The Diary of Ma Yan (5 page)

After class I compare my answers to those of others. But none of my answers match theirs.

Mother, all the hope you've put in me has been in vain. I'll try and give you more satisfaction later on, okay, Mother? I promise. I'll try and get better results in the future.

Thursday, November 16

Our first two classes are in Chinese grammar and spelling. The teacher explains, “You'll review during the next two lessons and then next week you'll take your Chinese exam.”

This makes me think of yesterday's exam. When the teacher distributed the papers, at first glance everything looked simple. So I started to answer the questions. But toward the end I ran into more and more problems.

No sooner had the Chinese teacher uttered the word
exam
than I no longer had the heart to carry on reading my book. Do you want to know why? Yesterday I went to the office of the math teacher. His niece and his two twin daughters were just looking over my paper, corrected by the teacher. I got eight answers wrong. There were not that many questions to start with, and I got eight of them wrong! I can hardly be lighthearted after that.

I also saw Bai Xue's paper. I had the feeling that I was the lowest of the low, and she had walked in the heavens. What a distance there was between us. It was as if I had never existed.

Friday, November 17

When night falls Mother heats up some water and tells me to wash my hair. My paternal grandmother is ill, she explains. She's got pains in her kidneys and her legs. My two brothers have gone off to see her.

When the water is finally hot, I wash my hair. Ma Yichao comes home alone, his hands covering his face.

Mother asks him, “Did you really go to Grandmother's? You saw her?”

“No,” he replies.

“Why ever not?”

He explains. “Grandfather had been to the mosque at Liwazi, more than a mile from the village. They'd given him a present of meat pancakes. When Ma Yiting and I reached his door, he shouted at us. ‘It's so cold outside. Why on earth have you come?'”

There was little point in repeating that they'd come to see their grandmother. He sent them away because, he said, it was so cold. So my brothers came home.

Mother starts to criticize Grandfather. “How can we look after him if he behaves like that?”

But I think she's wrong. Grandfather will never change. He doesn't understand that we want the best for him. When my mother criticizes him, I feel terrible. Why do none of his daughters-in-law understand what's going on inside him? He's always been like this. I hope I'll never hear another bad thing said about my grandfather.

Saturday, November 18

It's very cold this afternoon. The snow is falling thickly, and there's a gusting wind. Father came back from the market, where he bought two bags of wheat. He's also got other things, which he's carried in a big sack. He comes into the room and puts down his bundle. Mother takes out the vegetables, garlic, noodles. She looks right down into the bottom of the bag, where she finds one or two pounds of meat. She asks Father why he thought it was a good idea to buy meat. He explains, “Today the children are all home together. Let's have a feast. They don't eat well at school. That's why I bought a little meat for them.”

So Mother makes a soup with rice and meat for us. While we're eating, she comes out with one of her sayings. “Liver isn't meat. A nephew isn't a descendant. The son must give birth to himself. The tree must have deep roots.”

Ma Yan and her family on the
kang
, their large cement bed

No matter how much I think about the meaning of these phrases, I understand nothing at all.
*

Sunday, November 19

This afternoon, just before we have to leave for school, my brother Ma Yichao recounts what happened to us last Sunday on our way to school; how we were attacked by five youths from another village. After she's listened to us, Mother asks Father, who hasn't gone off to his work outside the village yet, to accompany us. Father hoists our provisions on his shoulder. We each take our schoolbag, but I'm also carrying my brother's clothes and shoes.

We set off on our long trudge of several hours through the snow. When we get to the top of the plateau, Father's ears are already very red. We're walking in silence. I hear his tread and I see the snow on his leather shoes.

I think of my exam results. How can I possibly merit the long walk Father is making for our sakes? He's afraid we'll be beaten up on the way. I'm going to study harder now, be successful, then go off to university and find work. I must pay Father back for this walk and give him and Mother the gift of a better life.

Monday, November 20

This morning our first lesson is a study period where we can do our homework and read over our texts. The Chinese teacher warns us, “Study your lessons well. Our next period will be the Chinese exam.”

All the comrades launch themselves into studying. When the time for the next period arrives, the teacher comes into the classroom and distributes the test papers. I can see that it's easy and I settle right in. While I'm writing, I tell myself that I absolutely must do well for Mother and Father's sake and get a top grade.

The time comes to hand in our papers. I ask the others how many checkmarks they had—that is affirmative answers—and how many Xs—the negative answers. They say three Xs and one checkmark. Does that mean I've once again made mistakes? Mother and Father's hope vanishes into the distance once more.

I shall have to study more.

