The Scavenger's Daughters (Tales of the Scavenger's Daughters, Book One)
Read The Scavenger's Daughters (Tales of the Scavenger's Daughters, Book One) Online
Authors: Kay Bratt
Silent Tears: A Journey of Hope in a Chinese Orphanage
Chasing China: A Daughter’s Quest for Truth
The Bridge
A Thread Unbroken
Train to Nowhere
Mei Li and the Wise Laoshi
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2013 Kay Bratt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Amazon Publishing
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
ISBN-10: 1477805869
ISBN-13: 9781477805862
D
edicated to the many compassionate people in China who have opened their homes and their hearts to homeless children.
Your efforts and kindness are an inspiration to the world.
China, 1967
B
enfu listened to the chorus of crickets and was relieved that evening was finally upon him. Carefully he paced the three feet of space with his hands tied behind his back, squinting in the dimness but knowing there was nothing new to see. Through his swollen eyes he saw the same murky shapes he’d seen since they’d dragged him there days before. He tried to take a deep breath but felt the crackling in his chest. The ragged breaths he was forced to take told him his ribs were bruised if not a few broken. He wished he could wipe the sheen of sweat from his brow, for it burned as it ran into the cuts on his face. It was a bit better since the sun had stopped beaming down on the tin shed but it still felt like he was being baked. He reminded himself to remain calm as he tried to focus on the thought that the cooler night temperatures were coming, a welcome reprieve that gave him the energy to move again and try to make sense of his sudden captivity.
By now he knew every step and each impression in the muck. He also knew from experience where the deep holes were that dropped to the pits of waste. He’d fallen into one that first night and had to be fished out of it like a flailing whale. He still reeked and his stomach rolled with nausea each time he thought of the squishy, putrid substance he had been covered in.
He was like a caged tiger, and though he was weak from lack of food or water, if someone else came through the door to beat him again, he’d fight just as hard as he had the last four days. He would not let them see him
broken and he’d never give up and renounce his parents like they wanted him to do. Mao might be in control of most of China but Benfu would not let him take possession of his mind the way he had so many others. His parents were teachers, not revolutionaries! They’d done nothing but spend their lives molding intelligent minds and strong characters; he would not let someone tell him they were criminals.
At only seventeen, Benfu still knew right from wrong and had not joined in the obsessive following of Mao the rest of his generation seemed to have fallen into. Couldn’t they see that they were only now starting to recover from Mao’s failed Great Leap Forward? Benfu’s own father had described to him how Mao’s obsession for China to beat Europe’s output of iron and steel had overcome his common sense, making him oblivious to leading them into the worst famine in their history. What did he think would happen when he pulled everyone from working the crops and instead had them running factory—and even backyard—furnaces to melt anything and everything in sight to make steel? Steel made from anything they could find from grain bins down to the smallest kitchen pots and utensils—done so haphazardly that most of it couldn’t even be used!
Then without time to even recover completely, the government leaders had gone immediately from the failed Great Leap Forward to this new so-called Cultural Revolution. Even Benfu knew this latest plan of clearing out the superstitions and crushing Chinese traditions and artifacts to make way for modernization was not the answer. People needed to keep sight of their history to see how they were growing! When would enough be enough and the people figure out that Mao was not the leader they thought he was? Benfu could see it, but were he and his father the only ones in millions?
He shook his head and tried to shake the stench from his nostrils. Outside he could hear the work groups coming in from the fields, some trying valiantly to lead the others in a weak rendition of “The East Is Red,” a song to exalt their glorious leader, the only semblance of music allowed.
When those in the work group had left that morning, their voices were stronger—ready to take on the challenge of meeting their ever-rising quota
of gathering more vegetables, planting more rows, watering more crops. Now with the way all farmers were brought together to work toward one goal, many of them failed to see the irony that they were doing more work for less personal gain. Land that had been in families for generations was now owned and controlled by the government, and the people were poorer than ever! With the failure of the Great Leap Forward, the commune system was being reorganized, but not fast enough.
Benfu had kept quiet about it as long as he could but when he’d finally exploded with frustration, his sarcastic remarks had gotten him in trouble. He’d been called in to speak to the elders and he’d thought he’d settled them down enough. What he hadn’t known at the time was his outburst had caused an investigation into his background, and they’d discovered he wasn’t who he’d said he was. He’d immediately been accused of hiding the truth about his family line. It had only gotten worse from there because he’d refused to give up his parents’ names.
After he had spent a few days locked in a small room off the commune kitchen, they’d moved him to the outhouse to try to break him. He had to admit they’d come close when the sun was at its highest and the temperature in the metal privy had soared. As his head pounded and he sweat out the remaining moisture in his body, the flies and mosquitos never let up from their relentless attack. With his hands tied, Benfu was helpless to fend against them or the stench of human excrement that filled his nostrils and mouth. To keep his sanity, he recited his favorite poem over and over, allowing his mind to focus on the words of long-gone poets rather than on the squalor around him.
