Cries in the Drizzle

by Yu Hua

  My father was beside himself. “Dad, forget about dying! Just get back to living, will you? First it's a coffin you want, and now it's scarecrows. Give me a break, for heaven's sake!”

  When the old men of the village heard about this latest development from Sun Kwangtsai (now in high dudgeon), they did not share my father's view that Sun Youyuan was making a fuss for nothing. My grandfather's belief that his soul was hovering about nearby struck them as perfectly plausible. At midday—I had stopped my tapping then—I saw several old men walking over with two scarecrows in their hands, their pious expressions in the sunlight conveying a curious dignity. They propped one of the scarecrows against the wall next to our front door and set the other one down outside Sun Youyuan's window. As they explained to Sun Kwangtsai later, they did this to smooth my grandfather's ascent to heaven.

  My grandfathers allotted span was truly drawing to a close, and in the three days following his condition rapidly deteriorated. Once, when my father went into his room, Sun Youyuan could talk to him only in a faint tone, like the hum of a mosquito. By now he was no longer at the mercy of his appetite, for he had lost even the most basic desire for food and at most ate two or three mouthfuls of the rice my mother brought him. This led my father to loiter outside the house for quite some time, eyeing the scarecrows suspiciously and muttering to himself, “Can it be these things really work?”

  My grandfather lay unwashed in that summer room for many days, and he wet his bed in the final stages when he was scarcely breathing. The storeroom reeked.

  Once Sun Youyuan truly looked as though he was close to death, Sun Kwangtsai began to calm down. On two successive mornings he went to Granddads room to check on his condition, and when he emerged he was knitting his brows. Given to exaggeration as he was, my father asserted that Sun Youyuan had soiled a good half of the bed. He did not go into Granddad's room the following morning because, he said, he couldn't bear the stench. He told my mother to go in and see how Granddad was doing while he sat by the table and offered instruction to my brothers: “Your granddad will be dead soon.” He elaborated. “People are like weasels: when you try to catch them they let loose a stinky fart to make you all groggy, so they can escape. Your granddad is about to make his getaway, so it's horribly smelly in his room.”

  When my mother came out of Granddad's room she was white as a sheet and was kneading the hem of her apron with both hands. She said to Sun Kwangtsai, “Quick, go and have a look!”

  My father seemed to be launched off his stool. He scurried into Granddad s room and after a few moments he came back out again, with a rapt expression on his face. Dancing with joy, he said, “He's dead, all right! No doubt about it.”

  In fact, Sun Youyuan was not yet dead; he was simply going in and out of shock. But my father, never very punctilious about small details, went off in a great rush to seek the help of people in the village, for it only now occurred to him that a hole had still to be dug. With a hoe over his shoulder and a mournful expression on his face, he went around the village calling people out of their houses, and then together with several locals he began to dig a resting place for Sun Youyuan next to Grandmother's grave.

  Sun Kwangtsai was not easily satisfied, and when the neighbors had finished digging the grave and were about ready to go home, my father kept grumbling away in the background, saying that if they were going to help they should go whole hog, otherwise they'd do better not to help at all. He asked them to carry my grandfather out, while he stood by the doorway, opting not to join them in the room. When Wang Yuejin (the one who was later to get into a fight with him) screwed up his face and complained about the awful smell, my father said unctuously, “Dead people are like that.”

  My grandfather chose to open his eyes at the very moment that he was being lifted off the bed. He had no idea, of course, that they were just about to bury him, and he gave a little chuckle as he regained consciousness; the sudden appearance of a smile on his face gave them the fright of their lives. I heard a chaotic medley of shouts erupt inside the room, and the next thing I knew, every one of the neighbors bolted out in a panic. Wang Yuejin, the most strongly built of all, was white as a sheet, and he patted his chest and kept saying, “That scared the shit out of me!”

  Then he started hurling curses at Sun Kwangtsai. “I screw your ancestors, all eighteen generations of them! You stupid bastard, what sort of joke is that to play on people?”

