by Ma Yan
How wonderful it is to have parents and their love!
Thursday, November 9
This afternoon it’s beautiful out. Our last class is natural sciences. Everyone rushes in when it begins. But my cousin Ma Shiping and I drag our feet for a bit in the courtyard. I see the teacher arriving and I rush like crazy and get into the classroom just behind him.
The moment I come in, the other children get up to greet the teacher. I rush to my place so as not to miss anything. After the class the teacher distributes our notebooks and assigns the homework for the next lesson. He adds, “When you’ve finished, don’t leave the room. Your Chinese teacher still has a few things to say to you.”
I fear that we may be having a surprise test. But, in fact, it’s only so that we can do an exercise in our workbooks. He warns us that tomorrow morning inspectors will be coming around to examine our work.
Friday, November 10
This afternoon we made the trek home after school. My mother was preparing noodles for my brother and me. My father was outside, busy mixing water with coal dust. With the mud it makes, we create coal cakes to burn.
My brother and I went off to visit our paternal grandmother, who lives at our fifth uncle’s. My grandparents live in the big room. My uncle has dug a sort of cave next to the house for his seven children.
When we arrive, our grandmother is out. Our cousin tells us that our grandparents are busy cutting fodder for the ox. We go off to help them. When he’s finished cutting the grass, Grandfather feeds it to the ox. Grandmother invites us into the kitchen and offers us bread and steamed potatoes. I accept half a roll, and my brother has a potato.
My grandmother’s almost eighty but she still works for fifth uncle’s family. So does my grandfather. Old people who have an education certainly don’t have to do this kind of work. Surely when one reaches old age, it’s time to benefit from life. Nowhere but here do you see old people serving the young like this.
It’s obvious that one has to study these days in order to avoid the fate of my grandparents, who have to slave away into their old age. They’ll never taste happiness.
Saturday, November 11
It’s very cold this afternoon. My father comes back from the market. He puts his bags on the ground and climbs up onto the kang. Sitting on the bed, he grumbles, “It really is very cold today! So cold you can’t take your hands out of your pockets.”
I ask him what’s in the bags. My little brother Ma Yiting jumps off the bed to go and look. He sees a padded jacket, a pullover, and some colored tiles for the house. He asks who the jacket and the pullover belong to, and my father says, “They’re for your sister and your big brother.”
My youngest brother then starts to cry. My father promises him that on the next market day, he’ll buy one for him. Reassured, he stops crying. Then my mother speaks to him harshly for asking for things from his father, and Ma Yiting starts crying again.
My mother must be suffering from her stomach pains today. Otherwise, why chide the little one like that?
Sunday, November 12
This afternoon Ma Shiping, Ma Yichao, and I were all on our way to school together when we were stopped at the intersection of Hujiashu village by five or six big boys who asked us where we were going.
My brother answered that we were going to school in Yuwang.
“What year are you in?” they asked.
“Why do you want to know?” my brother retorted.
These boys were not from our village and suddenly they got mean. The youngest of them threw stones at us. The biggest hurled insults. We started to run as fast as we could until we got to the ravine. There we saw some shepherds tending their flocks. Once again, I grew very frightened. But when I looked at the shepherds more closely, I could see they were adults. I calmed down.
My palms were damp, as if I’d just come out of the water.
Monday, November 13
It’s a beautiful afternoon, and our final period is devoted to a class assembly. The teacher asks the student responsible for our communal life to organize us so that the school is kept thoroughly clean. The head boy tells the boys to sweep the yard, and the girls to clean the windows. Ma Jing, Ma Donghong, and Li Qing sweep the yard. I let them do it and then clean up the dust.
Every time I pick up a broom and a dustpan, I think of my family. We clean the floor in the same way. I remember the first time my mother taught me to sweep. She explained, “When you sweep the ground, it’s best to sprinkle it with a bit of water first, then you wait a moment before beginning.” Mother held my two hands. She advised me to bend a little at the waist. That way I wouldn’t make the dust fly.
I remember each of her words as if they were spoken yesterday.
Tuesday, November 14
Another beautiful afternoon. Our last lesson is music. The teacher comes in, and the head boy barks, “Get up. Good afternoon, teacher.”
The teacher replies, “Good afternoon, comrades. Sit down. Today, we’re going to learn ‘At the Sound of the Little Drum.’”
The teacher repeats the song several times, then asks us to sing. We sing badly, so she repeats it again. Then she says, “You’ll sing it again after class. That way you’ll know it well.”
She also says, “I heard that you would soon have your midterm exam. Is that right?”
All the comrades answer, “Yes.”
The music teacher allows us to study our work so that we will get good results the next day. When I hear her give us permission to do this, it’s as if I’d received a dose of mother love.
Wednesday, November 15
It’s snowing hard this afternoon. In our first period, the math teacher comes in and announces, “Today we’ll be taking the midterm exam.” My heart starts hammering.
We have to solve problems and fill in the blanks. For the most part, it seems quite easy to me.
