Bronze and Sunflower

by Cao Wenxuan

  The buffalo’s eyes showed nothing but kindness. It was grateful to them for not turning their backs when it was covered in sores, for hanging a woven reed screen at the gate of its pen in summer to keep out the mosquitoes, for taking it out to feel the warm sunshine when it was winter… Throughout the year, through all four seasons, through the wind, sun, rain and snow, it had enjoyed so many things that a buffalo seldom gets to enjoy. It had had a good life. What more could it have asked for?

  But it was time to go. The buffalo looked at the family, and its only regret was that Nainai wasn’t there. It thought, when spring comes next year, and Damaidi is covered in wild flowers, she’ll be out of bed again. Nainai called it “the beast” but always with affection, just as she sometimes called her grandson and granddaughter “little beasts”.

  That night, before they went to sleep, Baba lit a paper lantern and went out in the wind and snow to check on the buffalo. Bronze and Sunflower followed him.

  “I don’t think the beast will make it through the night,” said Baba when they were back in the house.

  The next time they saw the buffalo, it lay dead on top of a large pile of golden rice straw.

  The family took Nainai to the hospital in Youmadi for tests, but the doctor could find nothing wrong. He suggested they go to the county hospital for more tests. The tests at the county hospital revealed that Nainai was seriously ill, but they couldn’t tell for sure what the illness was. The hospital urged the family to pay straight away so she could be admitted for observation.

  Baba went to the cashier’s window to ask how much it would cost to admit Nainai to hospital. The woman clicked away on her abacus and said a number.

  “Oh, oh,” Baba repeated, again and again. Then he went quiet. It was such a large amount, far beyond what the family could ever afford. Baba felt the weight of a mountain on his head, and slipped down on his haunches. Eventually, he stood up and walked from the cashier’s window all the way down the corridor to the consulting room. Nainai was lying on a bench in the corridor, and Mama was looking after her.

  Baba and Mama had no choice but to take Nainai back to Damaidi.

  “I don’t need to see a doctor,” said Nainai as she lay in bed back at home. “I never thought the beast would go before me,” she sighed.

  Baba and Mama worried all day and all night. Where could they get the money? They tried to appear calm, but Nainai knew exactly what the family could and couldn’t afford. She looked at Baba and Mama, who seemed to be growing older by the day, and tried to console them.

  “I know my body better than anyone. I’ll be better when the weather warms up again. Don’t worry about me. Get on with the things you have to do.

  “The money in the wooden box is for Sunflower’s school fees next term. You mustn’t touch it,” she kept telling them.

  As Baba and Mama looked everywhere for money, Nainai lay in her bed, with Bronze or Sunflower, or both of them, by her side. She felt the illness had brought her closer to her grandson and granddaughter. She loved having them by her side, and worried about them if they weren’t there. When Sunflower went to school, Nainai wanted to know how soon the school day would finish. And when the school day ended, she would listen out for Sunflower’s footsteps outside. If school overran and Sunflower couldn’t hurry home at the usual time, Nainai would worry and tell Bronze to go to the end of the road and see what was happening.

  One day, very early in the morning when the family had just got up, Gayu came to the house. He had a duck in each hand: one male, one female. The family was puzzled. As soon as Gayu put the ducks on the ground, they flapped their wings and tried to escape. But their legs were tied, and after whipping up a cloud of dust and realizing they couldn’t go anywhere, they lay down quietly.

  Gayu was evidently embarrassed, and kept tripping over his words. “My f-father told me … to b-bring them, these t-two d-ducks, f-for N-Nainai, s-so she c-can have s-soup. He says sh-she’ll f-feel b-better after s-some d-duck s-soup…”

  The family was overcome with gratitude.

  “I-I’ll go now…”

  “Child!” Nainai called out.

  Gayu stopped.

  “Leave one. Take the other home with you,” she said.

  “No!” said Gayu. “My f-father s-said to b-bring t-two.” And off he ran.

