The last of the vegetables were harvested, and in March Ling brought the water buffalo and plowed our field.
“Here is your friend,” Ling said. “He tells me he is lonesome at night for his old roommate.”
After the field was plowed, Ling tied up the beast and together we sat beside the field in the shade of a clump of bamboo and ate our lunches, sharing our bean curd and pancakes and gratefully drinking our boiled water. The smell of the new earth was pleasant. A flock of black-and-white magpies explored the freshly plowed field for worms. The spring sky was a cloudless blue, and the bamboo leaves barely rustled in the still noon air.
I had never told Ling the story of my family. I told him now.
At first he listened as if I were telling some story out of a book, hardly believing in the tale. As I told the story, he saw the tears in my eyes and he believed.
“Chu Ju, how you must have loved your sister, but what might have happened to you could have been worse than what might have happened to your sister.”
“No. I had my freedom. No one could have bought and sold me. I might have been hungry, but that would have been the worst of it.”
“You were lucky. There are evil men who kidnap grown women. But tell me, now that you are older will you go back and see your family?”
“I don’t know. Han Na is my family now, and she needs me here. If I returned, my grandmother would say I was coming back to make trouble for them. Hua would still be in danger.”
“Chu Ju, I cannot say I would have done as you did, but I cannot say what you did was wrong. Only how sad your parents must have been to lose such a girl as you.”
ten
Still I put off my return, for April came and the planting of the new rice shoots, and after that Ling brought a pamphlet telling of how rice and fish might be grown together.
“The agricultural agent in the government office where I got you the pamphlet will give Han Na fingerlings to put in the paddy, and they will cost you nothing.”
“Fingerlings?”
“Read the pamphlet. They are tiny fish that will grow while the rice grows. By the end of August you will have two crops to harvest.”
I did not always believe in Ling’s pamphlets, for he had so many of them. Yet his orchard had grown from the pamphlets.
Han Na believed even less in the pamphlets. “I want nothing to do with the government,” she said. “It was the government that put Quan in prison for moving about in his own country. It was the government that told your parents how many children they could have, so babies are sold like so many bags of rice.”
“But Han Na, this is only the village agricultural agent. I have seen him at the teahouse with his birdcage. He whispers to his bird in such a sweet way. I am sure no trouble would come of it. In the pamphlet it says the fish eat not only the weeds but the mosquitoes as well. You know how you complain of the mosquitoes. Even if there were not enough fish to sell, there would be some for our meals.”
“I will ask the Zhangs for advice,” Han Na said.
The next day, though I begged her not to, she made the trip to the Zhangs’ home, returning out of breath and sinking down upon a chair, pale and shaking with the exertion of climbing the hill. The Zhangs had seen how Ling’s pear and plum and peach trees had grown from his pamphlets. They must have said as much to Han Na, for she reluctantly agreed to go with me to the agricultural agent and ask for the little fish. A nearby farmer was going into the village to buy straw and offered to take us there in his wagon and bring us back so that Han Na would not have to walk.
The government office was not like the detention center in Shanghai. There were no people sitting on long benches with sad faces, only the agricultural agent I had seen in the teahouse. The office was small and dusty, with pamphlets everywhere and with signs saying the pamphlets were free for the taking. Slogans were taped to the wall to encourage farmers to serve China by increasing their crops: A GREAT CROP WILL MAKE A GREAT COUNTRY and THE FARMER IS THE HEART OF CHINA.
The agent asked courteously what we wanted, and Han Na said, “We have a small rice paddy and you have small fish. We would like your fish for our paddy.”
The agent asked where the paddy was, and opening a large book, he turned the pages until he came to the place that showed Han Na’s paddy along with all the other paddies nearby. When he saw the paddy was there, he nodded as if pleased with Han Na’s request. “Yes, that is a good plan,” he said. “New fingerlings came this morning.” He went into a back room and returned with a basket in which there were plastic boxes full of water and hundreds of fish no more than a few millimeters in size. Laughing, he said, “When the fish are big, bring me one for my dinner.”
