The Vagrants

by Yiyun Li

  “Do you see what I see?” Bashi said, and moved closer to the fence made of wreaths. Tong wavered and held on to Bashi's neck. “Hey, don't choke me.”

  Tong let his hands free. “That auntie there is the news announcer,” he said, a bit too loud.

  Kai looked up at a boy's voice but quickly turned back to the woman who was about to leave the circle. “Thank you, comrade,” she said. “This is Gu Shan's mother.”

  “Thank you for your support,” Mrs. Gu said.

  The woman did not acknowledge Kai or Mrs. Gu when they held out their hands to thank her. She left quickly and thought about her husband and two children, who must be wondering by now why a short stop off at her work unit had taken so long; she had lied and said she needed to readjust a perimeter in the machine she ran in the food-processing factory.

  The line moved quietly. One by one people dropped their white flowers in the basket; some of them signed their names on the white cloth, but others, when invited, apologized. Kai greeted everyone in line and spoke to them about the importance of the petition for the nation's well-being. Her voice, soft and clear, sounded reassuring; after all, was she not the official news announcer? Some people, once they had talked to Kai, changed their minds and signed the petition.

  “Hey, are you deaf?” Bashi said to Tong. “I'm asking you a question.”

  “What did you say?”

  “How long is the line now? I can't even lift my head because of you.”

  “Still very long.”

  “How many people do you see?”

  Tong tried to count. “Sixty, maybe eighty. It's hard to count. They're coming and going.”

  “Have you seen anyone you know?”

  “The auntie by the basket,” Tong said. “She's the announcer, you know? She just smiled at me.”

  “Everybody knows that. Who else?”

  “A teacher from our school.”

  “Who else?”

  Tong looked at the people waiting and recognized some faces, another teacher from his school who taught an upper grade, an old shop assistant at the pharmacy who liked to give children pickled plums for snacks, the postman who delivered letters to Tong's neighborhood twice a day and who always whistled when he rode by on his green postman's bicycle, Old Hua and his wife, who stood an arm's length apart in line, neither looking up at the people around them. Tong told Bashi what he saw and Bashi told him to keep up the good work. “You could make a good apprentice for me,” Bashi said. He greeted everyone passing by as if he knew them all, though few returned his greetings. Some people glanced at Tong but most ignored him and his companion. In their eyes, Tong thought, he was probably only a small child who had come for some inappropriate fun; he was sad that he could not prove himself otherwise. He wondered whether the man he was with had come just for a good time, but it seemed too late to confront him.

  Thirty minutes passed, perhaps longer; the basket, already overfilled, was put aside and replaced by a new one. The sun had risen now, casting the shadow of Chairman Mao over the place where Tong and Bashi stood. Bashi moved out of the shadow, still with Tong on his shoulders. After a while, when Tong told him that the line was shorter now, Bashi said that Tong should come down. “Sooner or later you'll break my back,” Bashi said, massaging his neck with both hands.

  “Are you going to put in your white flower?” Tong asked. His legs had fallen asleep and he had to stamp hard to awake them.

  “No,” Bashi said. “Why should I?”

  “I thought that was why you were here.”

  “I told you I'm here for a different reason,” Bashi said.

  Disappointed, Tong limped away.

  “You don't want to know where Ear is?”

  Tong turned around. “Have you seen him?”

  “Not lately,” Bashi said. “But remember, I'm a detective, and I can find anything out for you.”

  Tong shook his head and said, “I'll find him myself.”

  “Do you want me to lend you my flower?”

  Tong thought about the offer and nodded. He wished his mother had not destroyed their flower so he did not have to beg from this man he disliked. Bashi took the flower out from his sleeve and handed it to Tong. “Yours now,” he said. “On the condition that you're not to leave me yet.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we're here together, remember?” Bashi said with a wink, and Tong reluctantly agreed. Bashi accompanied him to the end of the line. When it was Tong's turn, he greeted the announcer and told her that he had been sent by his mother. Bashi only smiled, and said nothing.