  My father looked at them quizzically, not knowing what the problem was, until Wang Yuejin said, “Fuck it, the man's still alive!”

  Hearing that, Sun Kwangtsai rushed into Sun Youyuan's room. On seeing him, my grandfather gave another titter, so infuriating my father that he started cursing even before he left the room. “All your talk about dying is just a load of shit! If you really want to die, then string yourself up or throw yourself in the river, don't just fucking lie in bed!”

  Like a fine stream of water that just keeps on flowing, Sun Youyuan's life carried on unbroken, to the villagers’ amazement. Practically everyone was convinced that he was about to die, but he had succeeded in making his passing a very protracted affair. The biggest surprise came that summer evening. It was stiflingly hot inside the house, so we moved the table out and set it down underneath the elm tree. We were eating there when Granddad suddenly appeared.

  Though bedridden for some three weeks now, he had managed to clamber to his feet, and putting a hand against the wall for support he tottered outside like a child just learning to walk. We watched him in speechless astonishment. By now he was gripped by a deep unease about his inability to die properly. With difficulty he positioned himself next to the threshold and then lowered himself unsteadily onto the sill. He seemed oblivious to our reaction and sat as motionless as though he were a sack of sweet potatoes. We heard a dejected mumble, “Still not dead! What a pain!”

  It was the following morning that Sun Youyuan died. When my father went over to his bed, he opened his eyes wide and looked at him steadily. Granddad's look must have been chilling or my father would not have been so petrified. He told us later that Granddad's expression seemed to be saying that he wanted to take him along, so they could die together. But my father did not make a run for it, or rather he could not make a run for it as his hands were now held in his father's viselike grip. Two tiny tears fell from the corners of my grandfather's eyes, and then he closed his eyes forever. Sun Kwangtsai could feel his clamped hands gradually recover their freedom, and that's when he left the room all flustered and in a slurred voice told my mother to have a look. Compared with him, she was much more composed. She hesitated a little as she went in, but she came out with a steady step, telling my father, “He's gone cold.”

  My father smiled with relief, and as he headed outside he cried, “Finally, damn it! Finally!”

  He sat down on the doorstep, grinning at some hens that strutted about nearby. But before long his face grew dark with grief, his mouth went out of shape, and he started crying; soon he was blubbering. I heard him murmuring to himself, “Dad, I let you down. Dad, you had such a hard life. I'm a lousy bastard, I didn't treat you right! But I really had no choice, you know.”

  When Granddad at last fulfilled his ambition and died, this failed to evoke the feeling that I had lost a real, living person. It left me in a strange state of mind, a combination of sorrow and disquiet. What was clear to me, however, was that one particular spectacle would fade from view and be lost forever. At twilight Sun Youyuan used to appear on the road into Southgate, shuffling along toward me and the pond. Even from a considerable distance I could always recognize the oilskin umbrella clutched to his chest and the blue bundle dangling over his shoulder. That tableau had so often brought me warmth and comfort, as reassuring as sunshine itself.

  GRANDFATHER'S VICTORY

  Sun Youyuan was no coward; at least inside he was not. If he was humble, this servility stemmed to a large extent from low self-esteem. In my fourth year away from Southgate, after my little brother had a
djusted the table legs, Granddad's sorry predicament at home grew even more dire.

  The table-leg episode did not mark the end of hostilities between Sun Youyuan and Sun Kwangtsai, for my father was a tenacious adversary and would not allow Sun Youyuan to rest easy for long. Soon he forbade my grandfather to sit at the table at mealtimes, insisting that he sit in the corner with a small bowl. My grandfather had to learn to put up with hunger. Although an old man, he had the appetite of a young newlywed, but now he was allowed only this one small bowl. Sun Kwangtsai's put-upon expression made it very difficult for him to request a second helping, and he could only watch with rumbling stomach as my parents and brothers dug into their meal with gusto. The only way of alleviating his hunger was to lick all the plates before they were washed, and now, through our back window, the villagers would often see Sun Youyuan assiduously scouring the dirty dishes with his tongue.

