The Boat to Redemption

by Su Tong

  Huixian’s anger stunned Old Seven and his friends. They backed off, grinning, and said, ‘What’s got into our Little Tiemei to make her so mad? We’re doing this for you. Once we take care of him, he won’t come around to bother you ever again.’

  ‘Don’t you try to toss me on to a manure pile. I don’t even know you. If you want to do something for me, then get the hell out of here!’ Then she turned and hit me with her hairdryer. ‘Why are you still lying there, stupid? Nobody on the shore likes you or wants to help you. For that you need the people in the fleet, so get yourself back on your boat.’

  I tried to get up, but couldn’t, so she reached down, took my hand and pulled me to my feet. Old Seven came over to stop her. ‘Little Tiemei, you’re a miserable little bitch,’ he cursed. ‘We come to your aid, just so you can help him. He’s not the good little boy you think he is. How’d you like him to rape you?’

  Huixian spat in his face, then spun around and said, ‘Old Cui, Little Chen, are you men or aren’t you? How can you stand there watching at a time like this. Get over here and help him. Help me!’

  I took advantage of the confusion to run out of the door. Old Seven ran after me and kicked me on the hip. I couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. One of his friends picked up a cut-throat razor and ran outside, then threw it at me; luckily, it whizzed past my ear. By then I was in the middle of the street. The old man and woman from across the street were standing in front of their shop. ‘Three against one, what kind of—’ she swallowed the rest, clearly frightened by the looks of the men. Then I heard the old man trying to get them to stop. ‘Let him go,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to get involved with the likes of him, he’s not right in the head.’

  I still hadn’t got over my terrible fright, but there was nothing wrong with my head, which was clear enough to recall the adage that a wise man doesn’t fight against impossible odds. But strange as it may sound, in the midst of the fix I had found myself in, I had suddenly longed to see my mother. I’d be safe if she were here. I ran through the intersection and past the general store, followed by curious stares from everyone who saw me. Some even attempted to stop me. ‘What’s wrong, Ku Dongliang? What are you running from?’ Kongpi. All those voices at once, just a jumble of noise. I turned and saw the propaganda poster on a wall and conjured up the image of another mother, a deeply anxious mother holding a faceless child. As I passed the public toilet on People’s Avenue, I caught a glimpse of my mother, Qiao Limin, standing beneath a parasol tree, which she was hitting with the sole of a plastic sandal. ‘You useless son, you see what’s happened to you? You’re just like your father. Why aren’t you running? Run as fast as you can, and come home!’

  I ran down the path behind the steel warehouse and instinctively headed for the piers. And when I looked up again, my mother appeared on the path ahead. She had emerged abruptly from the dark recesses of the warehouse gateway. ‘Where are you going?’ she demanded, shaking her sandal in my face. ‘Don’t go back to the boat, not after disobeying him and causing all that trouble. He’ll kill you if he lays hands on you. Go home instead! Go home!’

  I stumbled to a stop, and, strangely, my mother faded away. Go home instead! Go home! I wanted nothing more. But where was home? I had no home on the Milltown shore. After eleven years on the river, no home remained on land. All those familiar streets and houses and gates and windows belonged to other people; they had homes, I didn’t.

  This was the first time I was willing to do as Mother wanted. Too bad I couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. With nowhere to go, I loitered in the warehouse area until I heard the sound of a bell off to the northwest, telling me that school had finished, and that sound triggered a memory of my childhood and the path I’d taken home at the end of the school day. With no clear purpose in mind, I headed for the scrap-metal heap beside the warehouse. That had been my shortcut. I walked past stacks of prefabricated concrete slabs and wove my way in and around piles of discarded sheet metal and oil drums, until the path opened up on to a familiar street. There it was, Number 9 Workers and Peasants Avenue, my childhood home.

  Twilight accentuated the most peaceful street in the heart of Milltown. Workers and Peasants Avenue was no longer worthy of the name. Ordinary residents had moved away, effectively handing the street over to officials. A Jeep and a Shanghai sedan parked in front of houses were testimony to the neighbourhood’s exclusive nature. The cobblestone road had been paved over, and the tightly shut doors were accentuated by the shade of parasol trees, a sign of the elite families inside. The roof and walls of Number 9, my childhood home, had been refurbished – no more birds’ nests and mossy eaves. The red roof tiles were brand new, the walls had recently been whitewashed and were covered by lush loofah gourd vines. The roses my mother had planted were gone.