Han Na bowed and thanked the officer, gingerly holding the basket as if the little fish might escape from the boxes and attack her. Quickly she handed the basket to me and made her escape from the office. When we were outside, she said, “How can such tiny fish come to anything? It is foolishness. Still, the plastic boxes and the basket will come in handy.”
The fingerlings went into the rice paddy as the pamphlet instructed, and after that I had company as I weeded. The little fish swam between my toes and made small splashes as they rose to catch the mosquitoes. In no time they were as large as my finger. I brought Han Na to the paddy to see how they grew, and she shook her head in wonder, but she worried. “What if they eat the rice?”
“No,” I promised. “The pamphlet says they eat only the grass.” Still she did not believe in the pamphlet.
Now there were enemies to battle. The kingfishers came: the black-and-white ones with the feathery crests, the blue ones with the orange bills, and the ones with the fiery orange breasts. They hovered in the bamboo branches, and when my back was turned they dove into the water and flew away with fish in their bills. Even worse were the herons. There had always been herons in the paddies, for there were frogs and crawfish. Now they came more often. They stayed away in the daytime when I was there, but at twilight they waded through the paddies, their great, long legs moving so slowly that they hardly disturbed the water, their long, cruel beaks coming down mercilessly on the growing fish.
Still, many fish remained, and when August came, just as Ling had said, we had fish to sell.
“You must buy a net,” Ling said.
“I have a net all ready,” I told him. I had bought sturdy string in the village, and with the skill I had learned from Yi Yi, I had made my own net and fastened it to a bamboo pole.
Ling was impressed. “You catch them and I’ll clean them,” he said.
I laughed. “I can clean the fish much faster than you.”
It was true. For every fish that Ling cleaned, I cleaned two. Each day I caught enough fish to take into the village to sell, and each day I brought back money for Han Na. We had fish for dinner each night. Several of the fish were sent with Ling to the Zhangs, some of the fish we dried, and the largest fish I brought to the agent in the agricultural office.
There was no thought now of returning to my family, for Han Na had grown weak and kept to the house. At first I thought her illness was worry over Quan, but a letter came from Quan full of good news. Because of all the building in Shanghai and because of his skill as a stonemason, something he had learned from his ba ba, he had been given a residence permit. The threat of being arrested was over. Han Na smiled, but still the weakness grew. I urged her to see the village doctor, but she would not go to him.
“He can’t give me a new heart.”
Ling, who read the newspapers in the village, said that in some large cities new hearts were given.
Han Na was horrified. “Ah, and what if a cruel heart were put into my body? I would never take the chance.”
It was on the day when the last of the rice had been harvested that two policemen came by our house. They were not the familiar village policemen. Han Na was inside, and I was in the courtyard threshing the rice grains we were keeping for ourselves. The sight of the policemen sent my heart racing. Perhaps Quan w
as in new trouble or they had discovered that I had run away. The policemen paused when they saw me. They looked to me like the herons, tall and thin, and treacherous, as if they were ready to pounce.
One of the herons said, “We are looking for the Zhangs’ house and for Zhang Ling. Do you know him?” He smiled as he asked, but he was looking at me as if he were considering if I might make a meal.
“Zhang? No, I know of no Zhangs around here,” I said, and went back to my threshing.
They rounded a corner and were out of sight. I flew up the hill to the Zhangs’, taking a shortcut. Ling was cleaning out the stable and changing the beast’s straw.
“Policemen are asking for you,” I managed to get out. “I told them I didn’t know who you are. Ling, what have you done?”
