Bronze and Sunflower

by Cao Wenxuan

  On the way back to Youmadi, the big boat stopped at every town and they took their ginkgo nuts to sell at the market. The women all knew how to haggle with the buyers and helped Sunflower get a good price.

  “Look at these beautiful ginkgo nuts!” they would say, pulling a big handful out of Sunflower’s bag. They put more effort into selling Sunflower’s ginkgos than their own, and haggled over every jin. As soon as Sunflower had some money, one of them said, “Let me look after your money so you don’t lose it, child.” And Sunflower took the money out of her pocket and put it in the woman’s hand.

  “You really trust me with all your money?” laughed the woman. Sunflower nodded.

  The boat sailed on through night and day. One night, when she was half-asleep, Sunflower heard someone outside the cabin say, “We’re just about to join the big river. We’ll be back in Youmadi in a few hours.”

  Sunflower couldn’t sleep any more. Her eyes were open wide in the dark as she thought about Nainai, Baba, Mama and Bronze. How long had she been away? She couldn’t remember, but it felt such a long time. She was worried about Nainai. She hoped she might be a bit better.

  For a moment she wondered if Nainai might have died, and tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. Then she told herself to be strong. How could you think such a thing? Come on, you’ll see her very soon. She wanted to show Nainai how much money she’d earned! How capable she was! She wished the boat could move a bit faster.

  But after a while she dozed off, and when the women woke her, the boat was pulling in at Youmadi. It was still dark. She was half-asleep, and all fingers and thumbs, so they helped her to get dressed. They put her money safely in her pocket and fastened it tightly with a pin.

  Then, clutching the small bag of ginkgo nuts she had kept for the family, she wove her way through the cabin. The cold wind blowing up from the river sent a shiver down her spine and made sure she was wide awake. She looked straight ahead of her and saw the paper lantern on the bridge. She thought she must be dreaming. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. It really was a paper lantern, giving off an orange glow.

  “That’s my family’s lantern,” she told the women, pointing towards the bridge. One of the women came and felt her forehead.

  “You’re talking nonsense, and you don’t even have a temperature.”

  She pointed again. “It is! It’s my family’s paper lantern!”

  “BRONZE!” Sunflower shouted, her clear, crisp voice ringing through the still night. The paper lantern seemed to move a little. “B R O N Z E!” she shouted, even louder this time.

  A bird in a tree by the river flapped its wings and flew off. Then everyone on the boat saw the lantern on the bridge begin to sway furiously and fly towards the pier.

  Bronze had seen Sunflower.

  “That’s my brother! My brother!” Sunflower told the women. Everyone on board knew about Bronze, that he was mute and that he was the most wonderful brother to Sunflower.

  She waved to everyone on the boat with genuine emotion, and with help from an adult, leapt onto the pier with her bag of ginkgos. Bronze and Sunflower ran towards each other. When they met in the middle of the pier, they stopped and looked at each other. Everyone on board was watching. Eventually, Bronze took Sunflower’s hand and off they walked. After a few steps, Sunflower turned and looked back, then waved again to all the people on the boat. Bronze waved too. Then, hand in hand, they disappeared into the darkness. As the lantern bobbed about in the night, the women and girls on the boat dabbed at their eyes.

  It was light by the time Bronze and Sunflower reached Damaidi. As usual, Mama was up early making breakfast. She happened to glance up the road in front of the house, and noticed two children in the distance.

  They’re up early, she thought, never imagining it might be Bronze and Sunflower. She took one step into the kitchen, then stepped right out again. She looked back at the road. Suddenly, her arms were flapping like a tree full of leaves in the wind. “The children!” she shrieked with excitement.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Baba.

  “Quick! Get up!”

  Baba got up and went outside.

  “Look! On the road!”

  The sun was rising behind the children. Mama saw Bronze with a thin, dark little girl, filthy from head to toe but full of life. She ran towards them. As soon as Sunflower saw her, she let go of Bronze’s hand and ran towards her.

