nose of Huang Laowan and pressed him to get underway. “Let’s shove off, uncle. See here, I’m supposed to be back in my unit by noon today. At times like this, a military order can topple a mountain!” Huang Laowan’s reaction to the hurried soldier was stone-cold silence. With a shrug of the shoulders, he perched on the bow of the ferryboat like a cormorant, gazing out at the rushing river water. A while later, a pair of officials who were returning to the commune from town came aboard and sat on opposite sides of the ferry. “Say, old Huang, let’s get underway!” one of them urged. “We have to be back to pass on the essence of our meeting.” “In a minute,” Huang said in a muffled voice. “I’m waiting for her.”
She jumped aboard carrying a balloon lute and sat down across from Jintong. She was powdered and rouged, but not enough to conceal her sallow complexion. The officials eyed her wantonly. “What village are you from?” one of them asked in a superior tone.
Raising her head, she stared at the man. Her gloomy eyes, which had been downcast from the moment she boarded the ferry, suddenly emitted a wild glare of hostility, causing Jintong’s heart to shudder; the look in the eyes of this sallow-faced woman left him with the feeling that she could conquer any man she chose, and could never be conquered by any man. The skin on her face sagged and her neck was deeply wrinkled, but Jintong noticed her slender fingers and polished nails, a good indication that she wasn’t nearly as old as her face and neck made her appear. As she glared at the official, she hugged the lute to her chest, as if it were an infant.
Huang Laowan got up and walked to the stern, where he picked up a bamboo pole and pushed the ferry out of the shallows, then turned it around and headed out into the river, leaving whitecaps in its wake as it slid forward like a big fish. Swallows skimmed the surface; the chilled stench of water weeds rose all around them. The passengers sat there morosely. But the official who’d spoken to the woman could not abide the silence. “Aren’t you that Shangguan who…” Jintong responded with a look of indifference; he knew what the man had left unsaid, so he replied in the manner he’d gotten used to, “That’s right, I’m Shangguan Jintong, the bastard.” The straightforward response and self-belittling attitude created an awkward moment, as the arrogance so common to people on the public payroll came under attack. That put him off stride, and class struggle, with clear insinuations, was his way back. The official studiously avoided looking at Jintong, keeping his eyes instead on Huang Laowan’s bamboo pole. “They say those secret U.S./Chiang Kai-shek agents are all from Northeast Gaomi Township, men who once served Sima Ku. I tell you, those with the blood of the people on them were all trained by an American adviser. Huang Laowan, can you guess who that adviser was? No? Fm told you’ve seen him before. He’s none other than the tyrant who threw in his lot with Sima Ku in Northeast Gaomi County, the man who showed all the movies, Babbitt! And they say that his stinking old lady, Shangguan Niandi, even threw a banquet for secret agents and gave each of them a fancy embroidered slipper sole!”
The woman with the lute stole a glance at Jintong; he could feel her eyes on him and saw her fingers quivering on the instrument’s sound box.
The commune official was just getting started. “Young man,” he said, “now’s the chance for you soldiers to do something for your country. The day you catch one of those secret agents is the day you stand tall among your countrymen!”
The young soldier whipped out his telegram. “I knew something big was up,” he said, “which is why I put off my wedding and am rushing back to my unit.”
When the ferry drew up to the opposite bank, the young soldier was the first to jump off. The woman with the lute held back, as if she wanted to speak to Jintong. “Come with us to the commune,” the official said sternly.
“Why?” she said nervously. “Why should I?”
He ripped the lute out of her hands and shook it. Something rattled around inside. He turned red with excitement, his wormlike nose began to twitch. “A transmitter!” he bleated. “Either that or a gun!” The woman rushed up to grab it away from him, but he stepped to the side, and she grabbed only air. “Give it to me!” she demanded. “Give it to you?” He sneered. “What’s hidden inside?” “A woman’s personal item.” “A woman’s personal item? Why hide something like that in there? Come with me to the commune, madam citizen.” A fierce look appeared on the woman’s gaunt face. “I asked you nicely to give it to me, son. You can beat the mountain to frighten tigers all you want. I’ve seen this sort of daylight robbery plenty of times. People who live off of others are nothing new to me.” “What do you do?” the official asked, his confidence beginning to fade. “That’s none of your business. Now give me back my lute!” “I’m not authorized to do that,” he said. “I’d like you to come with me to the commune.” “You steal from people in broad daylight! You’re worse than the Japs!” The official turned and ran in the direction of the commune headquarters – the onetime compound belonging to the Sima family. “Thief!” the woman shouted as she ran after him. “You thug, you lousy bedbug!”
