7. The Bullet

Children growing up in my generation were generally poor.  Toys were expensive, luxury items that might come around only once a year, usually on birthdays.  For the rest of year, we would make our own toys.  Icicle sticks, cardboards, metal bottle caps, rubber bands, pieces of strings and plastics and other household items could be turned into a truck, boat, airplane, helicopter or pistol with the right imagination and lots of glue.  They were the “LEGO” pieces of our generation.  

Girls would probably make their own dolls from materials they found around the house, but I paid them no mind.  To supplement the household material, the children would scout the neighbor dump site for any items of interest.  This story is about one particular item that I found in one of my scavenger hunt that would damn near cost my life.

One of my favorite hunting grounds was a stretch of pebbles and debris on the tide line near the old Mongkok pier.  Many fisherman boats were anchored there.  I had found many odd items and articles among the piles of junk, some were stuff washed up to shore, some were stuff dug up from the ground, most came from unknown origin.  We called the spot “Treasure Island”.   

On that fateful day, I was walking along Treasure Island toward one of the junk piles.  Something of an interesting shape caught my eyes.  I took a closer look.  It was partly covered by debris, but its shape was unmistakable: a bullet!  It was a long bullet with copper casing that had turned greenish due to corrosion.  I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket and immediately headed for home.  There was work to be done and I was eager to begin. 

Everything that I found in my scavenger hunt, I would clean and study before I put away.  Hence for the next hour or so, I was scraping the bullet, sanding it until it was smooth all over and polishing it with a special copper cleaner.  Then I examined it closely.  It was a rifle bullet with a long red copper tip and a yellow copper (bronze) casing.  It felt heavy in my hand and it looked like a golden, shiny sculpture of aerodynamic shape.  

After my tender loving restoration, this bullet had never looked this good before.  For a moment I was held in awe by this beautiful masterpiece.   Then I put it in my shoebox among my other treasure finds.  

The following day, I ran into Ah Wah – a boy who lived on our flat.  Although he was only two years older than I was, he was highly regarded by us (the kids in the neighborhood) as street smart and tough. 

He earned his reputation for constantly getting into mischief and when his mother used the chicken-feather duster on him (which took place with predictable frequency) he never cried.  That alone was sufficient reason for us to hold him in the highest esteem. 

“Ah Wah, take a look at this,” I placed the bullet in his palm.

“Wow!  It’s a bullet, Ah Yuen.  Where did you find this?”  

“On Treasure Island.”

“Did anyone else know about this?”

“No, I found it yesterday and I spent two hours cleaning it up.”  I was obviously proud of my restoration work.

“What are you going to do with it, Ah Yuen?”

“Well, I’m keeping it in case I need something for a make-belief rocket, space ship or submarine, or something like that.”

“But a bullet can be dangerous.  It might explode - BOOM!” he said, throwing up his hands to dramatize the effect of such an explosion.  

“I don’t think it’s still dangerous after it’s been out there all this time,” I said with all the certainty that could be mustered by a seven-year old.

“You can never be sure,” he said, “unless…unless we test it.”  He was right.

“How do we test it….without it blowing up in our face?”  My curiosity was piqued.

“I don’t know.  I need time to think.  Meanwhile you better keep this in a safe place.  I’ll come up with a plan, probably by tomorrow.”

Needless to say, I was proud and excited.  Proud because I found something that baffled even Ah Wah, the smartest kid in the block; excited because I would soon be part of a difficult, perhaps even dangerous experiment.  The following day was a Saturday.  The flat was near empty in the morning because all the grown-up were at work.  Ah Wah came to my room.

“It’s time, Ah Yuen.  Where’s the bullet?”  I took the bullet from my shoebox.  He led the way to the kitchen.  It was empty.  The sun was shining brightly through the window.  We went inside.  He emptied most of the fuel out of a kerosene stove (a smart thing that he did), lighted it and adjusted it to a low flame, put my bullet inside a metal pot, put the lid on and placed the pot on the stove.  

I was the first one out of the kitchen…I had quick reflexes!  He followed right on my heels and closed the kitchen door behind him (another smart thing that he did!) 

Then we stood outside the door in the dark hallway.  A minute might have passed but it felt like eternity because while we were holding our breath, our hearts were pounding at high gear!  Then we heard a loud “BOOM” like one of those giant firecrackers during Chinese New Year, and the most amazing thing was: we saw strands of daylight coming through the thick kitchen door! 

The bullet exploded in the pot, sending pieces of shrapnel in all directions, piercing holes in every pot and pan in the kitchen (and there were many pots and pans in the kitchen that morning!)  Those hitting the door punched dime-size holes and that’s how we saw daylight shining through!   

When the grown-ups investigated the incident, Ah Wah was the natural suspect.  When questioned, he admitted all charges, and he named no accomplices.  I didn’t come forward because there was no sense in getting both of us punished for the same offense.  True, it was my bullet, but it was his idea to test it.  But anyway, there was a code of honor among the kids living in our block which basically said: don’t volunteer any information to the grown-ups, the less they know, the better off we are.  

Later that day, Ah Wah and the chicken-feather duster had another very close encounter in their room.  We could hear his mother whipping the CFD across his back, again and again.  Yet, we heard no cry from him, not even one single sound or groan or protest.  Ah Wah was one tough kid.  

His family moved from our flat shortly after this incident and we never met again.  But Ah Wah’s influence lingered on:  I decided that someone should become the “tough kid” in his absence, to carry the banner so to speak.  From that point on, I would not cry when the CFD was used on me.  My mom couldn’t figure out why and it bothered her to no end, but that didn’t stop her from using the CFD on me until I entered secondary school.  

Many years later, I learnt that Martin Luther King advocated passive resistance as a way to protest against racial discrimination.  Many protestors were hurt; some were even killed before the US Government passed the Civil Rights Act.  I believed Ah Wah had a similar idea when he used silence as a protest against corporal punishment, and I was proud to be his follower.

-To be continued-