A Gold Mountain of His Own

The gargantuan wave came up from under the boat and reverberated through the deck, tossing Chung left and right. The primordial pounding and groaning of waves obliterated all other sounds and sensations, and Chung could not wait for land. Everyone was in the same position as he was on this ship.

“Ah-Chung!” yelled a man standing to his right. Chung looked over. It was Wong, who sold him the daily catch of fish in his village. He was an aging man, close to 40, but his hands were already gnarled and his calves bore a resemblance to old tree trunks.

“Ah-Wong!” Chung yelled back. Wong looked delighted that someone he knew was literally on the same boat as he was. He strode over with the gait of a fatigued man, but still very much bright and merry, flask full of beer in hand.

“Are you here looking for Gold Mountain as well?” asked Wong.

Chung replied, “Ah, yes, yes, I hear there is so much gold over in white man’s land that there are peaks and valleys made of it!”

Wong beamed. “That’s right, my little brother! The new world is ours for the taking!”

They both laughed a boisterous laugh.

“To a prosperous future!” Chung grinned. Wong raised his flask high, high into the air, and they both secretly prayed the scent of the wine would appease the gods up above.