The teacher announces, “I read; you write.” As we go on, the problems get harder and harder. I’m no longer able to fill in some of the blanks. I can’t even do a simple calculation. I do the best I can.
After class I compare my answers to those of others. But none of my answers match theirs.
Mother, all the hope you’ve put in me has been in vain. I’ll try and give you more satisfaction later on, okay, Mother? I promise. I’ll try and get better results in the future.
Thursday, November 16
Our first two classes are in Chinese grammar and spelling. The teacher explains, “You’ll review during the next two lessons and then next week you’ll take your Chinese exam.”
This makes me think of yesterday’s exam. When the teacher distributed the papers, at first glance everything looked simple. So I started to answer the questions. But toward the end I ran into more and more problems.
No sooner had the Chinese teacher uttered the word exam than I no longer had the heart to carry on reading my book. Do you want to know why? Yesterday I went to the office of the math teacher. His niece and his two twin daughters were just looking over my paper, corrected by the teacher. I got eight answers wrong. There were not that many questions to start with, and I got eight of them wrong! I can hardly be lighthearted after that.
I also saw Bai Xue’s paper. I had the feeling that I was the lowest of the low, and she had walked in the heavens. What a distance there was between us. It was as if I had never existed.
Friday, November 17
When night falls Mother heats up some water and tells me to wash my hair. My paternal grandmother is ill, she explains. She’s got pains in her kidneys and her legs. My two brothers have gone off to see her.
When the water is finally hot, I wash my hair. Ma Yichao comes home alone, his hands covering his face.
Mother asks him, “Did you really go to Grandmother’s? You saw her?”
“No,” he replies.
“Why ever not?”
He explains. “Grandfather had been to the mosque at Liwazi, more than a mile from the village. They’d given him a present of
meat pancakes. When Ma Yiting and I reached his door, he shouted at us. ‘It’s so cold outside. Why on earth have you come?’”
There was little point in repeating that they’d come to see their grandmother. He sent them away because, he said, it was so cold. So my brothers came home.
Mother starts to criticize Grandfather. “How can we look after him if he behaves like that?”
But I think she’s wrong. Grandfather will never change. He doesn’t understand that we want the best for him. When my mother criticizes him, I feel terrible. Why do none of his daughters-in-law understand what’s going on inside him? He’s always been like this. I hope I’ll never hear another bad thing said about my grandfather.
Saturday, November 18
It’s very cold this afternoon. The snow is falling thickly, and there’s a gusting wind. Father came back from the market, where he bought two bags of wheat. He’s also got other things, which he’s carried in a big sack. He comes into the room and puts down his bundle. Mother takes out the vegetables, garlic, noodles. She looks right down into the bottom of the bag, where she finds one or two pounds of meat. She asks Father why he thought it was a good idea to buy meat. He explains, “Today the children are all home together. Let’s have a feast. They don’t eat well at school. That’s why I bought a little meat for them.”
So Mother makes a soup with rice and meat for us. While we’re eating, she comes out with one of her sayings. “Liver isn’t meat. A nephew isn’t a descendant. The son must give birth to himself. The tree must have deep roots.”
Ma Yan and her family on the kang, their large cement bed
No matter how much I think about the meaning of these phrases, I understand nothing at all.*
Sunday, November 19
This afternoon, just before we have to leave for school, my brother Ma Yichao recounts what happened to us last Sunday on our way to school; how we were attacked by five youths from another village. After she’s listened to us, Mother asks Father, who hasn’t gone off to his work outside the village yet, to accompany us. Father hoists our provisions on his shoulder. We each take our schoolbag, but I’m also carrying my brother’s clothes and shoes.
We set off on our long trudge of several hours through the snow. When we get to the top of the plateau, Father’s ears are already very red. We’re walking in silence. I hear his tread and I see the snow on his leather shoes.
I think of my exam results. How can I possibly merit the long walk Father is making for our sakes? He’s afraid we’ll be beaten up on the way. I’m going to study harder now, be successful, then go off to university and find work. I must pay Father back for this walk and give him and Mother the gift of a better life.
Monday, November 20
This morning our first lesson is a study period where we can do our homework and read over our texts. The Chinese teacher warns us, “Study your lessons well. Our next period will be the Chinese exam.”
All the comrades launch themselves into studying. When the time for the next period arrives, the teacher comes into the classroom and distributes the test papers. I can see that it’s easy and I settle right in. While I’m writing, I tell myself that I absolutely must do well for Mother and Father’s sake and get a top grade.
The time comes to hand in our papers. I ask the others how many checkmarks they had—that is affirmative answers—and how many Xs—the negative answers. They say three Xs and one checkmark. Does that mean I’ve once again made mistakes? Mother and Father’s hope vanishes into the distance once more.
I shall have to study more.
Tuesday, November 21
The last lesson this afternoon is music. The teacher writes out the lyrics to songs on the blackboard. The first is called “I Have a Sheep.” While the teacher writes, she leans her head against the blackboard, as if she’s ill. It’s clear that she has a headache. Writing is a strain, and she barely gets through all the stanzas.
