction of a second too late, with the sun still
dancing underneath my eyelids.
The junk is now so near that I can feel the thrum of the motors shaking me to the bone. It all feels
so familiar. After all this time that they left, I still remember the steady hum, the heavy swell, and the salty
tang… I am never going to forget the tender feelings of love.
My frail frame can’t suppress the shivers that snake down my spine. It takes me a moment to
register that it isn’t the numbing seawater or the overcast skies. It is the pure thrill to see Pa again after all
this time. Part of me feels like hugging him and never letting go, while another part of me feels like slapping
him in the face for leaving me here for these twelve long years. I feel torn between the two extremes on the
spectrum, each one tugging on me. While I puzzle over my first reunion with Pa in twelve years, the boat
reaches shore. I snap back into reality and wade through the water as quickly as I can. For the first time, I
have the chance to examine Pa’s features in detail.
He has grey, stormy eyes that tell stories of raging storms out at sea. He looks older than most men
of his age, but underneath his tanned and calloused skin hides a more youthful man. He wears a shaggy
white beard - not in an attempt to look like a stereotypical fisherman, but just to keep his face warm on
gusty, blustery mornings. It is unmistakably him.
Clutching hands, Ma and I step gingerly onto the deck and fall into Pa’s embrace.
“I missed you two so much!” he mumbles.
“Me too!” is all Ma can muster before breaking down and sobbing like a young girl.
The mellowness of her voice feels a bit too quiet after hearing Pa’s gruff voice. They are about as
incompatible as oil and water; I stop to ponder how they came about liking each other in the first place.
“A fisherman’s first catch determines his fate. Good luck, boy!” he says in his gruff voice before
slapping me on the back and handing a net over to me.
I cast my net into the water, silently mumbling prayers for a good catch. I close my eyes and
breathe in slowly. Suddenly, I feel a sudden jerk and clumsily hoist my net up.
Time seems to stop.
S