  “Please thank your mother for us all,” the woman said. The old woman next to the auntie bowed and thanked Tong as if he were another grown-up. Close up, he recognized her now, the one who had burned the clothes at the crossroad on the day of the execution.

  “Mrs. Gu?” Bashi said and shook the old woman's hand. “Lu Bashi here. I hope your daughter's first Ching Ming is great. It's the first for my grandma too. We're burying her today. You know how you have to wait for the spring. Not the best time to die, if you ask me. So have you already buried your daughter?”

  Kai patted Bashi on his arm. “Please, we don't have time for your talk.”

  “But I'm not here to chat,” Bashi said, and grasped Kai's hand. “Lu Bashi here. Sister, I really like your program. You know what nickname people have given you? Sweet Pea. Fresh and yummy. Yes, I know, I'm leaving. No problem, I know you are busy. But I am not here to be mischievous. I was asked by his parents to accompany him here,” Bashi said, and pointed to Tong. “He's awfully small to come by himself, isn't he?”

  Tong bit his lip. He did not want to be seen with this man, but Bashi had given him the white flower and had not said anything when he had lied earlier, about his being sent by his mother. Tong waited painfully while Bashi talked on, asking Kai what she thought of the number of people at the rally, what she planned to do next. She tried to be polite but Tong could tell that she had no interest in talking to Bashi. “I know you're busy, but can I have a word with you in private?” Bashi said. She was busy, Kai said. Bashi clicked his tongue. Too bad, he said; in that case perhaps he would have to talk with Mrs. Gu about her daughter's kidneys.

  His voice was low, but Kai looked startled. She glanced at Mrs. Gu and beckoned Bashi to step aside. Tong followed them; neither Kai nor Bashi seemed to notice him.

  “What did you hear about the kidneys?” Kai asked.

  “It's not a secret,” said Bashi. “Or is it?”

  Tong watched the announcer frown. “Could you not mention it in front of Mrs. Gu?”

  “I'll do whatever you ask me to do,” Bashi said, and in a lower voice explained that there was more to the body than the kidneys, and he only wanted her to know that he was working on it. Things were in good hands, Bashi said, and he assured Kai that he would let her know as soon as he solved the case. Tong could see that the news announcer did not understand what Bashi was talking about, and that she was only trying to be patient. A man in a heavy coat approached them; a cotton mask covered most of his face. “Is there anything wrong here?” he asked, his eyes looking alarmed behind his glasses.

  Bashi replied that everything was fine. The man looked at Kai, and she shook her head slowly and said nothing. The man, without taking off his glove, shook Bashi's hand and thanked him for coming to support the rally. Bashi answered that it was everybody's cause to fight against evil, and when he saw that the man would not leave him alone with Kai, he signaled for Tong to follow him to the table. “Do you mind if I take a look?” Bashi asked, and leaned toward the white cloth.

  The man behind the table, a new teacher at Tong's school— although he did not recognize Tong—replied that it was not for browsing.

  “But we're also here to sign, aren't we, little brother?” Bashi said to Tong. “Didn't your parents say you represent them here? By the way,” he said to the man, “the boy is a student of yours.”

  The man turned to Tong. “Do you go to Red Star?”r />
  Tong nodded.

  “And didn't you just beg me to let you come and sign the petition?” Bashi said, and turned to the man. “He's a shy boy, especially with a teacher sitting here.”

  The man looked at Tong and said he might be too young to sign.

  “Too young? Nonsense. Gan Luo became the premier of a nation at eleven,” Bashi said. “There's no such thing as being too young. Have you heard people say heroes are born out of young souls? Here's a young hero for you. Besides, don't you need as many names as you can get?”

  The man hesitated and dipped the brush pen in the ink pot. “Are you sure you understand the petition?” he asked Tong.

  “Of course. I just told you he was a young hero,” Bashi said, and whispered to Tong. “See how your teacher and your announcer auntie both are behind the petition. They'll be so happy if you sign your name there. Do you know how to write your name?”