The second song is “Wooden Rattles.” The teacher gives the song sheet to Hu Zhimin and asks him to write it out for her. She sits down. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but she seems very unwell. She looks as if she could pass out at any moment.
Hu Zhimin has copied out the words on the board, and the teacher gives us the tune. Then she asks us to sing on our own. We don’t quite get to the end. She makes us repeat it all several times, then confides, “Ma Huiping, in class three of the fifth year, sings really well.”
The meaning of this, from what I can gather, is that we should try and follow her example.
The teacher has worn herself out, and we still can’t sing the whole song. It’s not fair to her. Despite her illness, she’s come to teach us so that we can take our turn in tomorrow’s celebrations.
THE YOUNG PIONEERS’ LETTER
The following letter is part of Ma Yan’s activity with the Young Pioneers, a national and international youth organization. In the letter, she makes references to Mao Zedong (1893-1976), founder of the People’s Republic of China, and Jin Zhanlin, a local hero who died several years ago.
Ma Yan in class, looking through the window
* * *
THE LETTER
On the afternoon of November 21 all the Pioneers at the school celebrated the anniversary of President Mao Zedong’s telling us to follow the example of Grandfather Jin Zhanlin. In order to celebrate the spirit of Jin Zhanlin, who helped others; in order to learn what his good works meant; and so that we contribute our own love, we must:
Give books to other young comrades so that they too learn from the example of Grandfather Jin Zhanlin and do good.
Learn to do housework and help our parents.
Conscientiously protect public property.
All the Young Pioneers in the school need to follow the example of Jin Zhanlin and offer up their love. If we live, it’s in order to improve the lives of others.
All the Young Pioneers of the school
November 21
* * *
Wednesday, November 22
The last class of the day is given up to the activities of the Young Pioneers. Hu Zhimin is the organizer. He picks out names at random. He asks Ma Shiping to get up and sing. At first she refuses. I’m pleased, because she made fun of me and said I sing like a little pig. Today, when the teacher asks her, she sings, but she’s worse than I am.
When my turn comes, the teacher asks me to sing “The Dream Butterfly”:
“Beautiful butterfly of my dream,
fly among the others,
fly through the pretty flowers….”
All the comrades say I’ve sung well, and that I could become a star….
Secretly I’m very pleased. As of today I’ve got more confidence in my ability to sing. I shall have to carry on and do even better. I don’t want to hear anyone imply that I sing like a pig.
Thursday, November 23
I’m busy correcting a text this afternoon when the school day comes to an end. Ma Yichao brings food and calls me to come and eat.
A lot of comrades confide their admiration to me: “How kind your brother is! He brings you food and lets you eat first. He eats your leftovers. After your meal he goes to get water so that you can wash your bowl….”
I’m so pleased by their words.
But today my brother has only brought rice without any vegetables. Halfway through the meal, Ma Shiping gives me a spoonful of her vegetables. I take a mouthful and give the rest to my brother.
At that moment I suddenly understand the true meaning of a sense of family. What the love of a mother is.
Friday, November 24
Before lunch my father and mother came to school to see my brother and me. They brought us a little rice and asked us to give it to our main teacher, that is, our Chinese teacher.
The bell announcing class rings. When lessons are over, my brother and I race down the road, but my parents are already leaving to see our maternal grandmother. They’ve heard she’s still ill, which is why they want to go and see her. T
hey give me a yuan to buy some apples to have with our evening bread.
Today I’m very sad. Do you want to know why? Because this morning my parents told me that when I got home, I had to feed the ox. I refused. But when I got home, I did feed the ox. The work has left my hands all rough and swollen. They’re horrible to look at. And so I’m led to reflect: I’ve fed the ox once, and my hands are already rough. Mother feeds him every day—which explains why her hands are so swollen. Everything she does is for my brothers’ and my future.
I want to cry and can’t say a word. Please come back, Mother and Father. I need your love! I was wrong, okay? Come back quick. I’m thinking of you. Please come back.
Saturday, November 25
My parents said they would be back from my maternal grandparents’ today. My brothers and I got up very early. We prepared the food for the ox. Then I cooked for all of us. After we’d eaten, we stayed on the kang to watch TV. After that we went out to play.
Soon the sun set behind the mountain. But Father and Mother still didn’t appear. We made some supper for ourselves and ate. After that my brothers stayed at home to watch cartoons, but I was worried so I went out, without quite knowing where I was going.
Seeing me in this state, my brother went to find our second uncle’s daughter, so that she could keep us company. We chatted for a bit, then my brothers and I went to bed without saying another word.
A house without grown-ups doesn’t feel normal. Children are always children. My father and mother have gone, and I feel desperate. I hope they come back soon.
Sunday, November 26
This afternoon when we got to school, the dormitory was still locked. Only Ma Juan is there, a friend from our class. We sit down in front of the dormitory. After a while, another comrade arrives, Ma Yuehua. She asks us why we don’t go in. We tell her the door is still locked. She has the key, she tells us. We go in and put down our bags. We open our books and start to read.