by Cao Wenxuan
Bronze didn’t come to the surface immediately but kept his head underwater. When he appeared he was only a few metres from the drake. He swam over, and the drake flapped his wings and moved away. The chase went on for a long time. Bronze didn’t have much strength and kept slipping into the water. Then he’d resurface and go after the drake again. The village children saw something was happening and came to watch from the bank.
Bronze slid underwater again. When he looked up at the sky, he saw the sun melting in the water, turning it gold. He slipped down, and soon his feet were touching the weeds at the bottom. When he felt them curling around his feet, he yanked his legs up in shock and started to float to the top. He kept looking up at the melting sun, and when he rose a little higher he saw a pair of bright yellow drake’s feet paddling away. He positioned himself, then reached out his hand and grabbed the duck’s legs.
The drake flapped his wings like crazy. Bronze rose to the surface and swam to the shore. He had enough energy to hold the duck, but not a gram more. He lay down on the sandy shore and held the duck tight. The drake was exhausted too and didn’t struggle. Bronze could hear him panting, trying to catch his breath.
A boy driving his sheep saw Sunflower as she was walking to school. “Your brother’s caught Gayu’s drake, the one that went missing.”
Sunflower forgot she was on her way to school, turned and ran into the village.
When Bronze recovered enough strength, he held the duck in his arms and walked along one street, then the next, then the next. He proceeded slowly all the way from one end of the village to the other, not looking at a single person he passed.
The duck seemed to be calm, happy to let Bronze carry him. The villagers had finished their afternoon nap and were just coming outside. Many people saw Bronze walking with the duck in his arms. He walked down one street, then another. It was a blazing hot day and the dogs were lying under trees with their tongues hanging out, panting.
The duck was heavy and Bronze became tired. Then Sunflower appeared. She knew exactly what Bronze was doing. He wanted to show everyone in Damaidi that he hadn’t stolen Gayu’s duck. Sunflower followed him everywhere, like a tail.
Bronze walked round with the duck, quietly and calmly. When people saw him, they stopped and watched. Soon, the only sounds in the village were the footsteps of Bronze and Sunflower. The villagers felt every footstep as a beat of their heart.
An old lady came out with a ladle of cold water and blocked Bronze’s way. “Child, we know you didn’t steal Gayu’s duck. You’re a good boy. Listen to this old grandmother. You don’t need to walk any more.”
She wanted him to take a drink, but he refused, and continued walking. The old lady gave the ladle to Sunflower, who looked gratefully at her, took the ladle and, holding it very carefully so as not to spill it, followed after Bronze. As she walked, the reflection of the sky and the village buildings swayed about in the water.
When Bronze had walked the length of every street in the village, he plunged his face into the water and drank every last drop. People gathered around them. Still holding the drake, Bronze walked to the river and threw him into the air. The duck flapped his wings a few times, then landed on the water.
News came that the grain boat had been looted by some villages upstream. The villagers of Damaidi had been waiting anxiously, and this was a heavy blow. They could not hold out for much longer – people were already beginning to collapse from hunger. As hope dwindled, the threat of death began to hang in the air. The villagers walked with a stoop, they were too tired to talk, and when they did speak, it sounded like the low drone of mosquitoes. They stopped doing the things they enjoyed: there was no more singing, or performances, no more gathering to hear people read. There was no laughter, no fun. Even the arguments stopped. The villagers began to sleep, on and on as if they might sleep for ever. The dogs staggered about the streets, little more than skin and bone.
The head of the village was very concerned. His belt was as tight as it could go too. He walked round the village streets, calling, “Get up! Everybody up!”
He summoned the villagers to the threshing ground at the end of the village. He had them line up, and asked one of the primary school teachers to lead everyone in a song. They sang rousing songs about being strong and brave. The head of the village had a terrible voice, but he led by example, and sang louder than anyone. Occasionally he would stop and look at the villagers. If he spotted someone who was slacking, he’d shout at them to put more effort in.