  The family watched him hurrying into the distance, and for a long time no one spoke. Then Bronze picked up the female – she could still lay eggs – and carried her in his arms to the river and let her go.

  Mama turned to Sunflower. “You need to stop dawdling and go to school. Don’t you have a test today?”

  Sunflower said something in reply, but Mama had already gone to feed the pig. For the last few days, Sunflower had been trying to find the courage to tell the family that she didn’t want to go to school any more. There were lots of children in Damaidi who didn’t go to school because their families couldn’t afford it. Sunflower had been at school for four years now, and they were one of the poorest families in the village. She was the only one who did nothing to earn her keep, and what was more, she was the only one who needed any money spending on her. She was a burden. When she saw Baba and Mama worrying about money, she felt dreadful. She had done well at school, partly because she was clever and partly because she knew she had to. But how could she carry on when Nainai was ill and they needed money so she could go to hospital? She was sure leaving school was the right thing, but she knew they’d be angry when she told them.

  She had devised a plan, a plan that made her feel excited just thinking about it. The idea had come to her on her way home from school, and it was such a shock that she’d looked all around her to check that no one had seen anything. It was like a restless bird in a cage, and kept flying about in her mind, crashing into her thoughts, chirping and squawking. She held her hand to her mouth as though it might leap out at any moment. She couldn’t let anyone else see it, and especially not the family. Before she stepped inside the house, she had to calm the little bird and keep it quiet. But it didn’t want to stay locked up in a cage, it wanted to fly out, to soar in the sky. She put her fingers to her cheeks. Although it was bitterly cold in the winter wind, her face was burning. She walked around for a while, waiting for the little bird to settle, and her cheeks to cool down.

  For the next week, the little bird sang in its cage every moment of every day. Then the day came when she would put her plan into action. She would fail all her exams! The little bird was calm and quiet, just as birds are calm when they find a forest at dusk, and know they won’t be disturbed.

  She looked out over the fields. The schoolchildren lived in different places, and as they came to school from different directions, walking along the bare ridges between the bare fields, their brightly coloured clothes breathed life into the bleak winter landscape. She wouldn’t be one of them for much longer.

  She felt a little sad.

  She loved learning, and she loved going to school. All the children together: young, old, tall, short, clean, dirty, naughty, good, clever, slow, all gathering in one place, making all that noise. When the bell rang, they’d dart off to their classrooms like startled fish, leaving behind a quiet pool of water calmly reflecting the clouds in the sky. And, a few hours later, they’d burst out of the classrooms, whipping up dust in front of the school.

  Sunflower ran about in the dust of the schoolyard. All the girls liked her. They played keepy-uppy with the shuttlecock, and hopscotch and all kinds of games. The girls had plenty of arguments, but they rarely argued with Sunflower. She wasn’t any good at arguing anyway. Whatever they were doing, they wanted her to join in.

  “Sunflower, come and play with us!”

  “Sunflower, come and play with us!”

  The girls always had something to talk about. They talked on the way to school, in the classroom, any little corner would do, even in the toilets – especially in the toilets. And the boys would eavesdrop, except they couldn’t hear clearly. As soon as the gi
rls thought someone was listening, they’d stop and listen too, but only for a while, and then they’d carry on talking.

  In the summer the children took their afternoon nap at the school. They could lie on the desks or the stools. Sunflower thought it was great fun to see so many people in the same place supposedly sleeping, all being quiet. But nobody wanted to sleep, so they talked with their hands and eyes, and whispered to each other. At last when the bell rang, they breathed a sigh of relief and leapt to their feet. No one would have slept at all.

  On cold winter days, they played squeeze. They’d line up by the wall and push in from the sides, squashing the children in the middle. They would struggle to stay in line, but eventually they’d be squeezed out. Then they’d run to the end of the line and join in the squeezing. All the squashing and squeezing soon warmed them up.

  Sunflower thought about the familiar smell of lots of children packed into a little classroom, and the warm, slightly sour smell of children’s sweat.