“It must be the books,” he said. “I was careless in getting the last one, buying it from someone I did not know.” He began pulling several of his books from his shelf and throwing them onto a pile of the beast’s manure, shoveling the manure on top of the books. There were tears in his eyes. “They won’t look there,” he said in a grim voice. He turned to me. “Go back to your house at once. You told them you didn’t know me. They mustn’t find you here. And Chu Ju, thank you. You have saved me. Now, go, quickly.”
I saw the policemen coming up the hill and hid behind some boulders until they entered the Zhangs’ house. Then I fled to our courtyard and began to thresh again, all the while watching the path. It was an hour before the policemen marched down the path from the Zhangs’. Ling marched with them, but he did not look in my direction. My hands shook so, all the rice I had winnowed tumbled out of my basket and was lost on the stones of the courtyard.
Han Na had not been well and I did not dare to worry her. Instead, I ran again to the Zhangs’ house and found Ling’s ba ba and ma ma in the midst of upheaval. The neat rooms were turned upside down. Ling’s ma ma was sitting in a chair sobbing.
“They have taken my son,” she wailed.
Ling’s ba ba tried to calm her. “They found nothing. They will soon see their mistake and return him.”
I thought of the boy who had been arrested for speaking the truth but said nothing of my fears. “What happened?” I asked.
Ling’s father said, “Two policemen came and accused Ling of having forbidden books, but though they turned the house upside down, they could find no such books. Still they insisted on questioning him. He is a good boy and only tends his orchard. I told them to look at his trees and see if he was a dangerous man.”
I said what I could to comfort the Zhangs and left, stopping in the stable on the way. The pile of manure was untouched, and I patted the beast, grateful for the fine hiding place he had made.
All day I stayed in the courtyard, watching the path, but Ling did not return. At daybreak I was there again, still watching. I thought I might go into the village, for like everyone else I knew where the small jail was. But should the policemen see me, they would be suspicious, and that might make things worse for Ling. I could not worry Han Na with the story, and I was afraid to go back to the Zhangs, for the police might return there. I could only wait. Over and over I tried to think what books might be dangerous, over and over I thought of the woman’s son-in-law arrested for speaking the truth. If Ling’s books spoke the truth, maybe that was dangerous. Yet they had not found the books.
Han Na knew something was wrong. “You live on air, not eating your rice or fish.”
“I’m just restless. I’ve finished the threshing, and most of the vegetables have been planted.”
“Why can you not enjoy a little time to yourself? If you must do something, go and help Ling with his trees.”
But I could not help Ling with his trees. “I’ll go into the village and get more radish seeds. There is yet room for another row or two.”
I hurried off, relieved to have some errand. The road to the village followed one paddy after another. Like ours, the paddies lay waiting for the first radish seeds to sprout. Now there was only brown earth, with no bright green to lift the spirits. A rat scurried by in a ditch, and magpies hovered on a light wind. In one paddy a ma-que was snatching newly sown seeds. I thought that I must make another scarecrow so that our seeds would not be stolen by the little hungry birds.
As I passed the paddies, the farmers at their hoeing looked up. Some who knew me waved an arm in greeting and I waved back. It was early September and still warm. I longed to roll up my sleeves, but it would have been unseemly to appear in the village like that.
I could hear the sounds of the village long before I reached it. The old men sat in the teahouse, many of them with their birdcages. The butcher slew the flies that hovered over his meat, while the chickens and ducks clucked and squawked away in their cages. There was a crowd of children lined up to watch the dian-shi in the store window. The locksmith was sharpening hoes, and the man in the noodle shop waved, waiting for me to stop by for my bowl of noodles. I shook my head and hurried on. As I turned into the street that led to the jail—for I could not keep away from it—I saw Ling.
I looked hastily around, but no policeman was in sight; Ling was all by himself hurrying along the road. I ran up to him. I wanted to fling my arms around him, but such a gesture would never do. Still, I could not keep my hands entirely from him, for I was not yet sure he was really there.
