Fiction: Group 4
and eventually stopped in front of it. The elderly lady saw him gaping at the delicacies, and invited him in
for dinner with a sympathetic look. Wei-Hai, racked by a sudden wave of insecurity, ran into the darkness,
as the light from the shop diminished behind his back.
On the following pay day, the occasional thunder tore through the silence of the crowd of coolies that
huddled around the platform. A storm hung waiting over them like a funeral shroud. Wei-Hai announced
that there was to be no compensation for the overtime. He went home, with the satisfying, yet guilty sound
of coins in his pocket.
During the next months and years worldwide recession began to affect Brandon & Co. like a long,
foreboding storm. It was 1931, and Wei-Hai, though barely twenty-three, was looking older than his
years. He stared into his cheque books, marked in red here and there. He looked out and saw Ping, still
muttering away while hauling the cargo. He saw Keung, still in his position one step behind Ping, acting as
his echoing machine. He sought for Chi-Wo, even though he knew it was futile: He had never seen him
after that gloomy pay day when the coins rang in his pocket and not the others. He slammed his cheque
book shut and took two sheets of paper and a stack of coins. Before he left the office, he first stored away his
share of the wages.
‘Everyone, the company can’t afford so many workers anymore. The first list announces the people who
will no longer work for Brandon &Co.. The next list are workers who will have their wages reduced by 20
per cent.’ He sank the names on the list into the bottom of the harbour, shackled to his heart.
Wei-Hai, the Chinese foreman, could hardly navigate his way to the office the following morning. A grey
dullness engulfed everything, the rain and the thunder struck Wei-Hai like a million arrows. He waded on
into the mass of people and climbed up the platform even though the rain was close to pushing him down
under again.
‘You
hon gan
! What did you promise us when you first became foreman? And now you bend in front of
those snobs!’ shouted Ping.
‘There is a recession going on in the world, and the company has to cut costs. Gentlemen, we are all in this
together, including me.’ Wei-Hai stood on the platform and tried to make himself heard over the shouts.
‘We’re not budging till we get what we deserve!’ roared Ping. ‘We won’t leave. Traitor! You betrayed us!’
the coolies raised their voices and the words ricocheted back into Wei-Hai’s ears, sending him tumbling
down the platform, tumbling into his own abyss of thoughts. Wei-Hai was suddenly alone, his vision
splattered with rain drops, and etched deep was the word ‘traitor’ in every drop.
Mr Brandon would have none of this nonsense. He literally threw the evening paper across the office and
nearly hit Wei-Hai as he slouched into the office, the same soaking duckling he was several ages ago.
‘Look what you’ve done! I have wasted so much time and money on you, is this how you repay me? I told
you to cut back on costs, not to start a strike!’
‘I’m… I’m sorry, Mr Brandon. But the workers, they just want to feed their families.’
‘And I have many more mouths to feed than you bunch of imbeciles. Now see to it that this matter is
resolved, or you will find another way to feed your family,’ raged Mr Brandon.
Wei-Hai left the offices and went homeward, the rain still pouring relentlessly upon him as he trudged
home into the dark streets. The dim light of the dried seafood shop caught the corner of his eye again. The
elderly lady was standing by the door, handing out umbrellas to those who were going home. The
remaining workers helped her barricade the doors against an expected typhoon. A small section of the
shelves were already empty, and she looked a little sad, but the number of workers remained the same.