  My childhood home had changed hands several times. The new occupant, I knew, was Director Ji of the General Affairs Building. He had been transferred from the military, where it was said he’d been a regiment vice-commander. He was the head of a large, prosperous and flourishing family. There was a small plaque nailed to the green gate: ‘Five Good Family’, it read, referring to the family virtues of respect for the old and concern for the young, gender equality, marital harmony, household economy and neighbourly solidarity. Was Director Ji’s family really that wonderful? I couldn’t say if the plaque gave me a warm feeling or made me feel hostile. The date tree still standing in the yard dropped a leaf on my head, and when I shook it off, it landed on my shoulder. The leaf alone knew who I was and was welcoming me back. I hadn’t set foot on the street in years. I felt like a stray dog lingering in the ruins of a former dog house.

  A youngster rolling an iron hoop came walking by. ‘Did you bring a gift for Director Ji?’ he asked me. ‘There’s no one at home, they’re all at work.’

  ‘No, I didn’t bring a gift,’ I said. ‘I’m from the Housing Office. Just looking the place over.’

  After eleven years on the river, my childhood home was just a reminder of the past. I walked alongside the wall and I spotted the rabbit warren I’d built back then. The Ji family was using it as a rubbish dump. I went up to the window on the eastern wall. It was protected by an iron grille. A curtain on the other side kept out all the light; I couldn’t see inside, but that had been my room. My metal-framed cot had been placed right under the window. I’d like to have seen if it was still there, but I could only pace back and forth outside. I did notice a paper-cut window decoration, a pair of butterflies, so maybe that was now the bedroom of Director Ji’s daughter. I purposefully turned and walked off.

  A tall parasol tree stood on the other side of the street, and as I gazed at the shade it provided, I had an idea: that would be an ideal hiding place, a safe spot for me to keep an eye on my childhood home. I started climbing, and the view opened up in front of me. The date tree was still growing; the shade from its canopy covered half the yard. Drying racks had been set up all over the other half, and I was shocked to see all the duck and chicken and fish and meat drying in the sun, more than most families could ever consume. Preserved chicken and duck, pigs’ heads and fish, all in separate groups in the sunlight. I remembered the flowerbed beneath the date tree, where Mother had tended her Chinese rose bushes for years. But unlike other people’s gardens, her roses hadn’t bloomed until the spring we moved away; several flowers, scrawny pink buds, appeared that year for the first time. I’d got up in the middle of the night to relieve myself and had seen her sitting by the flowerbed in the moonlight, reflecting upon her life. ‘This is my fate,’ she’d said. ‘The sins of your father. The roses are about to bloom, just when I’m leaving. I won’t be around to see them.’

  But today my mother’s image followed me relentlessly. It reappeared at Number 9 Workers and Peasants Avenue, and beneath the date tree. Her indignant gaze crossed the wall and glared at me, filled with disappointment that I hadn’t improved over the years. ‘I don’t want you climbing that tree. Get down here and come home
. Come home!’ I was clear-headed, and knew I could not do as she wanted. The home was within reach, but, unhappily, it was no longer mine. I couldn’t go back.

  As I sat in the tree, my hip began to ache, the effect of Old Seven’s vicious kick. It could turn out to be a permanent injury. I rubbed and rubbed, and suddenly a flood of unconnected thoughts came together. For the first time I was actually thinking about my life. Father and Mother: why had I chosen him over her? If I hadn’t fled from her side, would my future have been brighter? Who would have offered me the better education? By staying with her I’d have missed out on the barge and the river, but at least I’d have had a home on the shore. The shore or the river: which life would have been better? Then I heard myself reply forlornly, It’s all kongpi, yes, kongpi. Neither life offered anything good. The shore, the river – both bad. I’d be better off staying here, up a tree.

