Fiction: Group 4
They turn their heads and stare expectantly at me with their breaths held.
My heart pounds in my ears.
It takes all my effort to pull the net up onto the deck. I feel it slipping away, its weight threatening
to pull me off board. I grimace when I feel my sweaty palms slip against the coarse rope of the net. I feel like
I am going to tip over before I grasp onto the side for dear life.
They’re watching with widened eyes now.
I regain balance and tug on the rope with all my might, eventually falling backwards onto the deck,
pulling the net behind me. It lands mere centimeters from my head, so close that I can feel the spray on my
face. Hastily, I sit upright and my heart sinks.
The bag is full of pearls.
I steal a glance at Pa, afraid to make eye contact with him. However, to my relief, he is grinning
from ear to ear like a clown, his crooked yellowed teeth showing. I furrow my eyebrows, trying to read his
thoughts. But he manages to read mine first and, upon helping me to my feet, hugs me so tightly that I feel
like I am choking to death. He doesn’t seem to notice at all, too overwhelmed by his surging emotions. It
takes a few moments for him to get over his giddiness. “Fate is in your favour,” he finally manages to
whisper.
I drag the net filled to the brim with pearls and sit cross-legged on the deck of the junk. I wipe
beads of sweat from my brow, panting with exertion. I hear the most beautiful music when I pour them
out: the tintinnabulation is faint as fairy bells. As I examine them one by one, I notice the individual
personalities each pearl possessed. They show different eras in the history of the Pearl River Delta. Some are
sentimental of the past, showing yellowed films of my ancestor rowing boats and hauling up nets full of
pearls just like I had. Others are more forward-looking, showing high-resolution images of skyscrapers that
disappear into the clouds.
I pick the very first pearl and the very last pearl that respectively represent the past and the future.
No matter how hard I try to put one on top of the other, they always slip apart. But if I place them gently
side-by-side, they come together to form a larger, more beautiful picture. Just like Ma and Pa, as
incompatible as they may seem, the future and the past can coexist alongside each other to form an
interesting mix of both: skyscrapers next to junk boats, this is the present.
“It’s too heavy!” I hear Pa yelp out. He curses under his breath.
The boat sags. I thrust the pearls into the river, entrusting everything in its arms.
“Didn’t you want to keep them? They are pretty special after all,” Pa asks.
“Yes, but I’ll keep them at the bottom of the river where they belong, so that my descendants can
also admire their wonder and beauty!”
The boat floats back up, and then speeds ahead towards the vast expanse of the ocean. I turn back,
waving my final farewell to the river.
I know that the water will caress them with motherly love, pirouette alongside them with grace
and thrust a protective shield over them. Treasure these pearls, as they will be the last to appear, because the
past, present and future are already in the hands of the knowing Pearl River Delta. Without me knowing,
from the start to the end, the river has been connecting me with my ancestors, with my descendants, with
Pa.