  Tong was embarrassed and tired of Bashi. He took the brush pen and looked for a place he could put down his name. The teacher was about to say something, and Bashi told him to stop fussing; the boy knew what he was doing, just as a swallow knew where to find his home, Bashi said. Tong breathed carefully and wrote on the white cloth, trying to keep each stroke steady. He had thought of writing down his name, but at the last moment, he changed his mind and wrote down his father's name; after all, he was too young and perhaps his own name wouldn't count.

  ***

  NINI LOCKED THE HOUSE UP once the pedicab her family had hired disappeared around the corner. There was laundry for her to wash, pots and pans to scrub, and the house to sweep and mop, but these, along with the memory of her sisters’ muffled giggling when her parents had ordered her to finish the housework before their return, did little to dampen her mood for the day. She had heard her father say to her mother that, on the way up the mountain, the pedicab driver would not be able to pedal and he would have to help the driver push. They should spend as much time as they could up there, Nini's mother had replied, making the most of the fee they paid the driver. It would be a long day before Nini's family returned home, and even if she did not finish everything, what did it matter? The day was a holiday for her too, a special day to be with Bashi. Nini held Little Sixth in her good arm and told her that they were going out to have a good time for themselves. Little Sixth looked back with clear, trusting eyes; when Nini tickled the baby underneath her soft chin and asked her if she was ready for the ride, the baby finally broke out into a big smile and showed her small new teeth.

  The sun was up in the sky, blue without a wisp of cloud, a perfect day for Ching Ming. People came out from alleys and moved toward the Cross-river Bridge, women and children on foot, men pushing bicycles loaded with offerings and picnic baskets. Nini walked north, against the flow of people, and she had to stop from time to time to let people pass, some of whom walked right at her without slowing down, as if she didn't exist. Little Sixth sucked her hand and then pointed a wet finger at the people passing by. Kitty, kitty, she babbled, not making much sense.

  Halfway to Bashi's house, Nini turned into the alley where the Gus lived. She did not expect them to have holiday treats for her. Even if they begged her to come into their house and spend a few minutes with them, she would reply coolly that she was quite busy and had no time to waste. Or perhaps she would be more generous and exchange a few nice words with them, saying she'd heard that Teacher Gu had been sick and asking him how he felt now, if he needed any special food from the marketplace that she could bring him the next time. She imagined them speechless in front of her, dumbfounded by her gracefulness and her ease as a grown-up girl. She would smile and say that if they had no important requests, she would come back to visit when she had more time to spare. They would nod and try to find the words to reply, agonized by their secret wish to keep her close to them a moment longer, but she would leave nonetheless, the way a daughter who was married off to a rich husband might bid farewell to her plain parents, her good fortune being the only brightness in their life.

  Besides a few sparrows hopping among the chickens, the Gus’ alley was quiet. Nini knocked at the gate, first cautiously, and then a little harder. After a long moment she heard some small noises from the yard. For a moment her heartbeat became wild, her legs ready to take her fleeing before she was seen. But what would that make her except a useless child? She persisted, knocking at the gate, loudly this time.

  The gate opened. Teacher Gu, leaning on a cane, stared at Nini. “What are you doing here?” he said. “Don't you know that people have important things to do besides waiting to be disturbed?”

  Little Sixth pointed at Teacher Gu's cane and giggled for reasons known only to herself. Nini looked at him in dismay. She had imagined Teacher Gu, weakened and saddened by his illness, in need of comfort, and she could not help but feel that the old man in front of her now, like the other old men strolling in the marketplace or sitting by the roadside who enjoyed nothing but being harsh to a world that had, in their minds, mistreated them, was a stranger who had taken up the space of Teacher Gu's body. She breathed hard. “I heard you were sick, Teacher Gu,” Nini said, trying her newly discovered confidence. “I'm here to see if you feel better now, and if you need anything.”