Tuesday, November 21

The last lesson this afternoon is music. The teacher writes out the lyrics to songs on the blackboard. The first is called “I Have a Sheep.” While the teacher writes, she leans her head against the blackboard, as if she's ill. It's clear that she has a headache. Writing is a strain, and she barely gets through all the stanzas.

The second song is “Wooden Rattles.” The teacher gives the song sheet to Hu Zhimin and asks him to write it out for her. She sits down. I don't know what's wrong with her, but she seems
very unwell. She looks as if she could pass out at any moment.

Hu Zhimin has copied out the words on the board, and the teacher gives us the tune. Then she asks us to sing on our own. We don't quite get to the end. She makes us repeat it all several times, then confides, “Ma Huiping, in class three of the fifth year, sings really well.”

The meaning of this, from what I can gather, is that we should try and follow her example.

The teacher has worn herself out, and we still can't sing the whole song. It's not fair to her. Despite her illness, she's come to teach us so that we can take our turn in tomorrow's celebrations.

The following letter is part of Ma Yan's activity with the Young Pioneers, a national and international youth organization. In the letter, she makes references to Mao Zedong (1893-1976), founder of the People's Republic of China, and Jin Zhanlin, a local hero who died several years ago.

Ma Yan in class, looking through the window

Wednesday, November 22

The last class of the day is given up to the activities of the Young Pioneers. Hu Zhimin is the organizer. He picks out names at random. He asks Ma Shiping to get up and sing. At first she refuses. I'm pleased, because she made fun of me and said I sing like a little pig. Today, when the teacher asks her, she sings, but she's worse than I am.

When my turn comes, the teacher asks me to sing “The Dream Butterfly”:

All the comrades say I've sung well, and that I could become a star….

Secretly I'm very pleased. As of today I've got more confidence in my ability to sing. I shall have to carry on and do even better. I don't want to hear anyone imply that I sing like a pig.

Thursday, November 23

I'm busy correcting a text this afternoon when the school day comes to an end. Ma Yichao brings food and calls me to come and eat.

A lot of comrades confide their admiration to me: “How kind your brother is! He brings you food and lets you eat first. He eats
your leftovers. After your meal he goes to get water so that you can wash your bowl….”

I'm so pleased by their words.

But today my brother has only brought rice without any vegetables. Halfway through the meal, Ma Shiping gives me a spoonful of her vegetables. I take a mouthful and give the rest to my brother.

At that moment I suddenly understand the true meaning of a sense of family. What the love of a mother is.

Friday, November 24

Before lunch my father and mother came to school to see my brother and me. They brought us a little rice and asked us to give it to our main teacher, that is, our Chinese teacher.

The bell announcing class rings. When lessons are over, my brother and I race down the road, but my parents are already leaving to see our maternal grandmother. They've heard she's still ill, which is why they want to go and see her. They give me a yuan to buy some apples to have with our evening bread.

Today I'm very sad. Do you want to know why? Because this morning my parents told me that when I got home, I had to feed the ox. I refused. But when I got home, I did feed the ox. The work has left my hands all rough and swollen. They're horrible to look at. And so I'm led to reflect: I've fed the ox once, and my hands are already rough. Mother feeds him every day—which explains why her hands are so swollen. Everything she does is for my brothers' and my future.

I want to cry and can't say a word. Please come back, Mother and Father. I need your love! I was wrong, okay? Come back quick. I'm thinking of you. Please come back.

Saturday, November 25

My parents said they would be back from my maternal grandparents' today. My brothers and I got up very early. We prepared the food for the ox. Then I cooked for all of us. After we'd eaten, we stayed on the
kang
to watch TV. After that we went out to play.

Soon the sun set behind the mountain. But Father and Mother still didn't appear. We made some supper for ourselves and ate. After that my brothers stayed at home to watch cartoons, but I was worried so I went out, without quite knowing where I was going.

Seeing me in this state, my brother went to find our second uncle's daughter, so that she could keep us company. We chatted for a bit, then my brothers and I went to bed without saying another word.

A house without grown-ups doesn't feel normal. Children are always children. My father and mother have gone, and I feel desperate. I hope they come back soon.

Sunday, November 26

This afternoon when we got to school, the dormitory was still locked. Only Ma Juan is there, a friend from our class. We sit
down in front of the dormitory. After a while, another comrade arrives, Ma Yuehua. She asks us why we don't go in. We tell her the door is still locked. She has the key, she tells us. We go in and put down our bags. We open our books and start to read.

A little while later a motorbike, driven by a man, pulls up outside. Yang Xiaohua has been given a lift all the way to school. Both of them come to the dormitory.

The man asks, “Is your stove working?”

“No,” we answer.

He asks us why we don't light the coal stove.