“We must be as strong as bears!” he shouted. “Straighten those backs! Keep those backs straight! We need backs as strong as tree trunks!”
And the villagers – no matter how tall or short – straightened their backs and pulled themselves up as straight as tree trunks.
The head of the village looked at the forest of people in front of him. There was a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes. “We have to keep going. Just a few more days, then we can harvest the rice.”
In the heat of the sun, the starving villagers sang as loudly as they could.
“That’s the spirit of Damaidi!” said the head of the village.
Damaidi had been deluged with floods, burned by fire, plagued with disease, had seen bloodshed at the hands of bandits and Japanese troops. It had been through one disaster after another, but this village in the lush reed lands had always survived. Early the next morning, wisps of smoke curled from every chimney and merged to form a sea of cloud in the sky.
That day Nainai was nowhere to be seen. They searched everywhere, but they couldn’t find her. She turned up in the evening, on the dust road that ran near the end of the village. She couldn’t have walked any slower, and had to take a long rest after each step. Her back was bent forward, and over her shoulder was slung a small sack of rice. The whole family went to help her. She gave the sack to Baba.
“Tonight, make some rice for the children,” she told Mama.
They all noticed that Nainai’s shiny gold ring was missing from her finger. But no one mentioned it. Bronze and Sunflower helped Nainai home, one on each side of her.
As the sun set in the west, the sunlight cast a red glow over the fields and rivers. In the deep hours of the night, a large grain boat finally pulled up outside Damaidi.
The Paper Lantern
The sickles were brought out, the rice was harvested and the new crop was taken to the threshing ground. The air above Damaidi was filled with the fresh scent of newly cut rice. Baba was busy leading the buffalo as it pulled the stone roller that separated the rice from the chaff. Every so often he would shout out loud, and the sound would ring round the autumn fields, and make people feel that the whole world was bright. It was more difficult to thresh rice than wheat, and it could take as long as seven or eight hours to process one batch. All the rice ripened at the same time, and because it tended to rain in autumn, the whole village had to join in the work, and keep harvesting it, transporting it and threshing it until it was done.
Baba led the buffalo all day and all night. It was an old animal, and as it hadn’t eaten any grain all summer, just a bit of fresh grass, it took a lot of effort to pull the roller. Baba looked at the buffalo’s slow gait and the loose skin on its bony buttocks. It was painful to see. But he had no choice, he had to shout at it, and occasionally raise the whip and bring it down on the buffalo’s body to make it go a little faster. But at the back of his mind he was worried that the buffalo wouldn’t survive the winter.
Baba himself was exhausted. He nodded off as he walked behind the roller. When he shouted out loud, it was partly to keep the buffalo moving and partly to keep himself awake. In the middle of the night, his instructions rang out crisp and clear through the cool, fresh air.
After a few rounds with the roller, it was time to turn the rice over. He banged on a gong to call the villagers to the threshing ground. As soon as they heard it, they picked up their forks and hurried over. At night when everyone was tired, it was difficult to rouse them from their sleep,
and Baba had to beat the gong for a long time until they straggled over, yawning, to help.
When the first batch of rice had been separated, it was quickly shared out according to the number of people in each family. And that evening, everyone ate new rice.
New rice had a pale green skin, like a luminous coating of oil, and when it was cooking it gave off the most wonderful aroma. In the light of the moon, each villager held a big bowl of either fluffy rice or rice soup. As they thought about the hard times they had just been through, they could barely bring themselves to eat. It was such a pleasure to smell this intoxicating scent. Some of the old people dripped tears into their bowls. Everyone came outside holding a bowl of rice and walked around the streets, sharing their delight in the fragrant new rice.
After a few days of eating new rice, the pale, thin villagers had colour in their cheeks and strength in their bodies.
One evening, Nainai announced that she was going to her sister’s in Donghai, near the sea. She’d been thinking about it for a long time now. She was getting old, she said, and she had to go while she still could. She only had one sister.
