Chu Ju's House (9 page)

Still I put off my return, for April came and the planting of the new rice shoots, and after that Ling brought a pamphlet telling of how rice and fish might be grown together.

“The agricultural agent in the government office where I got you the pamphlet will give Han Na fingerlings to put in the paddy, and they will cost you nothing.”

“Fingerlings?”

“Read the pamphlet. They are tiny fish that will grow while the rice grows. By the end of August you will have two crops to harvest.”

I did not always believe in Ling's pamphlets,
for he had so many of them. Yet his orchard had grown from the pamphlets.

Han Na believed even less in the pamphlets. “I want nothing to do with the government,” she said. “It was the government that put Quan in prison for moving about in his own country. It was the government that told your parents how many children they could have, so babies are sold like so many bags of rice.”

“But Han Na, this is only the village agricultural agent. I have seen him at the teahouse with his birdcage. He whispers to his bird in such a sweet way. I am sure no trouble would come of it. In the pamphlet it says the fish eat not only the weeds but the mosquitoes as well. You know how you complain of the mosquitoes. Even if there were not enough fish to sell, there would be some for our meals.”

“I will ask the Zhangs for advice,” Han Na said.

The next day, though I begged her not to, she made the trip to the Zhangs' home, returning out of breath and sinking down upon a chair, pale and shaking with the exertion of climbing the hill. The Zhangs had seen how Ling's pear and plum and peach trees had grown from his pamphlets. They must have said as much to Han Na, for she reluctantly agreed to go with me to the agricultural agent and ask for the little fish. A nearby farmer was going into the village to buy straw and offered to take us there in his wagon and bring us back so that Han Na would not have to walk.

The government office was not like the detention center in Shanghai. There were no people sitting on long benches with sad faces, only the agricultural agent I had seen in the teahouse. The office was small and dusty, with pamphlets everywhere and with signs saying the pamphlets were free for the taking. Slogans were taped to the wall to encourage farmers to serve
China by increasing their crops:
A GREAT CROP WILL MAKE A GREAT COUNTRY
and
THE FARMER IS THE HEART OF CHINA
.

The agent asked courteously what we wanted, and Han Na said, “We have a small rice paddy and you have small fish. We would like your fish for our paddy.”

The agent asked where the paddy was, and opening a large book, he turned the pages until he came to the place that showed Han Na's paddy along with all the other paddies nearby. When he saw the paddy was there, he nodded as if pleased with Han Na's request. “Yes, that is a good plan,” he said. “New fingerlings came this morning.” He went into a back room and returned with a basket in which there were plastic boxes full of water and hundreds of fish no more than a few millimeters in size. Laughing, he said, “When the fish are big, bring me one for my dinner.”

Han Na bowed and thanked the officer, gingerly holding the basket as if the little fish might escape from the boxes and attack her. Quickly she handed the basket to me and made her escape from the office. When we were outside, she said, “How can such tiny fish come to anything? It is foolishness. Still, the plastic boxes and the basket will come in handy.”

The fingerlings went into the rice paddy as the pamphlet instructed, and after that I had company as I weeded. The little fish swam between my toes and made small splashes as they rose to catch the mosquitoes. In no time they were as large as my finger. I brought Han Na to the paddy to see how they grew, and she shook her head in wonder, but she worried. “What if they eat the rice?”

“No,” I promised. “The pamphlet says they eat only the grass.” Still she did not believe in the pamphlet.

Now there were enemies to battle. The kingfishers came: the black-and-white ones with the feathery crests, the blue ones with the orange bills, and the ones with the fiery orange breasts. They hovered in the bamboo branches, and when my back was turned they dove into the water and flew away with fish in their bills. Even worse were the herons. There had always been herons in the paddies, for there were frogs and crawfish. Now they came more often. They stayed away in the daytime when I was there, but at twilight they waded through the paddies, their great, long legs moving so slowly that they hardly disturbed the water, their long, cruel beaks coming down mercilessly on the growing fish.

Still, many fish remained, and when August came, just as Ling had said, we had fish to sell.

“You must buy a net,” Ling said.

“I have a net all ready,” I told him. I had
bought sturdy string in the village, and with the skill I had learned from Yi Yi, I had made my own net and fastened it to a bamboo pole.

Ling was impressed. “You catch them and I'll clean them,” he said.

I laughed. “I can clean the fish much faster than you.”

It was true. For every fish that Ling cleaned, I cleaned two. Each day I caught enough fish to take into the village to sell, and each day I brought back money for Han Na. We had fish for dinner each night. Several of the fish were sent with Ling to the Zhangs, some of the fish we dried, and the largest fish I brought to the agent in the agricultural office.