  The higher I climbed, the more entranced I became with the branches and leaves. A brown dog spotted me and walked to the base of the tree, where it barked ferociously, startling me and disturbing the stillness on Workers and Peasants Avenue. I thought that Old Seven and his pals had caught up with me, so I climbed even higher. When I looked down, I saw someone open his door and stick his grey head out to see where the noise was coming from. Seeing nothing, he pulled his head back and closed the door.

  The dog’s barking had also attracted the attention of the boy with the iron hoop, who stopped at the foot of the tree, looked up and spotted me. ‘What’s somebody your age doing climbing a tree?’ he shouted, surprised by what he saw.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I was tired, so I came up here to get some sleep.’

  ‘Liar,’ he said. ‘Only birds sleep in trees. You’re no bird.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m worse off than a bird, because I don’t have a home on the shore and must sleep in trees.’

  He didn’t know whether to believe me or not. But then he shouted, ‘You’re lying. You said you were from the Housing Office. You people fix houses, not trees, so what are you doing up there? Planning a burglary?’

  ‘Is that what you think people who climb trees do? Who do you think you are, you little bastard? You listen to me – when I lived here you were still in your mama’s belly!’

  The boy picked up his hoop and dashed over to a nearby gate. I knew he’d gone to fetch an adult, so I scrambled down the tree. I couldn’t keep hiding up a tree. It dawned on me as I jumped down that my hands were empty. I didn’t have my bag; I must have left it in the barbershop. Also, my quilt stuffing should be ready by now.

  Keeping my eyes peeled the whole time, I made my way back to the barbershop door, where I carefully surveyed the surrounding area. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, except for glinting shards of glass on a rubbish pile. All my doing. I could distinguish the pieces of mirror from the shattered soft-drink bottles. The shop had closed early. The barber’s pole had been turned off, and the sunflowers, seemingly shaken by what had happened, were hiding behind their big leaves, no longer interested in showing their faces. The front door was closed and locked, and there was no one inside. A sign stuck up on the glass door piqued my curiosity, so I went over to see what it said. It took my breath away. Every word slammed into my chest like a bullet.

  STARTING TODAY, KU DONGLIANG OF THE SUNNYSIDE FLEET

  IS BANNED FROM THIS SHOP.

  SIGNED: EMPLOYEES OF THE PEOPLE’S BARBERSHOP, MAY 1977

  Banned! They’d banned me from the barbershop! What right did they have to keep me from entering a public establishment? I pounded on the door. There was no one inside, but the noise brought out the cotton-fluffing couple across the street, who were covered from head to toe with cotton fuzz. The man had my bag in his hand, his wife was holding the rolled-up quilt stuffing. ‘You ran off just in time,’ said the old man, smacking his lips at my good fortune. ‘There were actually four of them, but the one called Yama went to buy cigarettes. If he’d stuck around, you’d have been in worse trouble. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? He’s cut the arms off five men in Phoenix. I personally witnessed two of them.’

  The woman stopped her husband from saying more and handed me my bag and the cotton stuffing. ‘You’ve read that announcement,’ she said, pointing to the barbershop. ‘They asked me to tell you to stay away from now on. They don’t want you in there any more.’

  I took my bag and felt around inside. My diary was missing, which proved something my father often said: You’re sure to lose anything you don’t want to lose. All the jars and cans were still there, everything but my diary. ‘Where’s my diary?’ I blurted out in alarm. ‘Who took my diary?’

  My panicky shout gave them a fright. The man crouched down to help me rummage through the bag, while his wife, obviously upset, frowned and headed back into the shop, muttering unhappily, ‘This town’s full of bad people. We were being nice, keeping your bag for you, just so you can accuse us of stealing your stuff. We may be poor, but we’re not so poor we’d take your diary!’

  Punishment

  FATHER’S PUNISHMENT was unavoidable.

  Someone in the fleet must have heard about the scandal I’d caused in the barbershop or had seen the announcement on the door. Either way, they couldn’t keep it to themselves and just had to tell my father. Standing on the bow, rolling pin in one hand and a coil of rope in the other, he was waiting for me.

  Everyone could see that he was fuming. ‘What’s the rope for, Old Ku?’ someone asked, probably already knowing the answer.

