Fiction: Group 4
The Dead Fish And Other Dreams
Good Hope School, Chik, Eva - 15, Fiction: Group 4
ritain, 1925. I stared at the fish in the coffin.
“Farewell, Pearl.”
No one has ever seen Pearl. Only me. Now that I remember, him as well. The ghost fish, as the
staff in the aquarium would call it. They heard about it, its appearance and tales, but never seen it. Some of
my closer friends would call me cruel; hiding such a mystic creature and praising it in front of them, but
never let them see its beauty. I would always say, “I cannot show you because I made a promise.” Promises
are important, I think. No matter it is a promise about getting sweets at the confectionary for your child or a
promise you made about not showing a fish to anyone ever.
Pearl was lowered into the ground. My memories at Pearl River surface above my head.
1911, China. I have followed my parents to a remote village next to the Pearl River. My parents never told
me where exactly we went. So, my parents and I boarded the ship headed to China, carrying suitcases of
research materials and a limited knowledge of Chinese, we settled down in one of those village houses. As a
sensible 10 year old boy, I started looking for friends to play with.
There was a boy I lived next to. He has long braided hair, skinny and wore tunic-like clothing. Whenever I
say hello to him, he smiles at me but never say a word. As days passed by I cannot stand the boredom of the
rustic life, so I decided befriend him.
It was a bright morning. I went to play in the river. When I was walking along the river bank, I saw him
washing some clothes. I bent down, and using my crummy Chinese, I said, “Hello. My name is Arthur.
What is your name?” He stared at me for a moment.
“H-hi. I am Cheung.”
“Do you want me to help with the clothes?”
“Y-yes, thank you.”
We picked up the clothes and walked along the river bank.
“So… How old are you?”
“I’m ten. You?”
“Me too! You know, this place is like, really pretty! Especially the river. When the sun shines, the light
reflects and it’s like… it’s like, a movable drawing!”
Cheung look at me with shining eyes. His black eyes black eyes mixed with the light, like coins in the well
when light reflects. As round as pearls, his pupils went even bigger, even rounder. His lips, from two corners
slowly rises, flashed a bring smile, took the clothes on my hands, bowed, and ran off.
Ever since that day, we have been inseparable. We went to play in the mountains, to pick flowers in the
woods. We’d collect water from the river, bring it home, and then return to the river to play with the tiny
fishes. We lived in the final months of the Qing dynasty. So, when he still had his long hair, I like to tease
him by putting flowers in his braid. He always flung his head vigorously so to express his distaste for it.
Every time he does that it reminded me of Sally back home, always shaking the flowers out of her hair the
boys have planted. It was like a tornado of petals.
The year 1912 came. It was February and the Qing dynasty have collapsed. Everyone can now cut off their
braids and have short hair, like modern men. Everyone was eager to cut off their braids, so does Cheung. I
offered to cut his hair, and I showed him some hairstyles from the magazines my parents owned. He chose a
style, I tried to cut and style it in that way. I wouldn’t say it was a good haircut, but Cheung did not say a
word. His eyes went teary and start rambling. “After so many years—we Han Chinese finally got rid of the
Jurchen people! So many years of dishonour—finally washed away like the dirt in the river!” He held my
hands and said thank you for releasing him from humiliation. I never knew he was the patriotic type.
Spring blew the worrisome winter away and the trees that are dead came back to life. So, Cheung and I
took a basket, went to look at the flowers that blossomed. We went to our favourite tree, next to the river
and around the deepest part of the village. That tree was huge, very suitable for climbing. Most of all, it was
beautiful. We all have an eye for beauty. People in my life often spoke of boys should not look at trees and
exclaim its’ beauty, but I thought that if boys cannot like things that are pretty, then what is the point of life?
To live, is to enjoy, to appreciate what God has installed for us. I don’t care if society says it’s okay or not,
B
