by Su Tong
Desheng jumped aboard our barge and pulled my father off the gangplank. ‘Don’t get worked up, Old Ku. Don’t try it. You’re not used to it any more. If you try walking on it, you’ll be in the river for sure.’
‘What do you mean, not used to it? I used to walk on it all the time, even carrying a sack of rice.’
‘I know that,’ Desheng said, ‘but you haven’t done it in years. Even if you made it across, you’d get motion sickness on land.’
The fear in Father’s eyes was unmistakable as he looked nervously at Desheng. ‘What do you mean by that? You’re making that up. Why would I be unsteady on land?’
Desheng began to sway, holding his head in his hands and rocking it back and forth. ‘Being unsteady on land and on the water are the same. People not used to being on a boat get motion sickness on water, just like people who aren’t used to walking on land are unsteady on the riverbank. You’ve been on the river so long the barge is your land and the land is your barge. That’s why you won’t be able to walk on the shore.’
I could see that Father’s mind had begun to wander. He cast a wary eye to the shore, blinking rapidly as he pondered what Desheng said. But then his gaze bounced back to where I was standing. ‘Are you coming here or not? Are you waiting for me to wobble on the gangplank or on the ground?’ He twisted the rope around his hand and shouted, ‘You’re acting awfully brave, putting up a desperate struggle with your back to the wall.’
‘And I’ll keep struggling if you’re set on tying me up,’ I said. ‘Hand the rope to Desheng, and I’ll come up.’
‘Why should I? He doesn’t represent the government, and he’s not your dad. I am. You’ve done a terrible thing today, and I’m going to punish you by tying you up.’
While the two of us, father and son, faced each other, one on the river, the other on the shore, Desheng’s wife joined her husband on our barge and asked Father to give her the rope. ‘You two are causing a scene. Dongliang’s a grown man,’ she said, ‘old enough to be a father himself. He’s stronger than you, and you can’t tie him up unless he lets you. And even if he did, because he’s a dutiful son, it’d be such a loss of face for him he’d never be able to live it down.’ She was right. The people who were watching us nodded in agreement.
But not Father. He shook his head. ‘I don’t want him to be dutiful, I want him to be better than he is. You don’t understand how hard it is to get him to improve himself. I teach him, but he doesn’t get any better. But if I stop teaching him, he’ll just get worse. And if I simply leave him alone, he’ll break every rule there is. He’s a disgrace, and I have to treat him like a little tyrant, because that’s the only thing he responds to.’
‘All this talk about getting better or worse doesn’t mean anything aboard these barges,’ Desheng’s wife said with a scowl. ‘All we want is to get by and live a peaceful life. I’ll talk to him, tell him to come up and admit he was wrong. I’ll make him promise to stop doing things that make you angry.’
‘Who cares if he admits he was wrong or not?’ Father said. ‘He’s the type who refuses to mend his ways.’
Desheng’s wife was first to notice the pained look on my face. She pointed to me. ‘Take a good look at Dongliang,’ she said. ‘His face is as white as a sheet. He can’t stand the way he makes you mad. Put the rope down, Old Ku, or take it into the cabin. You can use what you want, national laws or family law, there’s no loss of face if no one sees. But you can start by letting Dongliang come aboard.’
Desheng and his wife both tried to take the rope away from Father, but he tightened his grip and refused to let go. But he looked a bit less angry, which Desheng noticed. This time he gave the rope a hard tug and wrenched it out of Father’s hand.
Now that he was no longer holding the rope, Father’s face showed how weary he was. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to tie you up. Don’t come aboard today, stay where you are. Lead as degenerate a life as you want. Go ahead, stir up plenty of trouble and break all the rules. I won’t need to use family law; I’ll let national laws do their job. Sooner or later you’ll be handed over to the dictatorship of the proletariat.’
Thinking he was beginning to give in, I started up the gangplank, and barely avoided getting hit by a flying rolling pin. ‘Who said you could come up here?’ he shouted. ‘Get your ass back on the shore!’
My hip really hurt from twisting my body to get out of the way of the rolling pin, and that only fuelled my anger. ‘Are you going to let me come aboard today or aren’t you?’ I gave him my final ultimatum. ‘If you won’t, then I’ll never step foot on that barge again.’