Baba and Mama were worried but they understood she had to go. They didn’t know that Nainai had other reasons for going to Donghai. During the hard days, the family had borrowed a lot of grain, and when they had paid it all back, the family would be short again. Nainai thought that if she went to stay with her sister for a while there would be one less mouth to feed. Also, her sister lived in a well-off cotton growing area, and at harvest time they hired lots of cotton pickers. The wages were paid in cash or cotton. Nainai had been there and picked cotton many times. She wanted to bring some back and make padded jackets and trousers for Bronze and Sunflower, in time for winter. Despite being poor and short of food, the two youngsters had shot up. Their clothes weren’t worn through yet, but they were too short. Last winter it had pained her to see their bare arms and legs poking out of the ends.
But all Nainai said was that she wanted to visit her sister. She wanted to leave that day; there was a boat departing soon that was taking people to pack carrots in Donghai. Bronze and Sunflower went to the river to see her off. Sunflower started to cry.
“Why are you crying, child? I’m not going for ever. Be a good girl at home, and I’ll be back before you know it.” Her silver hair rippled in the breeze.
The boat sailed off with Nainai on board.
Family life felt empty without Nainai. Within a day or two, Sunflower was asking, “Mama, when is Nainai coming back?”
“Are you missing her already? She’s only been gone a few days.”
But Mama missed her too. She worked and worked, but her mind kept wandering, thinking about Nainai.
A fortnight passed, and there was neither sight nor sound of her.
Mama began to blame Baba. “You shouldn’t have let her go.”
“She was determined to,” said Baba. “Could you have stopped her?”
“Someone should have stopped her. She’s too old to be making long journeys.”
Baba was worried too. “Let’s wait a few more days, and if she doesn’t come back, then I’ll go and fetch her.”
A fortnight later, Baba asked someone to take a letter to Donghai, asking Nainai to come home soon. The message came back that Nainai was just fine, and that she’d be staying another month.
But within two weeks, the boat from Donghai had brought Nainai back. It arrived in the night, and on board were Nainai and her nephew, Baba’s cousin. He carried Nainai on his back to the house, and knocked on the door.
Everyone got out of bed. Baba opened the door.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Let’s talk inside, shall we?” said his cousin.
They hurried inside. Nainai looked small and thin, but she was smiling and doing her best to look relaxed. Mama quickly made up her bed, and Baba lifted her off her nephew’s back. His heart almost missed a beat when he held her – Nainai was as light as a piece of paper.
The family were all hurrying round, trying to do things for her.
“It’s late,” said Nainai. “Go to bed, all of you. I’m fine.”
Baba’s cousin began to speak. “She fell ill two weeks ago. I wanted to tell you, but she wouldn’t let me. She didn’t want you to worry. We thought we’d wait till she was a bit better, then get in touch with you. We never thought she’d get worse. When my mother realized she was not getting better, she said I should bring her home as quickly as possible.” He glanced back at Nainai. “She collapsed with exhaustion.” His voice was shaky.
Baba’s cousin told them all about Nainai’s visit to Donghai. “When she arrived at our place, she rested two days, then went to the cotton fields to pick cotton. No matter how hard we tried to dissuade her, she wouldn’t listen. As soon as morning came, she was out in the fields. Almost all the cotton pickers are girls or young married women. She was by far the oldest person there. The cotton fields are so vast, you can’t see where they end. It takes about a day to walk from one side to the other and back. We were all worried she’d taken on too much, and wanted her to stay home, but she always said she was fine. My mother told her that if she was going to carry on picking cotton, she’d send her home. Nainai said she’d go home as soon as she’d earned enough cotton. Then one lunchtime she fainted in the middle of the cotton fields. Fortunately, someone saw it happen and brought her back to our home. After that, she didn’t get out of bed. I tell you, I’ve never seen an old person like her! Even lying down, she was still fretting about going to pick cotton, saying she had to make padded jackets and trousers for Bronze and Sunflower. My mother told her not to worry, and said she could take as much as she needed from our house. But Nainai said we only had old cotton and she wanted to earn two bags of new cotton. She had asked to be paid in cotton rather than cash. She had already picked a lot, almost enough to make the new clothes. But she insisted she needed more. She said it was cold in winter and she wanted to make thick padded clothes for the children. Everyone where we live got to know her. They all said they’d never met such a good-hearted old lady.”
