October 2020 Winner
Blackbelt in Gold
by Philippe Savidis
As an old lady I still laugh when I remember dad’s dumb belt buckle. He had a narrow waist encircled by a black belt that seemed to squeeze his hips like a python whose glittering eyes peered from the belt’s giant buckle. It’s what they would nowadays call a statement buckle. Dad was entranced by the old westerns which played on an endless loop on the television. Those tough swaggering cowboys whose big belt buckles were amply supported by matching guts. Dad tried to affect a swagger but stopped when grandma almost choked from laughter. Dad wasn't at all offended but worried he might hurt his elderly mother temporarily abandoned the swaggering part. True to his Chinese roots dad’s belt buckle was not impressed with longhorn cattle but a big red fu, the Chinese character for luck. Carved in red steel he would roam the market and vendors would affectionately shout ‘Lao Kou (Old Buckle) come over for a chat’. With a theatrical flourish he would stop to polish his buckle and then saunter over. Whatever he lacked in mass he more than made up with humour and could soften the face of even the most hardened auntie.
That was until the war came, and the victory and when a passion for westerns made you an object of suspicion. This was also the beginning of the 'citizen navies' as they were bitterly called. Those flotillas of leaking boats leaving in the dead of night.
Dad woke us early one morning and we got up without a word. A bowl of steaming congee was on the table. It was bigger than usual and we ate in silence. The streets were empty at that hour but I noticed that dad walked with a wary eye that half expected an ambush at every corner. A small boat was waiting for us at the water’s edge and we stepped aboard. All that could be heard was the sound of the boatman as he strained against the oars. There, some way off in the delta sat a larger boat swarming with vessels just like ours. The captain sat bored as people pleaded with him. They offered up bricks of now worthless currency. I had never seen so much money. The captain would just bat them away like flies.
It was our turn now. We had no money. The captain looked at us with bored contempt as his subordinate barked the price. Mum gasped. It was a small fortune, but dad just smiled and with a gun slinger’s reluctance removed his belt. He rubbed away at the paint of the gaudy red buckle with his thumbnail to reveal gold underneath. The captain stood up took out a knife and removed a little more of the paint then bit down on it. It must have tasted right because he grunted and waved us aboard. Dad winked and just swaggered through imaginary saloon doors his fingers hitched on pants where his belt buckle had once glistened.