‘Is that a threat? Do you think I’m afraid of your threats? Go on,’ he said with a wave of his hand, ‘get back on the shore. From this day on I have no son!’
‘Who wants to be your son anyway? Who needs a father like you?’ The blood had rushed to my head and stoked my courage. A stream of ugly curses gushed from my mouth, washing over Father like a raging torrent. ‘Take off your trousers, Ku Wenxuan, and show everybody. Who wants a father like you? Everybody else’s father has a whole dick. How come you only have half of one? Where do you get the nerve to try to educate me with only half a dick? And you wanted to tie me up! Half a dick. I tell you, I’m like I am today all because of that dick of yours!’
My cries hit the boat people within earshot like a thunderclap and provoked more shouting. ‘Ku Dongliang is rebelling, he’s rebelling!’ My father blanched and began to sway. The gaze in his eyes was very peculiar. What I saw wasn’t panic or terror, it was despair. A glob of phlegm caught in his throat, and when he tried to bring it up to spit it out, he was racked by a coughing fit.
Desheng and his wife, who were still aboard our barge, rushed up to help him into the cabin. Desheng glared at me as he propped my father up. ‘Dongliang, are you possessed by a demon or something? Your father isn’t a class enemy, but you might as well kill him as talk to him that way.’
His wife patted Father on the shoulder. ‘Don’t let it get to you,’ she said to him. ‘Someone in town ran into a demon recently, in broad daylight. It scared them out of their wits. I’m sure that’s what has happened to Dongliang.’
‘No, it didn’t!’ I shouted. ‘I’ve suffered for eleven years, and I’ve had enough. Now I’m rebelling!’
On the barges and on the shore, people were looking at me, shocked. ‘I’m rebelling!’ I yelled. ‘I’m rebelling!’ Tossing the quilt stuffing over my back and slinging my bag over my shoulder, I turned and headed back down the pier.
Sun Ximing and his wife ran after me; one of them grabbed my bag, the other held on to the cotton. ‘Where are you going, Dongliang?’ Sun asked. ‘What makes you think you can just leave? Where will you go?’
With a wave of my hand, I said, ‘Where I go is none of your business. It’s a big world, and there has to be a place for me in it.’
‘The world may be big,’ Sun said, ‘but it doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to the Party and to socialism.’
‘What’s wrong with you today, Dongliang?’ Sun’s wife said, stamping her foot and waving her arms. ‘Everybody’s always talking about your bad points, but you’re a dutiful son. I told my husband that when the fleet chooses its most civilized family this year, it has to be barge number seven.’
‘Our barge isn’t civilized,’ I said, ‘but you choose whatever barge you want, I don’t care.’
Sun grabbed hold of my bag again and said, ‘Dongliang, you can’t abandon your father. How’s he going to live if you leave?’
‘He’s got arms and legs,’ I said. ‘He can take care of himself.’
‘OK,’ Sun said, ‘forget about him if you want, that’s your business. But shipping goods is my business, and how is your barge going to keep working if you leave? Tomorrow we’re taking on a load of oilseed. Your father doesn’t know a thing about how these barges work, and I can’t let you affect production.’
‘What do I care about oilseed? Or about production? From
now on, the only thing I care about is me. I’m a free man!’
I started running, and didn’t stop till I’d left Sun Ximing and his wife far behind. But a couple of kids from other barges quickly overtook me. ‘They’re saying you almost lost your dick today,’ Xiaofu said. ‘Is that true?’
Chungeng sneaked a look down at my crotch. ‘Are you running away to keep from getting punished?’ he asked. ‘Wang Xiaogai says you go to the barbershop in town every day, and that you went there to harass Huixian. Have you already thumped her? Have you?’ Their questions pissed me off, but I was in no mood to wrangle with a bunch of kids, so I kicked Chungeng and started running again. He grabbed his knee where I’d kicked him, and started to scream, ‘You’re a moron, Dongliang, an ugly toad that wants to thump a swan. You deserve to have your dick cut off!’
