A Different Sky by Meira Chand Read Free Book Online Page B

compound with a broken gate standing open upon one hinge. Above the gate was asign that read HO PROSPERITY BISCUIT COMPANY . The rickshaw stopped before a dilapidated house behind which corrugated factory sheds were visible. Tiles were missing from the roof of Mr Ho’s bungalow, and the shutters like the gate hung crookedly. A sweet smell of baking pressed about them as the rickshaw drew to a halt. Raj jumped out and helped Mr Ho down.
    â€˜You have been very kind. Have some refreshment before you go. Taste my biscuits,’ Mr Ho smiled.
    Raj hesitated but the vanilla-edged scent was overwhelming and after the happenings of the afternoon he was both hungry and thirsty. He followed Mr Ho up some steps and on to a veranda stacked with old chairs and wooden crates. Mrs Ho, plump and grey haired, hurried out of the house followed by her pregnant daughter-in-law, Yoshiko. As both women fussed about the breathless Mr Ho, the noise of shouting came to them from the direction of the biscuit factory behind the house. Mr Ho turned in alarm with a wheeze of distress and, ignoring Mrs Ho’s pleas, hurried back down the steps and disappeared around the side of the bungalow. Mrs Ho gave a small moan and followed, her daughter-in-law and Raj trailing behind.
    â€˜What is happening?’ Raj asked the young woman, from whom he caught the scent of crushed flowers. The loose shift she wore already pulled tightly across her thickening body and he realised her baby must soon be due.
    â€˜Again the workers are troubling us. The communists encourage them to strike,’ the daughter-in-law explained as they hurried towards the factory, her eyes fixed on Mr and Mrs Ho a distance ahead.
    Raj observed the luxuriance of her hair pulled back into a soft bun and the creamy quality of her skin, like the petals of a magnolia. Another roar from the factory made Yoshiko Ho exclaim in alarm. She broke into an awkward run, her hands supporting her heavy belly, Raj keeping pace beside her. Ragged palms fringed the two factory sheds before which a group of workers were gathered. They shouted, punching the air with a loud chant that was now all too familiar. More men were spilling out of the building to join the agitated assembly.
    â€˜They are turning today’s Sun Yat-sen anniversary into a communist demonstration wherever they see an opportunity,’ Mr Ho gasped as Raj and Yoshiko reached him.
    â€˜What are they saying?’ Raj asked.
    â€˜Workers of the World Unite. Stand up to the Imperialist traitor Ho. Down with Ho Biscuits. Down with Imperialism,’ Mr Ho replied, passing a hand wearily over his brow. With Mrs Ho hanging on to his arm, trying unsuccessfully to hold him back, he began to walk towards the unruly crowd. Yoshiko gave a groan and crossed her hands protectively over her swollen belly. Raj hurried forward beside Mr Ho who was wheezing alarmingly again.
    â€˜Send Yoshiko back inside – who knows where this may lead!’ Mr Ho shouted to his wife before turning an anxious face to Raj.
    â€˜Feelings are high and our daughter-in-law is Japanese. There are always mixed feelings about the Japanese. We have had many boycotts of Japanese goods in the last few years,’ Mr Ho explained, squeezing out words between asthmatic rasps.
    Work in the factory sheds with their boiling vats of syrup and baking ovens was hot and sweaty labour. The men now facing Mr Ho were stripped to the waist, but the powerful sight of so many gleaming muscular bodies massed together, alert and waiting, did not deter him. He walked forward, hatted and spatted and wheezing, the watch chain across his linen waistcoat gleaming in the sun. From the factory sheds the mouth-watering smell of Ho Biscuits continued to float above the angry men with their loud cries of Imperialist Ho.
    â€˜Listen to me,’ Mr Ho shouted, but his voice quickly sank beneath the din. The workers moved restively, the blood high in their faces, determined to