Old Town (17 page)

This kind of talk was not very propitious and Second Sister felt somewhat disgusted, and as she hesitated, she saw Ah Cui’s enthusiasm abruptly fading and coldness oozing from her pores.

“The house I found for you, the rent’s cheaper than what the market’s charging. This was a personal favor to me and I’ll hand over the money. Every month ten strings of cash, to be paid every three months.”

Thirty strings every three months…this is no little sum of money.
Along the road from Old Town they had seen people marking children for sale with wisps of straw. A little girl of seven or eight was selling for only ten strings. Second Sister had originally supposed that with a monthly payment of three or four strings, she could rent a reasonably good house.

“Or, I’ll just go with you to take a look at the place?”

“If you don’t believe me, then don’t. But who
can
you believe?”

Just then, her mother asked from the back, “What are you two talking about?”

To smooth things over with Ah Cui, Second Sister handed the money to her without her mother’s knowledge. Then she immediately got everyone out of bed, and the bundles, which had just been opened, were now tied up once again.

4.

W
HENEVER
I
THINK
of Grandma, she’s always standing in the doorway beneath the oleander, wide-eyed and anxiously scanning everything within view. She’s waiting for me to return from school, or for Grandpa to return from labor reform, or for the postman to deliver a letter from my mother or my two uncles. If whatever she was expecting didn’t arrive on time, she would fall into an even greater state of worry. Each year the oleander grew taller. Each year Grandma was one year older. And throughout it all, worry and anxiety had become her constant companions.

“Prepare for rain while the weather’s good” was my grandmother’s motto. All her life she ran the home with great frugality without ever losing the grand style. In her later years, she became especially petty and stingy, and got all the more so as time passed. Saving became an incurable obsession for her. She saved coins, ration stamps for grain and cooking oil, and every kind of worthless coupon or ticket. She saved rice, soybeans, and peanut oil. She couldn’t bring herself to eat any kind of food that hadn’t been stored to the point of moldiness. The wives of my two uncles voiced some words about their mother-in-law and my older uncle’s wife once launched a big cleanup. All the old and no longer edible foods were put into the garbage cart. Grandma became so angry she got sick and took to her bed. My aunt supposed she had done a good deed that would benefit the health of the family, but all she got was a stern reprimand from my uncle. Big Uncle had anguished memories of all the tough times the four of them had gone through together. He fully understood his mother and dearly loved her. After Grandma was eighty or so and could no longer go out and spend money, my two uncles still gave her money every month that they specially changed into small-denomination bills. This made a very thick wad for a hand to hold, which all the better imparted a sense of dependability and security to their old mother.

Nobody can predict what kind of crisis or calamity he or she will confront in life. Even though my grandma was more clever and sharp-witted than many women, the predicament she got into in Nanjing blindsided even her.

That little wooden house halfway down the hillside, with the drafts blowing in through all its four walls, belonged to one of Ah Cui’s relatives. Ah Cui rented it and then sublet it to Second Sister. When Ah Cui came to collect the rent for the second time, the money in Grandma’s purse was down to less than half the amount she had carried with her from Old Town. Her precious silver dollars had rapidly melted away, for everything had exceeded her original budget. The rent, the prices of firewood, rice, cooking oil, and salt were like boats on a rising tide as people fleeing the war swarmed into the county town.

Second Sister copied the local people and planted vegetables all around the house. She bought a piece of fatty pork, smeared it with salt, and hung it in the kitchen. When frying vegetables, she would take it down and rub a few globs of the fat in the hot pan. She also learned how to marinate salted vegetables and make pickled cucumbers. Every day her two younger brothers would take Baoqing and Baosheng fishing at the little brook. Once in a while they would catch something, and the whole family would be more excited than even at New Year’s. And so the days passed in great liveliness. It was only in the stillness of the night that Second Sister would fumble with the money in the darkness, calculating what little remained and thinking of the war and of Ninth Brother in it. Then she would be engulfed in an indescribable cloud of grief and confusion.

One day, when the family was all sitting around the dinner table, waiting for Baoqing’s trout to emerge from the cooking pan, two open “carry-chairs” stopped at the doorway. This kind of conveyance was a feature of the locality. Ever since Nanjing had become a place of refuge from the war, some people earned a living by lashing two wooden poles to a cane chair, thus making a kind of sedan chair for hire. A man and a woman stepped down. The man had an unkempt beard. Second Sister was just opening her mouth to make an inquiry, when the man, choking and sobbing, shouted out, “Second Sister!” It was the Guo family’s long-lost Second Son. And now, accompanied by that pleasure-mansion girl with whom he had run off, he had found Nanjing. Earlier, he had returned to his home in Old Town. Many buildings on West Street had been destroyed by bombs, though the Guo residence was still there, untouched. And so was Eldest Brother, still keeping close to all those wine jars and unwilling to leave Old Town.

The chair carriers were waiting impatiently by the door and shouting, “Mister, you haven’t paid us yet!”

Second Brother said, “Second Sister, pay them a string of cash for me.”

Second Sister was stunned. “You don’t even have that little bit of money on you?”

“If I weren’t at the very end of my tether, do you think I’d have swallowed my pride and come looking for you, Second Sister?”