As I was passing the oil-pumping station, a crumpled piece of paper flew in the air and landed at my feet. Li Juhua was standing in the doorway in her blue work clothes, watching me, her severe demeanour mocking me.
‘What have I ever done to offend you, Li Juhua?’ I said. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘You’ve never offended me,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I’ve been thinking that you know everything about someone except what’s in his heart. On the surface you look all right, so how could you have such a filthy mind?’
I just stared at her, stunned by her comment. ‘What do you mean, a filthy mind?’
She brushed some dust off her sleeve and said, ‘I don’t have an appetite for such things. Why do I need to tell you what you’ve done?’ Seeing the blank look on my face, she sneered, ‘Don’t act dumb with me. Do I have to remind you what you did to Little Tiemei in the barbershop?’
Now I understood. A frightful rumour about me had already begun to spread, thanks to Wang Xiaogai – the guilty one taking a bite out of the victim. I stood there in front of the oil-pumping station in a daze, so angry my limbs felt cold. Li Juhua’s words buzzed in my ears. ‘Go ahead, be as decadent as you want, it’s none of my business. You and I have nothing in common, and I don’t care if you wind up in prison.’
I had no desire to engage Li Juhua in a debate about the false accusation. Instead, I headed angrily to the security-group office to settle scores with Xiaogai. But when I got there, I could see through the window that he was out; Baldy Chen and Scabby Five were in the cluttered office playing a game of chess, head to head and cursing up a storm. A blackboard on the wall above them read: ‘Current security situation report.’ My name appeared below the heading: ‘Ku Dongliang of the Sunnyside Fleet took liberties with a woman at the People’s Barbershop.’ The sight of those scrawled words nearly blew the top off my head. Ignoring the door, I pushed open the window and all but jumped through it. ‘Erase that!’ I shouted. ‘Erase my name!’
Jerking their heads up, they both screamed. Wasting no time, Scabby Five picked his truncheon up off the table and dashed over to me. ‘Well, Kongpi, we don’t have the time to take care of you, so you are on your own!’
I flung my quilt stuffing at Wulaizi, but he ducked, and Baldy Chen rushed up. He was holding a rifle with a glinting bayonet fixed to the barrel. Blinking ferociously, he charged at me. I jumped down off the window ledge and ran all the way to the cotton warehouse, where I stopped and looked back to see Baldy Chen and Scabby Five in the doorway, yelling something I couldn’t hear. Maybe they had decided not to chase me so they could continue with their game of chess. After a quick survey of my surroundings, I picked up an enamel tea cup left on a stool by the gate watchman and took a drink, then wiped my face with a tattered towel. Since I couldn’t hang around here, I decided to go to the chess pavilion.
The area around the pavilion was like a black-market communication hub, where oil truckers pulled off the highway to unload and rest and pick up hitchhikers, taking them as far as Horsebridge or Wufu for fifty or sixty cents. It was an open secret.
I went up to the pavilion, my first visit in years, and was shocked by what I saw. The hexagonal structure now had only three sides, the swallow-tail eaves were gone, and striped plastic sheeting was wrapped around the six stone pillars, their tips peeking through the top to remind passers-by that this had once been Milltown’s grandest spot. This was possibly the most significant event on the banks of the river, and I knew nothing about it. Who was responsible? It had to be Zhao Chuntang. But why? My attention shifted from the pavilion to a slovenly worker crouching on the ground drinking tea and eating a steamed bun; a sledgehammer lay at his feet. I ran over to confront him.
‘Who authorized you to tear down the pavilion? Was it Zhao Chuntang?’ In between bites, he said, ‘It’s not my call, and not Zhao Chuntang’s. The order came from above.’
‘Why would anyone want to tear it down?’ I asked.
‘This is valuable property,’ he said, and I hear they’re going to build a car park. There are so many vehicles in Milltown these days – oil trucks, agricultural transports, even military vehicles – so parking is at a premium.’
‘What’s more important,’ I demanded, ‘a car park or a memorial to a revolutionary martyr?’ It was a delicate question, but I was asking the wrong person. So I softened my tone and asked, ‘What about the memorial stone? Where did they tell you to move it to?’
