“Which side is right?”
“The side where your teachers and principal stand. Always follow what's been taught and you won't make a mistake.”
Tong thought about a few teachers he had seen the day before at the rally, the teacher who had sat behind the petition, and a couple of others standing in silence in the line, with their white flowers. “Don't think too much about these meaningless things,” Tong's mother said. “If you stay in line you'll never be in the wrong place. And if you do nothing wrong, you will never fear anything, even when the ghosts come to knock on your door at midnight.”
Tong thought of asking more questions, but before he could speak, someone pounded on their gate. His mother laughed. “The moment you talk about someone, here he is tapping on your door. Who would come at this late hour?”
Tong followed her to the yard and all of a sudden, his throat was gripped by fear. There was nowhere to hide in the yard except in the tipped-over cardboard box that had once served as a home for Ear. When his mother opened the gate to two bright beams of flashlights, Tong climbed into the box, holding his breath.
Tong's mother asked the visitors what they wanted, and someone answered in a low voice. Could there be a mistake? Tong's mother said, and Tong recognized fear in her voice. There must be a misunderstanding, she argued in a pleading tone, but the visitors seemed not to hear her, and one of them must have pushed her, because she stepped back with a small cry of surprise. Tong looked out and tried to recognize his mother's cotton shoes among the four leather boots of the visitors. Two men were walking toward the house now, his mother trailing behind; her husband was sick and he was in bed now, she lied, but the visitors ignored her entreaties. They went into the room and soon Tong heard his father, being awakened, question the intruders. They spoke in low and undisturbed voices, and hard as Tong tried, he could not hear what they were saying. “Let me be clear with you,” Tong's father said. “I didn't leave this house one step that morning.”
The visitors replied in indiscernible voices.
“There must be a mistake,” Tong's mother insisted. “I swear we're both law-abiding citizens.”
Tong climbed out of the box and crawled closer to the house. Through the open door, he heard one of the visitors speak in a calm voice: “We're not going to argue with you now. Our job is to get you to the station. You can talk all you want at the station, but here's the arrest order that you've seen. If you're not going to move, don't think we can't use force to get you out of here.”
“But, sir, can you wait till tomorrow morning? Why do you need him tonight, when you can let him sleep at home?” Tong's mother said. “We promise first thing in the morning we'll come in and clarify the misunderstanding.”
The visitors didn't reply, and Tong imagined the way they were looking at his father without acknowledging her voice. Tong had seen many men behave this way, ignoring women and, for that matter, all children, as if they didn't exist. He wished his mother could understand this and leave things for his father to deal with. “A woman's insight,” his father sneered. “As short as an ant's legs. Haven't you heard of the saying that
“There you go,” one man said, with a short chuckle.
“But what did he do, really?” Tong's mother mumbled.
“Black words on white paper,” another man said. “You can't argue with the police order.”
“Don't fuss, woman,” Tong's father said. “It seems that I have to condescend to a journey tonight. Why are we still standing and wasting our lives, brothers?”
“Here you go. A smart man you are,” one of the visitors said, and then clanked something metal.
“Do you need to do that?” Tong's father asked. “It's not like I'm causing a riot.”
“Sorry.” The handcuffs clicked. “Can't exempt you from that.”
“Can he bring some snacks?” Tong's mother asked. “It might be a long night.”
The visitors did not say anything. “What silly talk about snacks,” Tong's father said. “Cook a good breakfast and I'll be back tomorrow morning, when the misunderstanding is cleared up.”
“Some hot tea before you go? Is the coat warm enough? Do you want me to get the sheepskin out for you?”
“A good wife you've got for yourself,” one man said.
“You know how it goes with women,” Tong's father said. “The more you treat them like crap, the more they want to crawl to you on their knees. Now stop fussing like an old duck. Sleep tight and I'll be back soon.”
Tong retreated to the box and watched his father, still tipsy, leave with the two men in black uniforms. His father's hands were cuffed behind him but that did not stop him from talking intimately with the visitors, as if they were his long-lost brothers. His father's ease and confidence frightened Tong. He imagined his father's shock when he was shown his own name signed on the white cloth. Would his mind be lucid enough for him to point out that the handwriting was not his? But would the police then come with another pair of handcuffs for him? Tong wondered, and the thought frightened him. They would never give him the red scarf of a Young Pioneer.
When the two men left with his father and slammed the gate in his mother's face, she stood in a trance and then called Tong's name, and when he did not answer, she raised her voice and called to him again.
He did not reply, holding his breath, his blood pumping in his ears in heavy thumps. He watched her listen for a minute and then go into the house, still calling his name. If he tiptoed to the gate, he might have enough time to run before she caught him; if he jumped onto a passing night train, he might be able to get back to his grandparents’ village by the next day. Back at the village, nobody would blame him for anything; they knew him to be a boy destined to make a big and important name for himself.
Tong's mother came out to the yard, still calling his name in a low voice, but he could hear her panic now. He crawled out from the box and stood up. “Mama,” he said. “I'm here.”
IF SHE KEPT STILL ENOUGH in the chair, Nini thought, the ghost of Bashi's grandmother, if the old woman's ghost existed at all, would perhaps think Nini was part of the furniture in the room. Nini looked at the posters, Chairman Mao shaking hands with General Zhu, a fat boy holding up a cheerful golden carp, and a pair of red magpies chirping to each other as messengers of good luck, all of them dusty from coal ashes now, hanging dimly on the wall. The old woman would not like it if Nini did not keep her house neat and clean, Nini thought, slowly pulling one leg and then the other onto the chair and crossing them. In the bedroom Little Sixth stirred and cried a little, but after a while she fell asleep