  My grandfather did not easily resign himself to suffering such humiliation, and given that he was no coward he had no choice but to go head to head with Sun Kwangtsai since it was impossible to outflank him. After a month or so, when my mother passed Granddad his little bowl, he deliberately failed to take a firm hold and instead let it drop and shatter on the floor. I can imagine how this would have infuriated my father, and sure enough he leapt up from his stool, and pointing a finger at Sun Youyuan cursed him loudly. “You old wastrel, you can't even hold a fucking bowl properly! How do you think you're going to eat now?”

  By then my grandfather was already down on his knees, gathering up the bits of food off the floor. He put on an expression that seemed to acknowledge he had committed a terrible crime, and he said to my father, “Oh no, I shouldn't have smashed that bowl! Oh no, that family heirloom—it was supposed to be passed on to the next generation!”

  This last sentence left my father nonplussed, and it was a moment before its implications sank in. Then he said to my mother, “You keep telling me the old man is so pitiful, but don't you see how devious he is?”

  My grandfather did not look at Sun Kwangtsai. His eyes filled with tears while he kept crying stubbornly, “Oh no, that bowl was to go to my son!”

  Sun Kwangtsai was now at the end of his tether, and he roared at Granddad, “Stop that fucking playacting!”

  Sun Youyuan started to bawl, crying in an anguished voice, “Now that the bowl is broken, how's my son going to eat?”

  At that point my little brother began to cackle. In his eyes Granddad looked so ridiculous that he burst out laughing, despite the inappropriateness of the occasion. My big brother Sun Guang-ping knew that this was not the time for levity but Sun Guang-ming's mirth so infected him that he could not stop himself from joining in. My father now found himself under fire from all quarters: on the one side, Sun Youyuan with his ominous prediction of hardship late in life; on the other, his progeny seemingly savoring with their laughter the prospect of his future sufferings. Sun Kwangtsai glanced suspiciously at his darling sons and thought to himself: its true I can't really count on these two guys.

  My brothers’ laughter served to buttress my grandfather's position, although that was not what they intended. My father, normally brimming with self-confidence, found himself at sea. Bereft of the rage he needed to deal with the still-wailing Sun Youyuan, he retreated feebly toward the door, at the same time waving his hand and saying, “Okay, I give in. Just stop all that wailing, will you? You win, all right? I'm no match for you, I admit. Just stop that damn wailing!”

  But once he was outside the house Sun Kwangtsai flared up once again. Pointing at his family inside, he swore, “You're such sons of bitches, the whole lot of you!”

  Chapter 4

  THREATS

  There was one lunchtime when I—an adult now—found my attention drawn to a charming performance by a brightly dressed little boy. He stood on the sidewalk in the full sunshine, stuck out a pudgy arm, and very intently executed a whole series of gestures that suggested a rich imagination, simple though they were. In the middle of this routine he suddenly stuck his hand into the crotch of his pants and scratched an itch, although his face continued to maintain a blissful smile. Undistracted by the din of the city streets, his mind still reveled in a fantasy world.

  Later, when a troop of primary school pupils passed by, he discovered that he wasn't as happy as he thought. He watched agog as these older children walked off into the distance. Even without seeing the look in his eye I could feel his despondency at that moment. Satchels, slung casually over their owners’ shoulders, swayed in a gentle motion as the class moved off, surely a dispiriting sight to a boy who had not yet reached school age, and the fact that the children were walking in pairs can only have sharpened his feelings of envy, leaving him vexed and dissatisfied with life. He turned and stomped off down an alleyway, wearing a long face.

  Twenty or so years ago, when my big brother strutted off with his satchel and my father issued his parting injunction, I realized for the first time how unfortunate I was. A year later, when I went off to school with a satchel on my back myself, I was no longer in a position to listen to any advice that Sun Kwangtsai might have had for me, and received another kind of counsel altogether.

