by Ma Yan
A little while later a motorbike, driven by a man, pulls up outside. Yang Xiaohua has been given a lift all the way to school. Both of them come to the dormitory.
The man asks, “Is your stove working?”
“No,” we answer.
He asks us why we don’t light the coal stove.
“The hearth is too full,” we explain.
He takes off his jacket and starts to clean out all of last week’s ashes. I ask myself who this man could be and why he’s busying himself with getting our stove going. It turns out he’s Yang Xiaohua’s father. He’s a nice man. When he dies, he’ll certainly go to heaven.
Of course, this is only in my imagination….
Monday, November 27
This afternoon the last period is given up to a class meeting. The teacher asks us to clean the school. Some comrades concentrate on the yard, others simply play. I study in the classroom. The student responsible for communal life comes in to tell me to go out. I go. During my absence, the floor is swept. I return to the classroom and carry on with my homework. He calls me again, this time to tell me to clean the windows. I go out and start wiping them. After that I return to the classroom once more.
He calls me yet again to tell me to go and do some dusting elsewhere. When I don’t answer, he comes up close and smacks me. I still don’t say anything. He hits me harder and harder. I pick up my little ruler and hit him across the face. Then I go off to do the dusting. I’m furious. If I become a good policewoman tomorrow and this boy commits a crime, I’ll arrest him and shoot him. I’ll cut him up with a knife!
Tuesday, November 28
Mother and Father, forgive me. Why do I ask for your forgiveness straight away? Because this afternoon our Chinese teacher, the most important one, lectured us: “Last week you took your midterm exams. Several comrades performed very well, but the vast majority of you had very poor results. You, the boarders, every week you bring a bag of rolls with you and once a term, a sack of rice. Do you think you deserve as much? Not even bread and rice. As for the rest of you…”
When the teacher gives out the test results, I can’t lift my head. I haven’t even come in second. Will I ever be able to hold my head up high again?
But I have to be confident. In the final exams I’ll certainly have better results to show my parents.
Wednesday, November 29
This morning the math teacher came in with thirty-seven workbooks in his hand. The atmosphere is bizarre. It really is. The teacher takes a handful of these exercise books and starts in: “I’ve already told you that if you haven’t done the necessary work, there’s no point handing it in!”
The top notebook belongs to Li Qing. The teacher asks her to get up and leave the class. She refuses. The teacher slaps her with the back of his hand across the neck. Then he slaps each of us one after another. He has one last exercise book in his hand. It belongs to Ma Fulu. The teacher orders him forward and, without saying a word, hits him.
I’m secretly very happy about this, because Ma Fulu has hit other comrades. And today it’s the teacher’s turn to slap him. He knows now what it feels like, knows just how pleasant it is! Might he now give up the habit of roughing us up? I so hope he’ll never hit us again.
Thursday, November 30
Chinese class this morning. As soon as the teacher comes in, he asks if anyone present has any glass marbles. These are not allowed in school. The class head indicates one comrade, then another and another. The teacher confiscates a whole handful of marbles before at last beginning the lesson.
Lesson 22,“The Golden Bait: A War Narrative.” The teacher announces that he’s going to read the text and that we’ll then analyze its meaning. While the teacher reads, I can’t hold back my tears. Because my grandfather is just like one of the veterans in the story who’ve come back from the war in Korea. He, too, crossed the steppes, climbed mountains of snow. In fact, he resembles the old squadron chief quoted by our teacher—a man who persevered until the ultimate victory.
I’m proud of him, and my tears flow in homage to his bravery.
Friday, December 1
This afternoon after school it was very cold. My brother and I got our bags and went to the market. When we arrived, there were no tractors going to our village. We looked around a little longer, and I finally spied one. We got up into the trailer at the back. I thought to myself that it was easy enough getting in, but it would be harder getting out, because we would have to pay.
My parents didn’t come to town today. Neither my brother nor I have any money. That’s why it’ll be difficult.
I’ve barely finished thinking this, when Mother approaches without our knowing. She murmurs, “You’re dying of cold, aren’t you?”
I turn around and see her. I’m thrilled. As soon as Mother gets on, the tractor takes off.
On the road the wind is very strong. My cheeks are bright red. Mother puts her hands on them. Right away, I feel warmer.
Mother is being so attentive. When I think of my exam results, I don’t know how I’m going to tell her.
Saturday, December 2
At dusk, when the fast is over, we’re all watching a cartoon on the television: Sun Child. I go out to see what Mother is up to. I pull back the curtain on the door and see that she’s making little potato dumplings for our dinner. I return to watch more of the cartoon with my brothers.
A little while later I want to go and help Mother. But she’s already finished preparing the vegetables and rolls. There’s only the rice left to cook.
“Can I help, Mother?” I ask.
“It’s not worth it. Better go and do your homework.”
I go back to do some writing.
While I write, I think. What a lot of trouble our parents go to for us. And couldn’t we go to just a little trouble for them? So that they can have happy times in which they’ll be the ones looked after by others.