  “Mama!” Sunflower flung open her arms. Mama leant forward and wrapped her arms around Sunflower. As she held her tight, her tears spilled down the back of Sunflower’s jacket. Sunflower proudly patted her front pocket. “Mama, I’ve earned lots of money!”

  “I know, I know,” said Mama.

  “How’s Nainai?”

  “Nainai’s waiting for you. She’s been waiting for you every day.” Mama took her hand and led her inside. Sunflower ran straight to Nainai’s room.

  “Nainai!” she said. She was by her bedside in a couple of steps. “Nainai!” She knelt down.

  Nainai was not even taking sips of water now. She had been holding on, waiting for Sunflower to come back. She opened her eyes ever so slightly and, summoning all her energy, smiled at Sunflower.

  Sunflower undid her jacket, removed the pin and took two large handfuls of coins out of her pocket.

  “Nainai, look how much money I’ve earned!” She still didn’t understand how little they were worth.

  Nainai wanted to reach out her hand to stroke Sunflower’s face, but she was too weak.

  The next day, Nainai left them.

  Before she went, she motioned to Mama to remove her bracelet. She’d already requested this when she was still able to talk. She wanted Sunflower to have it. “Give it to her when she gets married.” Nainai had made Mama promise over and over again.

  Nainai was buried at dusk. When the adults began to disperse from the graveside, Bronze and Sunflower stayed behind. No matter how hard the adults tried to persuade them, they would not come home. They sat on the dry grass in front of Nainai’s grave in the dark, and leant against each other. Bronze held the paper lantern. The light shone on the fresh earth, and on the wind-dried tear tracks on their faces.

  The Big Haystack

  Sunflower was now in her fifth year at school. Some news had been hanging over Damaidi like a black cloud since the early autumn: the city people wanted Sunflower to go back to the city. Exactly where this news had come from, the villagers weren’t too sure, but they believed it was true. As the news circulated, and the villagers added imagination to the facts, the whole thing seemed to become more and more concrete until it felt very real indeed. Only the family hadn’t heard the news. When the villagers talked about it, they checked over their shoulders that they weren’t within earshot. If they happened to be talking about it when one of the family came along, they’d quickly change the subject. “It’s so cold today!” or “Isn’t it warm!” They didn’t want the family to hear the awful news.

  The family sensed from the expressions on the villagers’ faces that they were talking about something that concerned them, but none of them came close to guessing what it might be.

  It was Sunflower who felt the most left out. She could sense from Cuihuan and the other girls, from the look in their eyes, that they were hiding something – and that it had something to do with her. They were always off chattering in a corner, glancing across at her, and as soon as they saw her coming, they’d say in a loud voice, “Sunflower, come and play hopscotch!” or “Sunflower, come and play drop-the-handkerchief!” They’d always been good to her, but now they were being nicer than ever.

  One day she slipped and grazed her knee. Cuihuan and some other girls crowded round offering to help, asking if it hurt. When school finished for the day, they took it in turns to give her a piggyback home. It was as though they were all trying to be kind before it was too late. The teachers were especially nice to her, and the villagers were all very friendly when they saw her.

  Then, one day, Sun
flower heard the news. She was playing hide-and-seek in the village with Cuihuan and the other girls, and she had burrowed into the haystack to hide in the straw. Cuihuan and two other girls came looking for her, but they couldn’t find her. They met at the bottom of the haystack, walked around it without finding Sunflower, then stopped.

  “Where can she be hiding?”

  “Where can she be?”

  “I wonder how much longer we’ll be able to play with Sunflower.”

  “I heard the adults saying that someone from the city will be coming to fetch her soon.”

  “If Bronze won’t let her go and she refuses, there’s not much they can do about it.”

  “The adults say it’s not that simple. They reckon the city people won’t go to the family. They’ll go straight to the head of the village, and they’ll bring the authorities with them.”