  She loved the characters and numbers. They were magical. She loved it when everyone read aloud together, and especially when her teacher stood up and read. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it sounded pure and clean, as though it had been washed in fresh water. She brought out the rhythm; she knew where to pause, and how to vary her voice, to rise and fall. She transported them to a far distant place, like the call of insects in the moonlight, lulling them into a sleepy state. They would cradle their chins in their hands and when she had finished, they wouldn’t remember what she had read.

  Sometimes they’d be so entranced they wouldn’t even realize she’d finished. They’d only wake up when the teacher said, “Now, let’s all read it aloud together.”

  Sunflower would soon be leaving all this behind.

  The Chinese test was in the morning, and the maths test was in the afternoon. The papers were very straightforward, and she made a complete mess of them. Afterwards she seemed very relaxed. In the evening she sat with Nainai, and even sang a few of the songs that Nainai had taught her.

  “Did she find a happy rice-ball, or something?” Baba asked Mama.

  Sunflower kept singing, one song after another. She sang even when she went outside. It had been snowing before supper, and the trees, buildings and fields were covered in a thick layer of white. The moon was thin but large, and cast its light over the land. As Sunflower looked around her, it felt like daytime. It was light enough that when she looked up she could see crows perching in the trees. In the distance she saw the school, its tall flagpole now a thin grey line in the sky. From now on she’d only be able to look at it from a distance. At last she could stop adding to the burdens of the family. She could work with Bronze, and help to get things done. She wanted to earn money so that Nainai could go to hospital. She felt she had grown up.

  Two days later, school broke up for the winter holiday. The children went home with their test results in one hand and their little stools in the other. Almost all of them knew about Sunflower’s results. They were shocked. They couldn’t understand it. All the usual noise and laughter of the walk home was missing. Sunflower walked home with some of her best friends. When they parted, the girls stood there for a while.

  “Come and play sometime.” Sunflower waved to them, then headed home. All the way, she was holding back her tears. The girls stood there, watching her go.

  Later that day, Sunflower’s teachers arrived at the house and told Baba and Mama about her results.

  “Ah, no wonder she ummed and ahhed when I asked to see them,” said Baba. He was cross, and ready to beat her, although he’d never laid a finger on Sunflower before. Mama was so shocked that she had to sit down, one buttock on the tiny stool.

  Meanwhile, Sunflower had gone with Bronze to the paddy fields to break the ice and catch fish. To breathe fresh air, the fish blew on the ice to make tiny holes. If you looked across the ice and could see white bubbles just below the surface, you could smash the ice with a hammer and stun the fish below. Then, all you had to do was break a bit more ice, put your hand into the water and pull them out. There were already quite a few fish in Sunflower’s basket. Her test results were in her pocket. She’d been wanting to show them to Bronze but she wasn’t brave enough. She waited until he’d caught another really big fish, then pulled out the piece of paper and gave it to him.

  When Bronze saw the results, the hammer dropped from his hand, narrowly missing his foot.

  The piece of paper flapped in the wind. Then – perhaps Bronze’s hand was numb with cold, or his mind was elsewhere – the wind blew it across the ice. The folded paper looked like a white butterfly flying over blue ice.

  Bronze ran after it. He slipped and rolled, but finally managed to get it. Then he staggered back. He shook the piece of paper in front of her face, so hard that you could hear it flapping.

  Sunflower bowed her head. She didn’t dare look him in the eye.

  “You did this on purpose!” he accused her, gesturing with his hands.

  She shook her head.

  “You did it on purpose! On purpose!” He punched the air with his fists.

  Sunflower had never seen him so angry. She was scared. What if he hit her? She raised her hands to her head to protect herself. Bronze kicked the basket of fish over. The fish were still alive, and started leaping about in the dry grass on the field ridge and spilling over onto the sunlit ice. He grabbed the hammer, spun round and round like a whirlwind, then let go. The hammer hurled through the air, hit the frozen surface with a thundering crack, shooting a white streak of lightning through the ice. With the results paper gripped tightly in one hand and Sunflower’s arm in the other, Bronze marched her home.