  “Why do you care?” Teacher Gu said. “Don't expect me to entertain anyone who has too much goodwill to dispense.” Before Nini could reply, he banged the gate in her face.

  Little Sixth, startled, began to cry then hiccup. Nini looked at the gate. She thought of spitting and cursing, the way she dealt with every humiliation in her life, yet she knew that those actions would not bring her the satisfaction they had before. Teacher Gu, whom she had once loved and admired and wanted as a father, had become a lesser person than she.

  Bashi seemed anxious when Nini and Little Sixth arrived. A whole table of food, ordered from Three Joy, the most expensive restaurant in town, waited on the table. He offered to take the baby, and when Little Sixth protested with flailing hands, he made funny faces and squeezed his voice to sing a song about a snail, which scared the baby and made her cry. Nini hushed them both and walked straight into the bedroom. Bashi's bed was freshly made, the sheet and blanket and pillowcases all with a matching pattern of a pair of swallows nestling together in a spring willow tree. “The holiday is for dead people,” Nini said, not yet recovered from the encounter with Teacher Gu. “You thought it was for you?”

  Bashi smiled mysteriously. “Don't give me that stupid smile of yours,” Nini said. She brought the baby to the other bed, stripped after the old woman's death. Nini took a rope out of her pocket. The bed was much smaller than their brick bed at home, so she had to double and then double the rope again before binding it around the baby's waist and tying it to a pole on the inner side of the bed. Bashi seemed concerned, but Nini reassured him: Little Sixth was used to the rope; it would be a miracle if she were able to strangle herself or loosen the knot and fall headfirst to the ground.

  Bashi watched Little Sixth explore her new territory. “What a nice baby,” he said. He knelt at the bedside so that he was at eye level with her. He made squeaky noises and funny faces, which Little Sixth did not appreciate, and when she cried again, he stood up with resignation. “What if she gets bored?” he asked.

  “Why would she get bored?” Nini said. “She lives this way every day.”

  Less than convinced, Bashi went to the kitchen and fetched a whole bag of crackers. At each corner of the bed, he put a stack of crackers. He rummaged in the closet and found a pair of old silk shoes that had belonged to his grandmother, who had had bound feet, so the shoes were no bigger than a child's palm. More intrigued by the shoes than the snack, Little Sixth grabbed them and chewed on the embroidered flowers.

  Nini looked on as Bashi busied himself making Little Sixth comfortable. What a strangely good man he was sometimes, she thought, wasting his time on a baby. She went out to the living room and sank into a huge cushioned chair. Bashi's solicitousness made her feel important; she coul
d easily be the mistress of this household, making him her servant.

  After a few minutes, Bashi came out and said, “I've got a present for you.”

  Nini turned to study him. When he was not behaving oddly, he looked almost handsome.

  “Do you want to guess?”

  “How would I know? Who knows which screw has come loose in your brain?” she said.

  He laughed. “You're right,” he said. “It'd take you a million years to guess.” He went out to the storage room and, a moment later, came back with a cardboard box. The box was not a big one, but the way Bashi carried it, carefully balanced between his two hands, made Nini think of something expensive or heavy, or both. She wondered if it was a present she could hide from her parents and sisters.

  Bashi put the box on the table and opened it; then he stepped aside, gave her a great bow, and invited her to step forward, as if he were a master magician. She squatted by the box and looked inside. She found neither expensive food nor jewelry; instead, the box was filled with ripped newspaper, and in the middle was a little gray ball with quills. She moved it with a finger and it rolled to one side, revealing nothing but more newspaper under its small body.

  “So,” Bashi said. “What do you think?”

  “What is it?”

  “A hedgehog.”

  Bashi watched Nini's face closely, which made her impatient. “What kind of present is that? You think I'm a skunk that needs a hedgehog for lunch?” she said.

  Bashi guffawed as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world, and despite her wish to remain stern and angry, Nini laughed too. She lifted the hedgehog by its quills and put it on the table. It remained motionless, hiding its small face and soft stomach away from the world. “It's dead,” Nini said.