  “Do you know when they’re coming?”

  “I heard my dad saying they’ll just turn up one day.”

  After a while the girls walked off, chattering away. Sunflower had heard everything. She waited until Cuihuan and the other girls were far away, and pulled herself out of the haystack. She went straight home.

  Mama noticed her anxious look, and asked, “What’s the matter with you?”

  She smiled at Mama. “It’s nothing.”

  She sat on the wooden threshold, stunned by what she had heard. At suppertime, she was miles away. The person sitting eating her food looked like Sunflower but didn’t behave like Sunflower at all. The family kept looking at her. After supper, she’d usually hang around Bronze and make him take her to the threshing ground at the end of the village, where the children gathered in the evening to run around and let off steam. But that day, after supper, she took herself off to the other side of the yard and sat on a plaited grass prayer cushion under the tree, looking quietly up at the moon and stars in the sky.

  It was an autumn evening, and the sky was clear. The stars were pale yellow, and the moon was a pale blue. The sky seemed so high and so vast, much lighter than in spring, summer and winter. Sunflower rested her chin in her hands and stared up. She didn’t know what to do.

  The family let her be, but they were all puzzled.

  Soon after that, Bronze heard the news. He rushed home so fast he tripped along the way. As soon as he saw Baba and Mama he hurried to tell them what he had heard. Now they understood why the villagers had been looking at them so strangely.

  “Is it true?” asked Bronze.

  Baba and Mama could barely believe it themselves.

  “Sunflower can’t go!” cried Bronze.

  “She won’t go,” they said firmly, trying to comfort him.

  “I won’t let her go,” declared Bronze.

  “We won’t let her go,” said Baba and Mama.

  Baba went to see the head of the village, and asked him point-blank if the rumour was true.

  “Yes, it’s true,” said the head of the village.

  Baba felt faint, as though he’d been hit on the head with a hammer.

  The head of the village explained, “The people in the city want to take her away, but they can’t just come and do it. They have to talk to you and your family first.”

  “We don’t want to talk,” said Baba. “Tell them, no one’s taking her anywhere.” He felt quite weak.

  “That’s exactly what I said,” the head of the village continued. “Don’t worry about it for now.”

  “When the time comes, you’ll have to back me up,” said Baba.

  “Of course,” said the head of the village. “And remember, they can’t just turn up and take her away. That would be unreasonable.”

  “Unreasonable!” said Baba.

  “Unreasonable!” said the head of the village.

  If it was so unreasonable, then what were they worrying about?

  Baba went home. “We don’t need to worry about them coming,” he told Mama. “We’re not going to let them take her.”

  “That’s right!” said Mama. “I won’t let anyone take her away!”

  Their words were loud and clear, but the matter weighed heavy in their hearts, and grew heavier with the passing of time. Baba and Mama would lie awake at night, unable to sleep. When they finally did drop off, they’d wake again with a start, and their minds would churn over and over. Mama would get out of bed, take the oil lamp over to Sunflower’s bed and look at her in the lamplight. Sometimes Sunflower would wake too, but would close her eyes when she saw Mama coming over. Mama would watch her for a long time, sometimes stroking her daughter’s face gently. Her hands were rough and hard, but Sunflower loved them.

  There was another pair of eyes looking around in the dark. Bronze could not sleep either. He’d been on tenterhooks, convinced that someone would turn up one day and snatch Sunflower off the road. He’d started following her to school, albeit keeping a good distance behind her. And he’d be at the school gate waiting to pick her up. Sunflower didn’t let on to Baba, Mama and Bronze that she knew. And they didn’t let on to her that they knew.

  Then, one day, a little white boat stopped at the pier in Damaidi. Someone must have seen it and spread the word – that the city people had come to take Sunflower away. Quick as a flash, one of the villagers went to tell the family. As soon as Baba heard the news, he ran to the river to see for himself. When he saw the little white boat, he turned round and ran straight home.