There was no thought now of returning to my family, for Han Na had grown weak and kept to the house. At first I thought her illness was worry over Quan, but a letter came from Quan full of good news. Because of all the building in Shanghai and
because of his skill as a stonemason, something he had learned from his ba ba, he had been given a residence permit. The threat of being arrested was over. Han Na smiled, but still the weakness grew. I urged her to see the village doctor, but she would not go to him.

“He can't give me a new heart.”

Ling, who read the newspapers in the village, said that in some large cities new hearts were given.

Han Na was horrified. “Ah, and what if a cruel heart were put into my body? I would never take the chance.”

It was on the day when the last of the rice had been harvested that two policemen came by our house. They were not the familiar village policemen. Han Na was inside, and I was in the courtyard threshing the rice grains we were keeping for ourselves. The sight of the policemen sent my heart racing. Perhaps Quan was in new trouble or they
had discovered that I had run away. The policemen paused when they saw me. They looked to me like the herons, tall and thin, and treacherous, as if they were ready to pounce.

One of the herons said, “We are looking for the Zhangs' house and for Zhang Ling. Do you know him?” He smiled as he asked, but he was looking at me as if he were considering if I might make a meal.

“Zhang? No, I know of no Zhangs around here,” I said, and went back to my threshing.

They rounded a corner and were out of sight. I flew up the hill to the Zhangs', taking a shortcut. Ling was cleaning out the stable and changing the beast's straw.

“Policemen are asking for you,” I managed to get out. “I told them I didn't know who you are. Ling, what have you done?”

“It must be the books,” he said. “I was careless in getting the last one, buying it from someone I did
not know.” He began pulling several of his books from his shelf and throwing them onto a pile of the beast's manure, shoveling the manure on top of the books. There were tears in his eyes. “They won't look there,” he said in a grim voice. He turned to me. “Go back to your house at once. You told them you didn't know me. They mustn't find you here. And Chu Ju, thank you. You have saved me. Now, go, quickly.”

I saw the policemen coming up the hill and hid behind some boulders until they entered the Zhangs' house. Then I fled to our courtyard and began to thresh again, all the while watching the path. It was an hour before the policemen marched down the path from the Zhangs'. Ling marched with them, but he did not look in my direction. My hands shook so, all the rice I had winnowed tumbled out of my basket and was lost on the stones of the courtyard.

Han Na had not been well and I did not dare to worry her. Instead, I ran again to the Zhangs' house and found Ling's ba ba and ma ma in the midst of upheaval. The neat rooms were turned upside down. Ling's ma ma was sitting in a chair sobbing.

“They have taken my son,” she wailed.

Ling's ba ba tried to calm her. “They found nothing. They will soon see their mistake and return him.”

I thought of the boy who had been arrested for speaking the truth but said nothing of my fears. “What happened?” I asked.

Ling's father said, “Two policemen came and accused Ling of having forbidden books, but though they turned the house upside down, they could find no such books. Still they insisted on questioning him. He is a good boy and only tends his orchard. I told them to look at his trees and see
if he was a dangerous man.”

I said what I could to comfort the Zhangs and left, stopping in the stable on the way. The pile of manure was untouched, and I patted the beast, grateful for the fine hiding place he had made.

All day I stayed in the courtyard, watching the path, but Ling did not return. At daybreak I was there again, still watching. I thought I might go into the village, for like everyone else I knew where the small jail was. But should the policemen see me, they would be suspicious, and that might make things worse for Ling. I could not worry Han Na with the story, and I was afraid to go back to the Zhangs, for the police might return there. I could only wait. Over and over I tried to think what books might be dangerous, over and over I thought of the woman's son-in-law arrested for speaking the truth. If Ling's books spoke the truth, maybe that was dangerous. Yet they had not found the books.

Han Na knew something was wrong. “You live on air, not eating your rice or fish.”

“I'm just restless. I've finished the threshing, and most of the vegetables have been planted.”

“Why can you not enjoy a little time to yourself? If you must do something, go and help Ling with his trees.”

But I could not help Ling with his trees. “I'll go into the village and get more radish seeds. There is yet room for another row or two.”

I hurried off, relieved to have some errand. The road to the village followed one paddy after another. Like ours, the paddies lay waiting for the first radish seeds to sprout. Now there was only brown earth, with no bright green to lift the spirits. A rat scurried by in a ditch, and magpies hovered on a light wind. In one paddy a
ma-que
was snatching newly sown seeds. I thought that I must make another scarecrow so that our seeds would not be
stolen by the little hungry birds.