RELIGIOUS PRACTICES
Ma Yan lives in a region of China defined by the Islamic faith of the Hui people, distant descendants of the Arab or Persian merchants and diplomats who came to China from the seventh century on. Today the Hui are similar to the ethnic majority of Chinese, the Han, with whom they share a language. Only their religious practice and certain of its outward signs, like the wearing of distinctive white head coverings, distinguish them from the majority of Chinese.
The village of Zhangjiashu is 100 percent Hui. There the imam, the local Islamic religious leader, is certainly one of the figures of authority, along with the traditional representatives of the government.
Although many of Ma Yan’s schoolmates are also Hui Muslims, she is one of the few who observe the fast for the Muslim holiday of Ramadan. Ma Yan’s family, while not particularly religious, respects tradition. Her mother wears the white head scarf of the Huis, as do almost all the women of the village. She also forbids her daughter to wear skirts or to show her bare arms.
At their house, there are no religious symbols—no pictures of Mecca, no holy verses from the Koran on the walls—which is the practice in more pious households. Fasting for Ramadan and respecting the other holidays associated with it are the only suggestions of religious observance in Ma Yan’s journal.
Ma Yan’s classmates jog past the Yuwang mosque, the local Muslim house of worship.
Sunday, December 3
This afternoon I washed my hair and got ready to go. Mother asked us to stay till the end of the afternoon. At the big mosque in Liwazi, more than a mile away, and in the little one, just behind us, prayers are going on to mark the end of the fast. If we wait, we can get something to eat before heading off.
We stay and sit on the bed. Suddenly I hear someone calling me. It’s Ma Shiping, who’s asking whether we’re ready to go. I suggest she come in and wait with us, so that we can eat.
Mother has our cases ready, and after having served out the food, orders us straight off. It’s already dark.
The moment we leave, I feel very sad. Tears stream down my face
. I’m desolate about leaving home.
On the black, nighttime road, I fall behind. A little farther on, the other two decide on an alternative route, saying that on the first one we might get stopped. I follow them. After we’ve walked a little more, Ma Yichao suggests that next time we should get a tractor for one yuan. I agree. Ma Shiping doesn’t. She wants to carry on walking to school.
We trail behind her. It’s so dark that after a little while we lose sight of her. We run to catch up with her, but we still can’t see her. I start to cry loudly. When we finally find her, I’m so happy, I burst into laughter.
Ma Shiping refuses to be intimidated by potential danger. She won’t give in to it. Even if her life is at stake, she carries on. I admire her with all my heart.
Monday, December 4
Today after school the others went home. Ma Jing and I did our homework quickly, then went to the market. In a little shop I bought a notebook for my Chinese class and a smaller one for my diary. Ma Jing bought a few hairpins and a towel.
By chance I meet a relative, holding a big bag in her hand. She tells me my mother asked her to bring us some padded clothes that would keep us really warm. I open the bag and see that Mother has also sent along some doughnuts cooked in the fat from yesterday’s feast.
I’m thrilled. Tonight I’ll be able to eat lots. But I ask myself whether we’ll be able to return my mother’s kindness when she gets old.
Let’s hope so….
Tuesday, December 5
Music lesson this afternoon. The teacher warns us, “Study well, because next week we’re having a test.” Everyone starts to study. My heart sinks. As soon as the word test is mentioned, I feel like crying.
Why cry? Because I didn’t come in at the top of the class in math or Chinese in the midterm exams. When I told my parents about this, Father didn’t say anything. He simply walked out of the house. But Mother exploded. “If you carry on doing badly, you won’t even deserve the rolls you take along each week.”
Even though Father didn’t say anything, I think he’s angrier than Mother. That’s why I have to do well in the music test next week. I have to bring at least one good grade home to my parents.
Wednesday, December 6
This morning it’s beautiful out. Beginning the day’s fast for Ramadan, the girls in the dorm tell each other funny stories. We’ve lit the incense we all bought together and we watch it burn. We tell each other we can soon go home and ask our mothers to make us noodles and rolls, so that we don’t go around starving all the time.
When I hear a comrade say this, I feel really bad. It reminds me that I didn’t come in first in the class. How will I be able to face going home and eating the meals Mother prepares?
But I have confidence in myself. At the end-of-term exams, if I don’t come in first, I must at least come in second.
Thursday, December 7
The last class of the day is natural sciences. Then the comrades go out to play. I stay back to do my homework. Suddenly Ma Xiaohong and Ma Shiping, who are in my class, come in and ask, “What are you up to?”
Ma Xiaohong doesn’t move, but Ma Shiping tears the notebook out from under me while I’m still writing. The word scrawls off, the notebook is torn, the pencil broken.
I’m so angry I can’t keep it back. I swear at her, insult her. She pays me back in kind. I get so furious I can’t even speak any longer. She goes away.
Ma Jing says, “Your cousin is really angry.”
I answer, “Too bad. It’s her fault in any case!”
But in my heart, it’s as if I’m the guilty one, because she’s older than me and I owe her some respect. My explosion was over the top. That’s probably why I feel I’m in the wrong.
