Sampan Sue
Ivor Hughes.
Suzi .. all bar girls in those days were called Suzi. She was Cantonese born and lived in a Sampan on the Kowloon side of Hong Kong Harbor and like mostof the Cantonese women she was small, high cheek boned with a fine boned frame,and so exotically feminine. Bar girls got paid for the amount of drink tabs theycollected from appreciative and intoxicated patrons. Behind the polished veneerof brittle glitz and seductive eyes was a girl child grown old before her time.
That is why we hit it off so well, for I was also a child who had grown oldbefore my time. Her recounting of the daily fight to eat amongst the forests ofsampans and the dark green oily water awash with garbage .. with everyoneemptying their night soil into that on which they floated .. and only floated bydint of the daily work of patching leaks and strengthening weak spots that keptout the sea .. the typhoon season was an annual ordeal ritual, which in essencewas similar to life in the city slums of Britain. Needless to say that marriageto a man of her own race was out of the question .. because of the stigmaattached to such an occupation by the Chinese people themselves.
Sue always left by 10pm each night having collected sufficient bar tabs topay for her room at a cheap Chinese hotel plus money for food and the occasionaldress and the other things that were needed for her trade .. and we would riseearly and take to the Chinese quarters off Nathan Road. Even at the crack ofdawn the streets would be teeming and pressure lamps hissed and sputtered .. andthe pervasive mixed smells, An exotic steaming cauldron of humanity.
Kowloon never closed .. the battle for survival was a 24 hour 7 day a weekslog. One could order and be measured for a tailor made suit at 3am, and go back24 hours later and there it would be .. beautifully tailored and laid for onesinspection and the fitting and the adjustments made on the spot .. and oh, thatfood .. one of my favorite dishes was fresh grouper laid on a bed of rice andtopped with greens and garnished with a seaweed sauce then baked to a nicecrusty brown on top .. a feast fit for Royalty at a cost of 20 cents. In thosedays a Hong Kong dollar was worth one English shilling and threepence. Meagerthough the price was, it was still a luxury for many of the denizens of thosecramped and narrow streets.
Occasionally it was necessary to visit the Herbalist to obtain relief from asurfeit of the local beer .. one look at my face .. no words were spoken and hewould fix me a repulsive infusion of nine herbs .. it always did the trick,rather like a Chinese version of the German J?germeister. The so calledTraditional Chinese Medicine practiced in Western Nations today was not to befound in those mean quarters .. that type of medicine was reserved for the wellto do.
Sue explained that orthodox Chinese medicine was far beyond the financialreach of the common peoples and that everywhere tradition was carried out by afolk herbalist and not by that of the orthodox medical school. Rickshaws wereeverywhere weaving expertly through the thronged streets carrying freight aswell as people, a well honed muscle powered taxi service.
We always took a rickshaw when Sue needed to buy a new cheongsam which wasthe uniform of the bar girl brigade .. she would stroke the different colors anddesigns of the many rolls of cloth and all the while keeping up a steady streamof Cantonese chatter with the seamstress .. who sat amidst tendrils of sweetChinese incense that beautified the air .. occasionally Sue would hold a foldagainst her cheek and gaze critically into a full length mirror.
And those perfumes .. exquisite .. subtle floral with a drift of a spicy endnote, which when applied behind those delicate ivory ears made the head reel ..and how we laughed, she would try one, a light dab behind the ear and then batthose black lashes at me and hold her cheek up to be kissed and even then shewould seek further approval .. you like? you like? she would say.
Sue was very proud of the fact that she had managed to purchase a decentfuneral for her parents, whose polished bones now enclosed in urns were restingin a little niche, high on a hill called Tai Mo Shan .. So now their earthlyremains sit high above the squalor and their vale of tears. I was once taken byher, on a special day in the Chinese calendar to visit with her parents .. weleft before dusk to catch the train back to Kowloon .. darkness had descended bytime we reached Sha Tin and Sue pointed back from where we came, and like goldendragon tails .. endless bobbing globes of light moving along the contour linesof that earthly abode of the ancestors .. multitudes of families would have madethat annual pilgrimage to honor the ancestors before the sun rose again.
I still wonder now and then .. what became of her, and hope that life waskind to her in return for her stolen childhood, for behind her armor she was thequintessential woman and in spite of the ever pressing needs of her life shenever hesitated to comfort and help where it was needed, and it was neededoften, but somehow she always retained her essence in a wallowing breaking seaof humanity.