The Chinago Page #5

"The Chinago" is a short story by Jack London that explores themes of identity, conflict, and cultural clashes in the context of the Chinese immigrant experience in early 20th-century America. Set against the backdrop of the California Gold Rush, the story follows the life of a Chinese man, whose struggles with prejudice and societal expectations reveal the harsh realities faced by immigrants. London's vivid storytelling captures both the resilience and vulnerability of his characters, highlighting the complexities of race and humanity in a rapidly changing world.

• Novel

								

Chinago."

The sergeant remembered the long ride before him, and the pearl-trader's
daughter, and debated with himself.

"They will blame it on Cruchot--if it is discovered," the German urged.
"But there's little chance of its being discovered. Ah Chow won't give
it away, at any rate."

"The blame won't lie with Cruchot, anyway," the sergeant said. "It must
have been the jailer's mistake."

"Then let's go on with it. They can't blame us. Who can tell one Chinago
from another? We can say that we merely carried out instructions with
the Chinago that was turned over to us. Besides, I really can't take all
those coolies a second time away from their labour."

They spoke in French, and Ah Cho, who did not understand a word of it,
nevertheless knew that they were determining his destiny. He knew,
also, that the decision rested with the sergeant, and he hung upon that
official's lips.

"All right," announced the sergeant. "Go ahead with it. He is only a
Chinago."

"I'm going to try it once more, just to make sure." Schemmer moved the
banana trunk forward under the knife, which he had hoisted to the top of
the derrick.

Ah Cho tried to remember maxims from "The Tract of the Quiet Way." "Live
in concord," came to him; but it was not applicable. He was not going to
live. He was about to die. No, that would not do. "Forgive malice"--yes,
but there was no malice to forgive. Schemmer and the rest were doing
this thing without malice. It was to them merely a piece of work that
had to be done, just as clearing the jungle, ditching the water, and
planting cotton were pieces of work that had to be done. Schemmer jerked
the cord, and Ah Cho forgot "The Tract of the Quiet Way." The knife shot
down with a thud, making a clean slice of the tree.

"Beautiful!" exclaimed the sergeant, pausing in the act of lighting a
cigarette. "Beautiful, my friend."

Schemmer was pleased at the praise.

"Come on, Ah Chow," he said, in the Tahitian tongue.

"But I am not Ah Chow--" Ah Cho began.

"Shut up!" was the answer. "If you open your mouth again, I'll break
your head."

The overseer threatened him with a clenched fist, and he remained
silent. What was the good of protesting? Those foreign devils always had
their way. He allowed himself to be lashed to the vertical board that
was the size of his body. Schemmer drew the buckles tight--so tight that
the straps cut into his flesh and hurt. But he did not complain. The
hurt would not last long. He felt the board tilting over in the air
toward the horizontal, and closed his eyes. And in that moment he caught
a last glimpse of his garden of meditation and repose. It seemed to him
that he sat in the garden. A cool wind was blowing, and the bells in
the several trees were tinkling softly. Also, birds were making sleepy
noises, and from beyond the high wall came the subdued sound of village
life.

Then he was aware that the board had come to rest, and from muscular
pressures and tensions he knew that he was lying on his back. He opened
his eyes. Straight above him he saw the suspended knife blazing in the
sunshine. He saw the weight which had been added, and noted that one
of Schemmer's knots had slipped. Then he heard the sergeant's voice in
sharp command. Ah Cho closed his eyes hastily. He did not want to see
that knife descend. But he felt it--for one great fleeting instant. And
in that instant he remembered Cruchot and what Cruchot had said. But
Cruchot was wrong. The knife did not tickle. That much he knew before he
ceased to know.
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