He looked quickly around and, taking my hand in his, began to pull me away from the village. I saw that his hair was uncombed and his clothes were wrinkled, as if he had slept in them. His glasses sat crookedly on his nose, the nosepiece broken and fastened with tape.
“They kept me overnight, asking again and again about my books, but they had not found them and there was nothing else against me. I told them of how I had made the orchard and begged them to talk to the agent in the village government office, who has helped me through his pamphlets. They did talk with him, and he told them I was just a farmer. Still, they will keep an eye on me.”
“How did they know about the books?”
“I send away for them and there are spies everywhere, even in the post office where the books are mailed. I have been foolish and have given my parents trouble and worry.”
As we talked, we hurried along the uphill path toward Ling’s house and I was out of breath. “Are you finished then with such books?” I managed to ask.
“I don’t know. I hope the day will come when everyone can have books that tell the truth.”
I told Ling, “When I traveled to Shanghai, I talked with a woman whose son-in-law was arrested and sent to a reeducation center because he spoke the truth. If you have books that speak the truth, isn’t that just as dangerous?”
“Dangerous, yes, but it is the books I had that make us remember what has happened to such people as the man you speak of. Are we to forget them? It would make their arrests even worse.”
There was no more time for talk. Ling’s parents had seen us in the distance and were running toward us. I turned back to Han Na’s house. It would have been unseemly for me to be at the Zhangs’ at such a time. Behind me I could hear their happy cries. I was crying as well, but whether with relief or worry I could not say.
eleven
Once more Ling plowed the paddy and the rice was planted and the little fish swam about. I worried less about Ling, for there had been no more policemen. Ling and I had worn a path up and down the hill between our houses. After our work was through, we rested in the long twilights, chewing sunflower seeds and talking. Though we were together nearly every day, still there was always something new to say to each other. One evening while we sat in Han Na’s bamboo grove, half hidden from sight, a pair of cranes dropped down onto the rice paddy. We were pleased, for cranes, which mate for life, are much admired for their faithfulness and considered good luck. The tall, long-legged, gray birds with their brown-tipped wings and slender white-striped throats began to call to each other in a kind of duet. Then began a courting dance. The one bird would fly up and flutter about, and then the
other bird would leap about doing the same. After they flew away, we were silent, for each year there are fewer and fewer cranes. After a moment Ling smiled and said, “I will practice that dance, Chu Ju, if you will also,” and our sadness left us as we laughed.
There was another sadness. Han Na’s weakness had been increasing, but it had been so gradual that I had become used to her waning strength. Each day she did a bit less, and each day I undertook a bit more. With just the two of us and the two rooms, there was little to do in the house, so I thought nothing of the few tasks that fell to me, but on the first day of the fifth moon Han Na did not get up from her bed.
She would not eat the rice gruel I brought to her. She put it aside and asked me to sit with her. “Chu Ju, you are a farmer now. You see how the rice is sown in the spring and harvested in the fall; one follows the other, and the harvesting is as necessary as the sowing. I am coming to the end of my days, Chu Ju.”
“No, Han Na,” I cried. I hung on to her hand, which was as dry and light as a piece of paper. “We will find a doctor to make you better.”
“The knowledge of a doctor will make no difference. I listen to my heart at night, and that is all the knowledge I need. I have been fortunate, Chu Ju. My hard times are long past. My husband loved the land and worked until he owned a bit of it. My son is safe, never mind that he is far away. He is happy where he is, and he has not forgotten me or shamed me. I would have given much to have him bring a wife and one day a grandchild to meet me, but there will be no time for that. I am content with what I have.” She clasped my other hand. “It was a fortunate day, Chu Ju, when I saw you. Now you must write to Quan and tell him to come and see me. Tell him he must come at once.”
I wrote the letter and we waited for Quan. One day followed another, and each day Han Na grew weaker. Though she was against it, I went to the village and gave the doctor money to come to the house.
“You must go to the hospital in the next village,” he told her, “and you must do it sooner rather than later.”