“I was sure you were dead,” Mother said. “I’m surprised to see you’re still alive. I failed in my attempt to look after the children, and my grief is greater than yours because of it. You were their parents, but I was their guardian. It looks like you served the government well, and I hope you’re being well taken care of. Sixteen years ago, I followed our feudal customs in arranging your marriage. That is no longer how people get married in the new society. You are an enlightened representative of the government, while we are a family of widows and orphans, and you should leave us to live as best we can. Besides, Laidi didn’t really marry you. That was my third daughter’s doing. I beg you, leave us alone. Go let the government take care of you the way you deserve.”
Ignoring Mother completely, the mute poked his finger through the paper window and looked into the yard through the hole. Meanwhile, First Sister had found a pair of tongs dating back to her grandmother’s days and burst into the room holding them in two hands. “You mute bastard!” she growled. “You stump of a man, get the hell out of our house!” She went after him with her tongs, but he merely reached out and grabbed them in the air. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get them out of his grasp, and in the midst of this desperately unequal contest of strength, a smug grin spread across the mute’s face. Weakly, First Sister let go of the tongs and covered her face with her hands. “Mute,” she said tearfully, “whatever it is you’re thinking, forget it. I’d marry a pig before I’d marry you.”
A crashing of cymbals erupted out in the lane, followed by the shouts of a mob, led by the district chief, as they walked through our gate. He was followed by a dozen or more party cadres and a bunch of schoolchildren carrying bouquets of flowers. The district chief walked into the house, bent at the waist, and loudly congratulated Mother.
“For what?” Mother asked coldly.
“For heaven’s blessings, aunty,” he said. “Let me explain.”
Out in the yard, the children waved their flowers in the air and shouted, “Congratulations! Great honor and hearty congratulations!”
“Aunty,” the district chief said, “we have reviewed land reform material and have concluded that you were wrongly categorized as upper middle peasants. The decline in your family situation in the wake of all your troubles makes you poor peasants, and so we have reclassified you. That is the first piece of joyful news. We have also studied documents from the 1939 Japanese massacre, and have concluded that your mother-in-law and your husband had a record of resisting the Japanese invaders, and should be honored with the title of martyrs. They deserve to recoup their original status, and your family deserves to enjoy the benefits of revolutionary descendants. That is the second piece of joyful news. In line with these redressings and rehabilitations, the local middle school has decided to accept Shangguan Jintong as a student. In order to make up for the time he lost, he will be assigned a tutor, and your granddaughter, Sha Zaohua, will also be given the opportunity for an education. The county theatrical company is now taking students, and we will do everything within our power to see that she is among them. That is the third piece of joyful news. The fourth piece of joyful news, of course, is that the first-class hero of the volunteer resistance movement, your son-in-law, Speechless Sun, has returned home covered in glory. The fifth piece of joyful news is that the veteran’s convalescent hospital has taken the unprecedented step of recruiting your daughter, Shangguan Laidi, as a top-ranked nurse. She will be given a monthly salary but will not have to actually show up at the hospital. The sixth piece of joyful news is truly joyful. And that is a celebration of the reunion of the resistance hero and the wife from whom he was separated. The district government will arrange the ceremony. Aunty, as a revolutionary grandmother, you are about to be rewarded with six joyful events!”
Mother stood there, wide-eyed and mouth agape, as if she’d been struck by lightning. The bowl in her hand crashed to the floor.
Meanwhile, the district chief signaled one of the officials, who separated himself from the crowd of schoolchildren and walked up, followed by a young woman carrying a bouquet of flowers. The official handed the district chief a white envelope. “The martyr’s descendant certificate,” he whispered. The district chief took it from him and presented it to Mother with both hands. “Aunty, this is the martyr’s certificate.” Mother’s hands shook as she took it from him. The young woman stepped forward and laid her bouquet of white flowers in the crook of Mother’s arm. Then the cadre handed the district chief a red envelope. “Certificate of employment,” he said. The district chief took the envelope and handed it to First Sister. “This is your certificate of employment,” he said. First Sister stood there with her sooty hands clasped behind her back, so the district chief reached out, took one of her arms, and placed the red envelope in her hand. “You deserve this,” he said. The young woman placed a bouquet of purple flowers under First Sister’s arm. The official then handed the district chief a yellow envelope. “School enrollment notice,” he said. The district chief handed me the envelope. “Little brother,” he said, “your future looks bright, so study hard.” As the young woman handed me a bouquet of yellow flowers, her eyes were filled with extraordinary affection. The gentle fragrance of the golden flowers reminded me of the gold ring that still rested in my stomach. I wouldn’t have swallowed the damned thing if I’d known all this was going to happen! The official handed a purple envelope to the district chief. “The theatrical company.” The district chief held out the purple envelope and looked around for Sha Zaohua, who popped out from behind the door and took it from him. He shook her hand. “Study hard, girl,” he said, “and become a great actress.” The young woman handed Zaohua a bouquet of purple flowers. As she took the flowers, a shiny medal fell to the floor. The district chief bent down to pick it up. After reading what was written on it, he handed it to the mute, who was seated on the
“Aunty,” the district chief said, “do you have anything to say? Don’t be shy. We’re all one big, happy family!”
Mother cast a troubled look at First Sister, who stood there holding her bouquet of red flowers, the side of her mouth twitching all the way over to her right ear. A few glistening tears leaped from the corners of her eyes and landed on her flowers, like dew covering their petals.
“In the new society,” Mother said tentatively, “we should listen to our children…”
“Shangguan Laidi,” the district chief, “do you have anything to say?”
First Sister looked at us and sighed. “It’s my fate, I guess.”
“Wonderful!” the district chief said. “I’ll send some people over to put the house in order so we can hold the ceremony tomorrow!”
The night before Shangguan Laidi was formally married to the mute, I passed the gold ring.
The dozen or so doctors at the county hospital were organized into a medical group that, under the direction of a specialist from the Soviet Union, finally weaned me from my milk diet and aversion to regular food using the theories of Pavlov. Freed of that burdensome yoke, I entered school. My studies took off, and before much time had passed, I'd become the top first-year student at Dalan Middle School. Those were the most glorious days of my life. I belonged to the most revolutionary family around, I was smarter than anyone, I had an enviable physique and a face that made all the girls lower their eyes in shyness, and I had a voracious appetite. In the school cafeteria, I’d gobble down a huge piece of cornbread impaled on a chopstick and a thick green onion in my other hand while I was talking and laughing with the other kids. By the sixth month at school I’d jumped two grades and become the third-year class representative in my Russian class. I was admitted into the Youth League without having to apply and was quickly selected as a member of the branch propaganda committee, whose major function was to sing Russian folk songs in Russian. I had a strong voice, rich as milk and bold as a thick green onion, and I invariably drowned out all the voices around me. In short, I was the brightest star at Dalan Middle School during the latter half of the 1950s, and the favorite of Teacher Huo, a pretty woman who had once served as interpreter for visiting Russian experts. She often sang my praises in front of the other students, saying I had a gift for languages. In order to raise my proficiency in Russian, she arranged for a pen pal, a ninth-grade girl in a Soviet city, the daughter of a Soviet expert who had worked in China. Her name was Natasha. We exchanged photos. She gazed out at me with a slight look of surprise in her staring eyes, and lush, curling lashes.