  ‘I’m waiting for Dongliang. Have you seen him?’ No one had. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Father said. ‘I think I know where he is.’

  ‘But what’s the rope for?’ they asked. He was about to say something, but stopped, reluctant to publicize a family scandal.

  Sun Ximing, having heard that Father hadn’t had anything to eat, brought over some food. ‘Dongliang will be back soon to make dinner,’ he said to comfort Father. ‘This will tide you over for now.’

  Father rejected the overture. ‘I’ve got too much anger in me to eat. I’m not waiting here for lunch. The audacity of that boy – he’s five hours late.’

  ‘Dongliang’s not a boy any more,’ Sun said. ‘Something must have come up to keep him ashore. Maybe he had a date. He’ll be back sooner or later, so what’s the problem? You’re not thinking of tying him up, are you?’

  ‘You may not know this, Old Sun, but minor errors often grow into major ones. There are rules for a country and rules for a family. His thinking and his moral character are flawed, and if national laws don’t apply, domestic law has to. He must be tied up!’

  Bag and cotton stuffing in hand, I arrived at the piers where the barges were moored. The first thing I saw was Father standing on the bow with the coil of rope in his hand. Some people on the other barges had gloating looks on their faces, others were waving to keep me from going aboard. Father was fuming. I’d done the one thing he could not tolerate: I’d defied his authority. I was five and a half hours late, and I knew I was in for a punishment. Five slaps in the face, maybe, or five hours on my knees. Maybe he’d make me write a five-thousand-word self-criticism. It all depended on my degree of contrition. I’d never even considered the possibility that he’d actually be planning to tie me up. I was twenty-six years old. Six-Fingers Wang’s daughters were watching me, so was Chunsheng’s sister. Li Juhua could have been peeking at me out of the oil-pumping station for all I knew. My hip was sore, I was tired, and he was planning to tie me up! If I let him do that in front of all those people, I’d be ashamed to show my face anywhere after that. I’d be better off tying myself to a rock and jumping into the river.

  I decided to stay where I was until he’d cooled down enough to put down the rope. I called Xiaofu over to take the quilt stuffing on to our barge. But then I changed my mind. What if he wouldn’t let me come aboard? The stuffing would come in handy. So I decided to hand him my bag instead. But then I thought, what if he wouldn’t let me go aboard ever again, and I
had to start a new life on the shore? I’d need the bag on my travels, by train or bus, so I decided to keep it with me for the time being.

  My abnormally hesitant behaviour began to unnerve Xiaofu, who complained, ‘What do you want me to help you with? You’re driving me crazy.’ So I took the jars and cans out of the bag for him. He picked up the soy sauce and vinegar bottles and took them up on to the barge, laying them at my father’s feet.

  ‘Thank you, Xiaofu,’ Father said politely. ‘You’re a good boy.’ He didn’t seem so angry, after all, but the moment Xiaofu turned back to me, Father picked up the bottles and flung them back on the shore. ‘You coward!’ he shouted. ‘What is it you don’t have – legs or guts? Why don’t you come aboard instead of having somebody else act as your porter?’

  The soy-sauce bottle shattered at my feet, spilling its contents on the ground and splattering my trouser legs. Now I was the angry one, as I wiped it off. ‘You’ve got legs, haven’t you? If you want to tie me up, come over here and do it if you can!’

  I regretted the provocation the moment the words were out of my mouth. It only made things worse. Father’s face turned almost green with rage. ‘You think I won’t come after you, is that it? I haven’t turned into a fish, not yet, so dry land doesn’t scare me. I’ll come down there, all right, and I’ll tie you up.’

  He’d been on the barge so long he’d forgotten how to use the gangplank. He rested one foot tentatively on the edge to see how springy it was, then the other foot. But that’s as far as he dared go. He stood there, looking strangely awkward as the gangplank bounced up and down. ‘Careful!’ I shouted. Straining to keep his balance, and gasping for breath, he pointed at me. ‘Don’t give me that,’ he said. ‘If I fell into the river and drowned, you’d be free. Too bad for you, I’m not going to die that easily. I’m still your father.’