  He found Bronze. “Quickly, go to the school, get Sunflower and go and hide with her somewhere. And don’t come out until I’ve talked some sense into these people!”

  Bronze ran all the way to school without stopping for breath. He charged into the classroom and pulled Sunflower outside. She didn’t ask for an explanation, just followed him deep into the reeds.

  “They’ve come to take you to the city,” said Bronze.

  Sunflower nodded.

  “You knew?”

  Sunflower nodded again.

  They sat side by side, at the edge of a pool deep in the reeds, listening anxiously to the sounds on the other side of the marsh.

  At about midday they heard Mama calling them for lunch. Cuihuan and the other girls were calling her too. It was a signal that it was safe to come out. But Bronze and Sunflower didn’t dare move. Bronze made the first attempt, but Sunflower held his hand and refused to go, scared someone would grab her as soon as she appeared. Bronze had to reassure her. Only when he insisted it was safe would she let him lead her by the hand out of the reeds. As soon as she saw Mama, she flew straight into her arms and burst into tears.

  “There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about,” said Mama, patting her gently on the back.

  It had been a false alarm. The white boat belonged to the county government, and the official in charge was making a local inspection. He’d been in the area, noticed the large village in the reeds and stopped to take a look. Nothing more than that.

  Gradually, the autumn wind quietened. It grew colder by the day. The leaves on the trees withered and fell to the ground. When the last line of swallows flew across the cold, clear sky, Damaidi was already a dull matt brown. When the wind blew, the dry branches and the dead leaves were swept together with a swishing and a rustling. The family slowly began to relax and unwind. The days flowed by, as the river flowed on and on towards the east, in sunlight and in moonlight. After about a month, autumn had run its course, and winter arrived.

  On what seemed a very ordinary day, five people from the city turned up unexpectedly in Damaidi, accompanied by an official from the authorities. When they arrived, they went straight to the village committee. The head of the village was there.

  They told him why they had come.

  “It’s difficult,” said the head of the village.

  “It has to be done,” said the official.

  No one from the city really understood what had happened. This little girl had been left in Damaidi all these years, apparently forgotten about, until one day, someone suddenly started worrying about he
r. Somehow it had developed into a major project, to bring her back to the city. The mayor himself had said, “We must bring that child back!”

  This particular mayor had held the position before. The first time, he’d been demoted and sent to a remote place to do physical labour. Now he’d returned to the city and to his former position. On an inspection of his city, he’d seen the bronze sunflowers in the main square, glistening and gleaming in the sunshine, sacred and full of life. They’d been standing there proudly when he was mayor all those years ago. They were so evocative and stirred such feeling in him that he began to wonder about the artist who made them. The people around him said that the artist had died; he’d been sent to a Cadre School and had drowned in the river at Damaidi. The mayor heard the news with tears in his eyes and grief in his heart. So many things had been turned upside down in just a few years.

  Later, the mayor discovered by chance that the artist’s daughter had been brought up in Damaidi. He raised a question about the matter at a meeting, and asked for the relevant department to bring her back to the city as soon as possible.

  Some people suggested it might be difficult.

  “The situation was very unusual. It’s not entirely clear how official the arrangement was.”

  “Whatever the situation was then, I want you to bring her back,” said the mayor. He looked at Damaidi on the map. “That poor child. Just think how we have let her father down.”

  He personally made sure that a considerable sum of money was allocated as a trust fund for Sunflower, and oversaw the arrangements being made for her return to the city, her education and her future.

  Meanwhile, a cloud of uncertainty hung over Damaidi. Village life continued: the cockerels still crowed, the dogs still barked, the children still played, but there was tension in the air.

  The time had come. The city people were here and they were talking to the head of the village.

  “We can agree to whatever conditions they ask for. They’ve looked after this child for so many years, and it can’t have been easy.”