Bronze and Sunflower kept watch by Nainai’s bedside. Her face seemed to have shrunk, and her hair was as white as winter snow. When her trembling hands reached out to touch them, they felt cold on their skin.
Nainai had brought two large sacks of cotton with her. When they opened them in the sunlight the next day, everyone was stunned at how white the cotton was. They had never seen such good cotton.
Mama took a handful and squeezed it into a tiny ball inside her fist. When she opened up her fingers again, the cotton opened out in her hand as though it had been inflated. She glanced at Nainai, who was lying quietly in her bed, then turned away, tears rolling down her face.
Nainai couldn’t get out of bed any more. She lay there peacefully, listening to the wind outside, to the birds singing and to the chickens and ducks clucking and quacking.
Then one night the wind howled madly. Winter had arrived.
The family had been saving up to take Nainai into town to see a doctor.
“But I’m not ill,” said Nainai. “I’m just old, and my time’s coming to an end, just like a buffalo.”
Nainai meant the family’s buffalo. When the first snow of winter fluttered to the ground, the buffalo had collapsed, just like Nainai. There was no particular reason why. It had dropped to the ground with a great crash that sounded like a wall falling down. Baba, Mama, Bronze and Sunflower ran out to the pen to see what had happened. The buffalo lay on the ground, looking helplessly at them. There was no groaning, not even a little moan. It struggled to raise its heavy head, and looked at the family with its big, round, glassy eyes. Baba asked Mama to grind some beans quickly and give it some soy milk to drink. But when they put the bowl down beside the buffalo, it didn’t move. It was as though it knew there was no point. When Nainai heard about the buffalo, she sighed. It was old, she said, but it had collapsed before its time.
“And don’t worry
about me,” she added. “I’m fine. We’ll get through winter, and then it’ll be spring, and I’ll be better again. Go and look after the buffalo. It’s been with us so long, and it’s not had an easy life.”
The family had lots of vivid memories of the buffalo. All these years, it had never been lazy or bad-tempered. In fact, it was more placid and better natured than most humans. It quietly got on with its work, quietly followed its masters. Sometimes, when it was happy, it would look up to the sky and let out a long cry. Most of the year it lived on grass, fresh grass in spring, summer and autumn, and hay in winter. They gave it beans and wheat as well, but only when it had to do a lot of heavy farm work; and if it was ill, soy milk and eggs. The buffalo was happy. It flicked its tail as it grazed. It liked to have Bronze and Sunflower riding on its back, swaying from side to side as it walked. It liked to feel their round little bottoms on its back. It was always pleased to see them. If it hadn’t seen one of them for a few days, the next time they met, it would stick out its warm tongue and lick the back of their hand. And they let it lick them, and didn’t mind the wet stickiness of its saliva.
The family often forgot it was an animal. If they had something on their minds, they would often confide in it. They were always talking to it, never giving a thought to the fact it couldn’t understand what they were saying. And when they talked, it carried on chewing but pricked up its big ears.
Like Nainai, the buffalo tried to struggle on. But in the end it couldn’t. It gave up and lay on the ground, unable to move. It listened to the wind, to the birds singing, to the chickens and ducks clucking and quacking.
Snowflakes were fluttering outside the buffalo pen. Bronze and Sunflower brought in armloads of rice straw and tucked it around the buffalo, until only its head was showing.
Then Baba said to the buffalo, “We should have treated you better. All these years, all we’ve done is make you work. Ploughing the fields in spring, fetching water in summer, pulling the roller in autumn, and barely letting you rest in winter. I’ve even used the whip on you.”