‘It’s only a stone marker,’ he said, ‘and a tomb with some personal effects. Easy to move. I’m told it’s going to the revolutionary museum in Phoenix.’
My distress mystified the worker. He looked me over carefully, taking in my bag, my clothes and my leather shoes, but he couldn’t figure out who I might be. ‘Who are you, anyway?’ he asked.
I nearly blurted out, ‘I’m the martyr Deng Shaoxiang’s grandson!’ But I bit my tongue. The river flows east for thirty years, then west for thirty more. Now I couldn’t say whose grandson I was. With a sigh I said, ‘I’m nobody, nobody at all. Just a rank-and-file citizen. I was curious, that’s all.’
‘After raising such a stink, now you tell me.’ The worker breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Why’d you get so angry with me? We’re both rank-and-file citizens, so you shouldn’t be asking me questions like that. Go and ask one of the big shots.’
He was right, this was a matter for the big shots. That excluded me, and I had no reason to make trouble for an ordinary worker. I walked back to the pavilion and pulled back part of the plastic to look inside. The smell of alcohol hit me in the face. The man wasn’t alone. Two other workers were asleep on the floor. The remains of a meal lay on an old newspaper, and a pair of geese were picking their way through the lunch boxes and drink bottles. Then I caught sight of a man watching the geese – it was the idiot Bianjin, sitting in a corner, holding a baby goose in his arms as he gnawed on a pig’s foot.
The sight of Bianjin called to mind his backside, and that reminded me of my father’s backside, with its fish-shaped birthmark. He had to contend for his birthright with an idiot, a bizarre struggle that had gone on for years and that could only be classified as humiliation. I had no interest in being around Bianjin. My fear of being subjected to comparative scrutiny was like a conditioned reflex. There were plenty of muddle-headed people on the shore and on the barges who would be thrilled at the prospect of discussing our relative appearance and bloodlines if they saw me together with Bianjin. Who were the real descendants of Deng Shaoxiang – Ku Wenxuan and his son, or the idiot Bianjin? Most of the boat people leaned towards us, while people on the shore tended to favour the underdog by insisting that the idiot’s birthmark more closely resembled a fish. And there were even people who passionately argued that they’d prefer an idiot to be the martyr’s descendant than the degenerate Ku Wenxuan, who would smear the legacy of Deng Shaoxiang.
I stood outside the pavilion observing Bianjin, while several townspeople watched me from a nearby tea stall. The sight of me and the idiot in the same place had them virtually jumping for joy. ‘Look!’ they said. ‘There’s the idiot, and there’s Ku Dongliang!’ They were all talking at once
, the topic of discussion, believe it or not, my backside. Some of them were unable to contain their desire to have a peek; their eyes were nearly burning a hole in the seat of my pants. Baldy Chen’s cousin, Four-Eyes Chen, who wore glasses, appeared to be cultured and educated, but he came up, grabbed my arm and made a presumptuous request: ‘Ku Dongliang, your father never comes down off his barge, so his backside is off limits. Why don’t you show what you’re made of by dropping your pants and letting us compare your birthmark with the idiot’s? That way the masses can fairly judge whether you are Deng Shaoxiang’s grandson.’
Four-Eyes was courting disaster. He was no match for me in an argument or in a fight, but I had no desire to get tangled up with this bunch. ‘Get the hell out of here, Four-Eyes, and send your wife over. I’ll give her a look, front and back. She can tell you what she sees.’ My parting shot. A foreboding chill swirling in the early-evening air above Milltown gave me the feeling that this was not the place for me. I had to leave, and leave fast.
A number of oil transports were parked by the side of the road, one of which had just started up. The driver, assuming I was looking for a ride, waved at me from the cab. ‘Where you headed? Hurry up, jump in.’ I ran over and jumped on to the running board. ‘I’m going to Xingfu,’ the driver said. ‘I can drop you off on the way if that’s where you’re headed. It’ll cost you fifty cents.’
I didn’t know exactly where Xingfu was, whether it was a rural village or a market town. But so what! Xingfu – Happiness – a nice name. ‘Xingfu it is. Let’s go.’
The driver opened the passenger door and stretched out his hand. ‘Fifty cents, up front.’