  When they were almost there, he let go of her. “You can’t tell them,” he said. “If they find out, they’ll kill you.” He glanced back over his shoulder, then dragged her off in the opposite direction. They stopped in some woodland.

  “You have to go to school!” said Bronze.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “You do.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You’re only saying that because Nainai’s ill.”

  Sunflower lowered her head and started to cry. Bronze moved closer and stood beside her, looking beyond the woodland at the fields covered in snow. He was close to tears too. They hung around until darkness fell and they had to go home.

  Baba and Mama were waiting for them.

  “Where are your test results?” asked Baba.

  Sunflower looked at Bronze, then down at her feet.

  Baba raised his voice. “I’m asking you to give me your test results.”

  “Your father’s talking to you. What’s wrong with your ears?” Clearly Mama was not going to take her side.

  Sunflower looked at Bronze again.

  Bronze took the piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Baba with trepidation, as though they were his results, not Sunflower’s.

  Without looking at the results, Baba ripped the paper into pieces and threw them at her. Some of them fluttered to the ground, and quite a few landed in her hair.

  “On your knees!” Baba roared.

  “On your knees!” Mama repeated.

  Sunflower knelt down.

  Bronze wanted to go and help her up, but Baba shot him a fierce look warning him to stand aside.

  Nainai’s elderly voice carried in from the other room, “Let her speak! Let’s hear what she has to say for herself.”

  It was the first time Nainai had been angry with her. Sunflower had never imagined that the whole family would react so strongly about whether or not she went to school. She was terrified.

  Baba, Mama and Nainai had never forgotten what happened by the old tree all those years ago. From the moment they’d brought her home, they had resolved not only to look after her, but to bring her up with a future to look forward to. None of them had ever said this out loud, but they all knew that each felt the same way. Over the last few years, they had put one thing above all else: that Sunflower s
hould go to school. They would smash their wok and sell the metal for scrap; they would beg for rice in a gourd ladle, if that was the only way Sunflower could go to school. They believed Sunflower’s blood father was still there in Damaidi, that his soul was wandering in the sunflower fields and among the crops. No one could explain it, but they felt linked to Sunflower and her father by fate, in the same way that her father had felt linked to Bronze that day. There are some things in this world that can never be explained.

  Sunflower was terrified. She was kneeling on the ground, shaking. Apparently, the teachers had made it clear that she could either leave the school or stay down a year. Although they acknowledged that these results were not a true reflection of her ability, there were a number of students who had not made the grade, and the school would be requiring the same decision from their families. If they allowed Sunflower to retake the test as her parents requested, then all the other parents would ask for resits as well. Baba and Mama couldn’t understand why Sunflower had done so badly. The teachers couldn’t either. All they could think was that Sunflower had not worked hard enough, or that her mind had wandered, or that she’d made careless mistakes.

  Nainai, Baba and Mama were stunned when Bronze told them the real reason. Sunflower hung her head low and sobbed quietly. Mama went over and pulled her to her feet.

  “You silly girl. How could you be so silly?” And as she hugged her tightly, two lines of hot tears fell onto Sunflower’s hair.

  “I want Nainai to see the doctor,” Sunflower sobbed in Mama’s arms.

  “Sunflower, Sunflower…” Nainai called from her bed.

  As light snowflakes fluttered in the air outside, Bronze and Sunflower helped Nainai get out of bed. She not only got out of bed, she also walked out of the house, and with Bronze and Sunflower helping her along, she hobbled all the way down the road to the school. The villagers stood to one side to let her pass. The fine snow swirled in the sky like tiny white dust mites. Nainai hadn’t seen the sun for a long time, and her face was very pale. Her padded jacket and padded trousers seemed enormous, flapping about on her thin little frame.