“The hearth is too full,” we explain.

He takes off his jacket and starts to clean out all of last week's ashes. I ask myself who this man could be and why he's busying himself with getting our stove going. It turns out he's Yang Xiaohua's father. He's a nice man. When he dies, he'll certainly go to heaven.

Of course, this is only in my imagination….

Monday, November 27

This afternoon the last period is given up to a class meeting. The teacher asks us to clean the school. Some comrades concentrate on the yard, others simply play. I study in the classroom. The student responsible for communal life comes in to tell me to go out. I go. During my absence, the floor is swept. I return to the classroom and carry on with my homework. He calls me again, this time to tell me to clean the windows. I go out and start wiping them. After that I return to the classroom once more.

He calls me yet again to tell me to go and do some dusting elsewhere. When I don't answer, he comes up close and smacks me. I still don't say anything. He hits me harder and harder. I pick up my little ruler and hit him across the face. Then I go off to do the dusting. I'm furious. If I become a good policewoman tomorrow and this boy commits a crime, I'll arrest him and shoot him. I'll cut him up with a knife!

Tuesday, November 28

Mother and Father, forgive me. Why do I ask for your forgiveness straight away? Because this afternoon our Chinese teacher, the most important one, lectured us: “Last week you took your midterm exams. Several comrades performed very well, but the vast majority of you had very poor results. You, the boarders, every week you bring a bag of rolls with you and once a term, a sack of rice. Do you think you deserve as much? Not even bread and rice. As for the rest of you…”

When the teacher gives out the test results, I can't lift my head. I haven't even come in second. Will I ever be able to hold my head up high again?

But I have to be confident. In the final exams I'll certainly have better results to show my parents.

Wednesday, November 29

This morning the math teacher came in with thirty-seven workbooks in his hand. The atmosphere is bizarre. It really is. The
teacher takes a handful of these exercise books and starts in: “I've already told you that if you haven't done the necessary work, there's no point handing it in!”

The top notebook belongs to Li Qing. The teacher asks her to get up and leave the class. She refuses. The teacher slaps her with the back of his hand across the neck. Then he slaps each of us one after another. He has one last exercise book in his hand. It belongs to Ma Fulu. The teacher orders him forward and, without saying a word, hits him.

I'm secretly very happy about this, because Ma Fulu has hit other comrades. And today it's the teacher's turn to slap him. He knows now what it feels like, knows just how pleasant it is! Might he now give up the habit of roughing us up? I so hope he'll never hit us again.

Thursday, November 30

Chinese class this morning. As soon as the teacher comes in, he asks if anyone present has any glass marbles. These are not allowed in school. The class head indicates one comrade, then another and another. The teacher confiscates a whole handful of marbles before at last beginning the lesson.

Lesson 22,“The Golden Bait: A War Narrative.” The teacher announces that he's going to read the text and that we'll then analyze its meaning. While the teacher reads, I can't hold back my tears. Because my grandfather is just like one of the veterans in the story who've come back from the war in Korea. He, too, crossed the steppes, climbed mountains of snow. In fact, he
resembles the old squadron chief quoted by our teacher—a man who persevered until the ultimate victory.

I'm proud of him, and my tears flow in homage to his bravery.

Friday, December 1

This afternoon after school it was very cold. My brother and I got our bags and went to the market. When we arrived, there were no tractors going to our village. We looked around a little longer, and I finally spied one. We got up into the trailer at the back. I thought to myself that it was easy enough getting in, but it would be harder getting out, because we would have to pay.

My parents didn't come to town today. Neither my brother nor I have any money. That's why it'll be difficult.

I've barely finished thinking this, when Mother approaches without our knowing. She murmurs, “You're dying of cold, aren't you?”

I turn around and see her. I'm thrilled. As soon as Mother gets on, the tractor takes off.

On the road the wind is very strong. My cheeks are bright red. Mother puts her hands on them. Right away, I feel warmer.

Mother is being so attentive. When I think of my exam results, I don't know how I'm going to tell her.

Saturday, December 2

At dusk, when the fast is over, we're all watching a cartoon on the television:
Sun Child
. I go out to see what Mother is up to. I pull back the curtain on the door and see that she's making little potato dumplings for our dinner. I return to watch more of the cartoon with my brothers.

A little while later I want to go and help Mother. But she's already finished preparing the vegetables and rolls. There's only the rice left to cook.

“Can I help, Mother?” I ask.

“It's not worth it. Better go and do your homework.”

I go back to do some writing.

While I write, I think. What a lot of trouble our parents go to for us. And couldn't we go to just a little trouble for them? So that they can have happy times in which they'll be the ones looked after by others.