Edited by Penn Lady
This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All rights reserved.
*
Owen Connolly was a big man. His back was broad and his chest barreled out. His arms were heavily muscled, his legs thick and stout. He towered over not only the Chinese workers, but his fellow Irish as well. With his perpetual scowl, foul humor, and propensity for violence, he also intimidated both in equal measure.
His dark, unkempt hair fell over his equally dark eyes, never quite enough to hide them or their seething depths. His face may have been handsome at one time, but his temperament had hardened the lines of his face and aged him past his thirty-odd years.
For all his ill-will, he seemed to spread it in equal portions across the workers. It was never specifically focused on either his countrymen or the foreigners brought in as reminders that they were expendable. Owen Connolly thrashed and cursed his away through both groups with equal disregard, focusing on whatever poor soul happened to have the misfortune of crossing him that most particular day.
Except for Qiang. For reasons he could not decipher, Qiang had unaccountably become a focus for Owen's frequent rages. He would go out of his way to antagonize Qiang and when Qiang failed to rise to the bait, he would vent his ire on him all the same.
"I don't know that I can manage much more of that barbarian," Qiang seethed to Fai after yet another dust up.
Fai nodded in sympathy. "He's a vexation, that's for certain. I would have thought he'd grow bored after a while and move on. But he seems fixated on you."
Qiang's scowl was as dark as any Owen wore. "Why do they even keep him around with all the trouble he causes?"
"He does half again the work of any of us and twice the work of any of the other Irish. I can understand why they wouldn't want to lose that kind of workhorse. It's not them that has to put up with his temper makes it even easier."
"If he's not careful, in time he'll wear thin on them as well."
"That will be a hard and sorry day for him. Sadly, I doubt anyone else will care."
The final straw came after a long day of driving spikes. In any labor Qiang and Fai shared, Qiang insisted Fai take the easier job. There weren't any truly easy jobs, but Qiang arranged what there was as best he could in Fai's favor. Any time Fai attempted to argue, he would somehow lose track of his thoughts.
Though Qiang was rarely as tired as the men around him, there were times the days labors took their toll on him as well. A long, hot day spent swinging a sledge hammer in the piercing sun was one of them. After work broke for the evening, Qiang went to gather water from a communal cistern. He saw Owen stomping over, tension etched into his muscles and flesh, no doubt to demand first access to the water.
Normally, Qiang would step aside. This day he was tired, thirsty, and in a bad mood of his own. He carefully braced himself while filling his container. When Owen slammed into him, Qiang didn't move, not so much as a step. Qiang heard Owen's breath escape with the force of the impact and smiled. A smile that quickly fled as Owen punched Qiang for all he was worth in the shoulder. Qiang dropped the water container and rounded on Owen, set to finally teach this man some much-needed manners. Qiang was momentarily surprised by the look on the man's face. He would have expected uncertainty, shock, even rage. The look he saw was glee, equal parts child-like and manic. Though surprising, it wasn't enough to quell his anger. Qiang curled his hands into fists and prepared himself for a right proper row as Owen did the same.
Then Owen was seized and pulled back as another man pushed himself between them. He was a bit shorter than Owen, though of a good height himself. His chestnut hair was sweat soaked and clung to his face. His blue eyes looked between Qiang and Owen before he turned and pushed Owen back.
"What are you thinking, you great big lummox?" he snapped. "Leave the poor China-man alone. He's never done nothing by you." When Owen continued to glare at Qiang the man pushed him for emphasis. "Go on, get you gone. Now." Reluctantly, Owen turned and walked away.
The strange man turned to Qiang. Qiang had seen him among the Irish workers, but couldn't immediately place who he was. Not one of the foremen, that much he knew. The man looked apologetic, then frustrated as he started to say something. He closed his mouth before any words came out. He exaggeratedly pointed to Qiang then pointed to the ground before turning to find a translator.
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"You didn't understand English by that point?" Chang asked.
"I did. I also understood the advantage of others not knowing that."
"Ah, I see." Chang smiled.
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The young man returned, translator in tow. The translator was a Chinese man of Qiang's acquaintance. While he didn't know the man well, he was impressed with the professionalism of his translation services. He was usually quite accurate about what was being said and relayed it impassively, resisting the temptation to add his own coloring on what was being said or who was saying it.
"Look, I'm sorry for Owen there. I know he's blusterous and quarrelsome and been nothing but a horse's ass to you for months now. And I wish I could say I knew why. But Owen's always been a bit odd. Not that it's any kind of excuse, I know."
Qiang paid close attention to both what the man and translator had said. While the translator had said "odd", the man had said "queer." Though English wasn't tonal as Chinese was, nuance was still very important. The verbal shading the man had given "queer" seemed to imply some meaning past merely "odd" and that stood out to Qiang.
He turned to the translator. "Odd?" he repeated with a gesture to the other speaker.
Dutifully, the translator turned and repeated, "Queer?"
The man looked about, then moved in close. "You repeat this to him at your own expense. He doesn't cotton much to reminders of the past. But his mother was a fairy doctor back in Ireland..."
The translator paused at "fairy doctor" having never heard the term nor having a translation on hand. The man sighed and looked down a moment, thinking.
"His mother was something of a healer," he said when he looked back up. "I suppose some would have called her a witch, though she enjoyed a good reputation to my understanding. She gave out poultices and salves for healing, read cards, and gave advice based on what the fairies said. I'm told she was a good woman, caring more for people's need than what she could get from them. So, young Owen was said to maybe have inherited some of all that from his mother, that his queerness came from the fairies. I know he was somber as a child and down right queer his whole life."
"What became of his mother?" Qiang asked.
The man's blue eyes became very sad. "Died in the famine, like so many others."
Qiang cocked his head. "Famine?"
The man shook his head. "That's all history now. Water under the bridge, as they say." He paused a moment, lost in thought. Then he caught himself. "So's anyway, I'm sorry he's got such burr for you. I'll try to keep him in line. He listens to me, sometimes. At least more than the others." He turned to leave and Qiang caught his arm. He looked back, confused.