This younger brother of hers was still an incorrigible wastrel. No money, but he would still visit someone riding on a carry-chair. It was just like back in Old Town, when he would take in the opera and gang about the brothels—it had to be by sedan chair.

In an instant all the happiness and joy of reunion after such a long separation was just wiped clean away. It was as if a millstone pressed with all its heaviness on Second Sister’s heart. She paid the money and said to Second Brother, “For those who have fled here, eking out a living isn’t easy. Don’t parade your wealth or put on any more airs. Today you’re riding on a carry-chair, tomorrow you may have to carry one.”

Her brother guffawed, “Second Sister, you wouldn’t let me do coolie work.”

Second Brother’s woman was a sweet talker. “Ma” came loudly from her mouth almost every other word. Old Lady Guo paid no attention to her, but she really didn’t mind, and, cool and composed, she picked up her chopsticks and went straight for the fish’s maw.

The old lady reached across with her own chopsticks to stop her. “The fish maw is for my grandson.”

The woman twisted her expression into a brittle smile, “Then I’ll just eat the fish’s head.”

Old Lady Guo again wielded her chopsticks to block her. “The fish head is for my other grandchildren.”

The woman, still showing no sign of irritation, slurped down three bowls of melon porridge.

Second Sister had still not come to the table. There was almost nothing anymore in the cooking pan. She went outside and sat on the hillside. She wanted to pray to the Jesus her Lord to help her, but suddenly her faith weakened and dejectedly she looked up to the heavens and said, “O Lord Jesus, where are you? Have you abandoned our family?”

They watched helplessly as the plight of hunger drew nearer each day. Second Sister, who normally placed great importance on appearances, could only “tear her face” and go out to look for work. One day, Ah Cui was in a tailor shop in the county town when she happened to see Second Sister just then measuring a customer. She rubbed her eyes in astonishment. On this street, all the shop owners knew her, and everyone was rather in awe of Madam “Official’s Wife.” And now here was one of her Old Town relatives laboring away. This really
was
a disgrace. Ah Cui quickly covered up her face and left. Second Sister, turning around, caught sight of Ah Cui leaving. Ah Cui had not come forward to say hello.

Every day she went out early and came back late. Although this was hard on her, at least they had income now. The wages she earned were transformed into enough rice for the stomachs of ten people. The three children saw how difficult this was for their mother and became all the more considerate. They took over and divided up all the housework. The littlest one, Baoqing, would burn firewood and cook food. Every day, three meals a day, he would get next to the stove and blow on the fire. His cheeks, which originally had been fair and spotlessly clean, now looked like those of an actor in the opera. Baosheng’s skill with his little slingshot grew more expert with each shot. He would go hunting for pheasants in the mountains and get fish in the brooks. Thus the supply of meat dishes on their dinner table was never interrupted. Baohua was responsible for cleaning the clothes, though the brook flowed turbulently and often clothing got washed away in it. But her mother never scolded her for this.

The third day of the sixth month of the lunar calendar was Second Sister’s birthday, and her three children secretly prepared a “long-life banquet” for her. Baosheng set off deep into the hills in the middle of the night to grope about in the pheasant nests for a few eggs. He returned at noon and then went into the brook to catch fish. Baohua plucked flowers and blades of grass so that all the bottles and jars in the house were filled with colors of every kind. And Baoqing – all day long he blew on the fire in the stove until all the hair in front of his temples was singed.

Second Sister returned in the evening. She was just stepping across the doorway when she saw the table laden with all those good things to eat, including a bowl of “long life” noodles on which were placed two tiny pheasant eggs. She suddenly recalled that today was her own birthday and she was overwhelmed in a tempest of emotions. Caught in midstep, she just leaned against the door and wept. At that moment, she thought of someone for the first time in a long time.
How could I have ever said that Jesus had abandoned our family?
She thought too of Ninth Brother. After fleeing from Old Town, she no longer believed that there would ever be a day when she and Ninth Brother would meet again. Still in tears, Second Sister suddenly turned around and ran back outside, her three children running after her. They were surprised to see their mother kneeling there on the hillside, her head raised to heaven saying, “O Lord, Jesus, You haven’t abandoned me. It’s I who’ve abandoned you. Please forgive me!” The wind blew by and she heard Ninth Brother’s voice hovering in the sighing pines.

Second Sister, you must have faith
. “Ninth Brother, I know you wouldn’t leave your wife and children behind and go on alone to your heavenly reward.” She wiped away her tears and hugged the three children surrounding her.

The children looked at each other.
Hasn’t Daddy been alive all this time? What did Ma mean?

When the four of them returned to their little wooden house, Second Brother and the woman were already standing there, picking their teeth clean. The only thing left in the bowls and on the plates were bits of thick soup and some gravy. Baosheng said angrily, “Today is my mother’s birthday. This was for her, but she hadn’t even sat down at the table. How could you have eaten everything all up?” Second Sister, though, just smiled and said, “Your ma knows what was in your hearts, and that is more beautiful than eating anything.”

From that day on, Second Sister resumed her morning and evening prayers. She also wrote a letter to Pastor and Mrs. Chen in Old Town. In it she asked them to locate that fat postman and, if there had been any mail from Ninth Brother, to please collect it on her behalf and forward it to her. Before she left, she hadn’t made this clear for fear that she would sink into a hope when there was none.