  By that time it was six months since I had left Southgate. The burly man who escorted me away from Southgate had become my father, while my mother, a petite woman with a blue-checked headscarf who used to walk briskly across the fields, had been replaced by the pale and listless Li Xiuying. One morning my new father gripped the handles of a heavy wooden trunk, effortlessly shifted it to one side, and from the trunk underneath brought out a brand-new green military satchel, which he said was mine from now on.

  Wang Liqiang's perception of country boys would have been amusing were it not so annoying. Perhaps because he was himself a peasant's son, he never altered his conviction that village children, like dogs, were liable to answer the call of nature wherever they felt like it. During his first full day of parenting he underscored repeatedly the importance of the chamber pot. His concern about my excretory functions remained uppermost in his thoughts even as I was putting the satchel on my back, a moment that to me was sacred. He told me that once I was at school I could not just go to the toilet whenever I felt like it; first I needed to raise my hand and secure the teacher's permission.

  I felt proud to be so neatly dressed, green satchel dangling from my shoulder, escorted by Wang Liqiang in his army uniform. That was how I arrived at school on my first day. A man who was busy knitting a sweater chatted quietly with Wang Liqiang, but I dared not laugh at his incongruous hobby because this man was to be my teacher. Then a boy my age ran toward us waving his satchel. He and I exchanged glances, and a cluster of children nearby took a good look at me. “Why don't you go and join them?” Wang Liqiang suggested.

  I walked toward those unfamiliar faces. They eyed me inquisitively and I studied them with equal curiosity. I soon found that I had a significant advantage over the other children, for my satchel was bigger than any of theirs. But just when I was feeling rather pleased with my superior status, Wang Liqiang came across on his way out and delivered a loud reminder, “If you need to pee or drop your load, don't forget to raise your hand.”

  My nascent self-esteem instantly bit the dust.

  My five years of town life were spent in the company of an ill-matched couple, one all muscle, the other frailty personified. I had not been selected by the town because I was so adorable, nor was I, for that matter, so enthralled by the town; the crux of the matter was that Wang Liqiang and his wife needed me. They were childless, the reason being, according to Li Xiuying, that she was not strong enough to breastfeed. Wang Liqiang put it differently, telling me categorically that if Li Xiuying, with all her ailments, were to give birth, this would kill her right away—a remark that seemed quite shocking to me at the time. Neither of them liked babies, and they opted for a six-year-old like me because I could do some work around the house. To be fair, they were expecting to be parents to me their whole lives throu
gh, for otherwise they could perfectly well have adopted a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old boy whose performance of chores would have been more satisfactory. The problem was that a fourteen-year-old would already have well-formed habits that might give them a lot of trouble. Having chosen me, they fed and clothed me, saw me off to school, scolded and beat me, just like other parents would. And so I, the product of another marriage, became their son.

  During the whole five years I lived with them Li Xiuying went out of the house only once, and after that unprecedented excursion I never saw her again. It was always a mystery to me exactly what was wrong with Li Xiuying, but I was left in no doubt about her devotion to sunlight. It was as though, without exposure to sunshine, this second mother of mine was shrouded in a perpetual drizzle.

  The first time Wang Liqiang conducted me into her room, I was astonished to see the floor dotted with little stools, on which were draped an immense number of undershirts and underpants, illuminated by the sunshine that came in through the window. She seemed completely unaware of our entrance. Her outstretched arm was groping for the sunlight, as though tugging on a slender cord. As the sun's rays shifted their position, she would move the stools so that her motley collection of underwear would always be bathed in sunshine. So absorbed was she in this monotonous and barren activity that I must have stood there for quite some time. When she turned around, I saw a large pair of eyes so hollow that I draw a blank when I try to picture their expression. Then I heard a sound so thin it was as though a thread was passing through my ear, the way it might pass through the eye of a needle. She was telling me what would happen if she wore damp underwear: “I'd be dead in a second.”