Feeling that this woman was somehow tied to the Shangguan family, Jintong ran down the fate of his sisters in his mind. Laidi was dead, and so were Zhaodi, Lingdi, and Qiudi. Though he hadn’t seen Niandi’s body, he knew she was dead too. Pandi had changed her name to Ma Ruilian, and even though she was still alive, she might as well be dead. That left only Xiangdi and Yunu. The woman’s teeth were yellow and her head looked bulky. The corners of her mouth sagged when she yelled at the official, and a green light emerged from her eyes, like a cat defending her young. It had to be Xiangdi, the one who had sold herself – Fourth Sister, who had sacrificed so much for the family. What then had she hidden inside her lute?
Jintong was pondering the mystery of the lute when Mother, by then little more than skin and bones, rushed into the house. When he heard the door being bolted, he looked up in time to see her rush in from the side room. He called out to her and burst into tears at the same moment, like an abused little boy. Seemingly surprised to see him, she managed to not say a word. Instead, with her hands over her mouth, she turned and ran outside, straight to the water-filled wooden basin beneath the apricot tree, where she fell to her knees, grabbed the rim with both hands, stretched out her neck, opened her mouth, and threw up. A bowlful of still dry beans gushed out, sending water splashing out of the basin. When she caught her breath, she raised her head to look at her son, her eyes filling with tears. She tried to say something before she bent over and threw up again. Jintong looked at the frightening sight of his mother with her neck thrust out and her shoulders hunched down, as her body reacted to the spasms deep down inside. Once the retching had stopped, she reached into the water and scooped up the dried beans, a satisfied look spreading across her face. Finally, she stood up, walked over to her tall yet weak son, and wrapped her arms around him. “Why didn’t you come home before this?” she asked in a slightly reproachful tone. “It’s only a couple of miles.” Before he could reply, she continued, “Shortly after you left, I found work operating the commune mill, the one at the Sima compound. They tore down the windmill, so now it’s turned by hand. Du Wendou got me the job. The pay is half a catty of dried yams a day. If not for this job, I wouldn’t be here to greet you this time. Nor would Parrot.”
That is when Jintong found out that Birdman Han’s son was called Parrot. He was still in his cradle, bawling loudly. “Go pick him up, and I’ll make lunch for the two of you.”
Mother rinsed off the dried beans she’d scooped out of the basin and put them into a large bowl, nearly filling it. Noting the look of surprise on his face, she said, “I do what has to be done, son. Don’t laugh at me. I’ve done many bad things in my life, but this is the first time I’ve ever stolen anything.”
He rested his head on his mother’s shoulder and said sadly, “Don’t say that, Mother. That’s not stealing. Even if it were, there are far worse things than stealing.”
Mother took a garlic mortar out from under the stove and crushed the beans in it, then added cold water to make it pasty. “Go ahead, son, eat it,” she said as she handed him the bowl. “I don’t dare light a fire, or they’ll come to see what I’m cooking, and I can’t let that happen.”
“What made you think of doing this?” Jintong asked sadly as he gazed at her gray, slightly tremulous head.
“At first I hid them in my socks, but they caught me and made me feel lower than a dog. Then everyone began eating beans. Once, I was milling beans and tossed some into my mouth; my stomach felt heavy on the road home and I could hardly walk. I knew they could kill me, and that frightened me. I stuck a chopstick down my throat and brought them back up in the yard when it was raining, and so I just let them be. In the morning, I saw they’d all turned white in the rain, and Parrot was on his hands and knees eating them, remarking how sweet they tasted and asking what they were. Big as he was, he’d never even seen beans. He stuffed some into my mouth, and they were sweet and sticky, delicious. When they were all gone, Parrot clamored for more, and that’s when I got the idea. At first I had to use a chopstick to make myself throw up… oh, the feeling… but now I’m used to it, and all I have to do is lower my head… your mother’s stomach has turned into a grain sack… but I’m afraid today was the last time. All the women I work with at the mill have been doing the same thing, and the man in charge has noticed how much food turns up missing each day. He’s threatened to muzzle us…”