Friday, December 8
This afternoon after school Ma Shiping, my brother, and I get ready to put our things away and go off to the market. We see several tractors from our village. We decide to have a look around first, but when we come back, there isn’t a single tractor left. We run through all the streets. My brother is really angry. He starts swearing. We keep looking for a vehicle, but then my brother disappears, so we have to look for him. We finally find him and also a tractor going near our village. All three of us get up onto the little trailer behind.
The driver’s father asks us to divide ourselves up onto three tractors. “You can’t all stay here with us. Where will the gas come from? We’re the ones who pay for it.”
These words make me see red. I’d like to jump off and look for another ride, but there is no other tractor around. I have to stay put and listen to the man.
The tractor heads off, and the noise of the engine drowns his voice. I can’t hear him anymore. I lower my head and end up falling asleep. When I wake up, we’re almost home.
When we get off, I take a yuan out of my bag and give it to the driver’s father. He looks at us with contempt.
I think to myself, Don’t take all of us for poor penniless people. Some pupils are rich, some poor. And don’t take me for a nobody. If I have to answer back and stand up for myself, I will. Don’t mistake all students for people who don’t know how to respond to insults, or how to fight. I’m not like the others. If someone offends me, I’ll remember his name forever. I’ll never forget.
Saturday, December 9
Tonight we got up before daybreak to eat and start our fast for the day. My father said his prayers. I helped Mother with the cooking.
I put the big pot on the stove. Mother takes a little flour, mixes it with water. She wants to make sweet noodles.
She asks Father what he wants to eat. He says he’ll have the same as we do. Mother takes a smidgen of water and starts to knead the pastry. When she mixes the flour, her hand starts to give her trouble, and she asks me to take over. She’s in so much pain.
I come over to help her, but then she stops me. “No, it’s not worth it. Go and finish your schoolwork first or you’ll end up doing badly tomorrow.”
So I go and do my homework. But in fact, I can’t work. I watch Mother. Her hand hurts. But she has to cook now to prepare for the fast. She’s such a kind and courageous woman. She treats her major illness like a minor one, even though she suffers from hideous stomach pains. She takes pleasure in helping others. To me, she’s nobility itself.
Sunday, December 10
This afternoon Mother made a little food, a few vegetables, so that we could leave for Yuwang before sunset. If we don’t make it back to school tonight, it will be serious. We won’t be present for the first class tomorrow, and the teacher will hit us. I ask Mother to heat up the vegetables quickly and to put the rolls in a bag.
But everything is already prepared. I haven’t quite finished washing my hair, and she finds time to help me.
Father and Mother decide to accompany us part of the way. When the moment comes to leave them, my throat tightens. Me, I’m working for my own future, but why are my parents taking so much trouble for us? Do they hope that their children’s lives will be better than their own? Or is it simply that they want us to honor them? Sometimes I really can’t understand them.
Monday, December 11
After school today my brother and I finish off our homework. I ask my cousin if she’d like to come to the market with us.
“Yes, very much,” she says.
All three of us leave. In the street I meet my fifth uncle and ask him whether my father has come to town. Yes, he says. He’s just bumped into him.
While my brother and I look for our father everywhere, we manage to lose Ma Shiping.
Fifth uncle has told us that Father came to buy vegetables to mark the end of the fast of Ramadan, and we search high and low. Finally we find him. He still hasn’t bought anything. I ask him why. He says he’s waiting for the prices to go down, because the merchants prefer selling their products off at closing time rather than taking them back with them.
Father asks us what we’d like to eat.
“Nothing,” we answer in chorus.
Nonet
heless, he takes us to an apple stall, buys a few for us, and recommends that we eat them with bread. Then he turns back to take the village road. He’s got several hours of walking ahead of him.
Tuesday, December 12
All the comrades say we’re going to have a music test this afternoon. I’m suddenly frightened.
The music teacher comes in. The class head shouts, “Everyone up.”
The teacher announces, “Sit down. Exam time today.”
My heart sinks ever lower. The teacher chooses Tian Yuzhou. He gets up and sings. Then everyone has a turn, one after another. When my turn comes, the teacher asks me to get up.
“Sing.”
I start on “Little Rooster Likes His Fight.”
“Very good!” she compliments me.
My heart immediately lifts. I’m full of joy. When I go home, I’ll have a good grade to show my parents.
Wednesday, December 13
This morning after gym it was time for natural sciences. The teacher came in and immediately said, “Make good use of the fresh air this morning: recite by heart lesson twenty-five, ‘The First Snow.’”
We all start to recite.
The teacher explains the text to us. I find him very engaging today. It’s the first time all term that I’ve seen him smile and look relaxed. Yet, when he explains the text, I don’t really understand his enthusiasm.
It’s only during break that I realize what he meant. He was explaining what goes on in snowy areas. In the text children play in the snow, throw snowballs, make snowmen. I think the teacher must have been thinking of the pleasures of his own childhood. That’s why he was so likable today and there was a big smile on his face. Let’s hope I’m right.
Saturday, December 16
This morning Father, Mother, my brothers, and I are all sitting on the kang watching a series called Heroic Children. Just as the first episode is drawing to an end, the second daughter of my second uncle, Huahua, comes running in. She asks me, “Little cousin, do you want to go and watch a funeral?”