As I passed the paddies, the farmers at their hoeing looked up. Some who knew me waved an arm in greeting and I waved back. It was early September and still warm. I longed to roll up my sleeves, but it would have been unseemly to appear in the village like that.

I could hear the sounds of the village long before I reached it. The old men sat in the teahouse, many of them with their birdcages. The butcher slew the flies that hovered over his meat, while the chickens and ducks clucked and squawked away in their cages. There was a crowd of children lined up to watch the
dian-shi
in the store window. The locksmith was sharpening hoes, and the man in the noodle shop waved, waiting for me to stop by for my bowl of noodles. I shook my head and hurried on. As I turned into the street that led to the jail—for I could not keep away from it—I saw Ling.

I looked hastily around, but no policeman was in sight; Ling was all by himself hurrying along the road. I ran up to him. I wanted to fling my arms around him, but such a gesture would never do. Still, I could not keep my hands entirely from him, for I was not yet sure he was really there.

He looked quickly around and, taking my hand in his, began to pull me away from the village. I saw that his hair was uncombed and his clothes were wrinkled, as if he had slept in them. His glasses sat crookedly on his nose, the nosepiece broken and fastened with tape.

“They kept me overnight, asking again and again about my books, but they had not found them and there was nothing else against me. I told them of how I had made the orchard and begged them to talk to the agent in the village government office, who has helped me through his pamphlets. They did talk with him, and he told them I was just a farmer.
Still, they will keep an eye on me.”

“How did they know about the books?”

“I send away for them and there are spies everywhere, even in the post office where the books are mailed. I have been foolish and have given my parents trouble and worry.”

As we talked, we hurried along the uphill path toward Ling's house and I was out of breath. “Are you finished then with such books?” I managed to ask.

“I don't know. I hope the day will come when everyone can have books that tell the truth.”

I told Ling, “When I traveled to Shanghai, I talked with a woman whose son-in-law was arrested and sent to a reeducation center because he spoke the truth. If you have books that speak the truth, isn't that just as dangerous?”

“Dangerous, yes, but it is the books I had that make us remember what has happened to such
people as the man you speak of. Are we to forget them? It would make their arrests even worse.”

There was no more time for talk. Ling's parents had seen us in the distance and were running toward us. I turned back to Han Na's house. It would have been unseemly for me to be at the Zhangs' at such a time. Behind me I could hear their happy cries. I was crying as well, but whether with relief or worry I could not say.

Once more Ling plowed the paddy and the rice was planted and the little fish swam about. I worried less about Ling, for there had been no more policemen. Ling and I had worn a path up and down the hill between our houses. After our work was through, we rested in the long twilights, chewing sunflower seeds and talking. Though we were together nearly every day, still there was always something new to say to each other. One evening while we sat in Han Na's bamboo grove, half hidden from sight, a pair of cranes dropped down onto the rice paddy. We were pleased, for cranes, which mate for life, are much admired for their
faithfulness and considered good luck. The tall, long-legged, gray birds with their brown-tipped wings and slender white-striped throats began to call to each other in a kind of duet. Then began a courting dance. The one bird would fly up and flutter about, and then the other bird would leap about doing the same. After they flew away, we were silent, for each year there are fewer and fewer cranes. After a moment Ling smiled and said, “I will practice that dance, Chu Ju, if you will also,” and our sadness left us as we laughed.

There was another sadness. Han Na's weakness had been increasing, but it had been so gradual that I had become used to her waning strength. Each day she did a bit less, and each day I undertook a bit more. With just the two of us and the two rooms, there was little to do in the house, so I thought nothing of the few tasks that fell to me, but on the first day of the fifth moon Han Na did
not get up from her bed.

She would not eat the rice gruel I brought to her. She put it aside and asked me to sit with her. “Chu Ju, you are a farmer now. You see how the rice is sown in the spring and harvested in the fall; one follows the other, and the harvesting is as necessary as the sowing. I am coming to the end of my days, Chu Ju.”

“No, Han Na,” I cried. I hung on to her hand, which was as dry and light as a piece of paper. “We will find a doctor to make you better.”

“The knowledge of a doctor will make no difference. I listen to my heart at night, and that is all the knowledge I need. I have been fortunate, Chu Ju. My hard times are long past. My husband loved the land and worked until he owned a bit of it. My son is safe, never mind that he is far away. He is happy where he is, and he has not forgotten me or shamed me. I would have given much to have him
bring a wife and one day a grandchild to meet me, but there will be no time for that. I am content with what I have.” She clasped my other hand. “It was a fortunate day, Chu Ju, when I saw you. Now you must write to Quan and tell him to come and see me. Tell him he must come at once.”

I wrote the letter and we waited for Quan. One day followed another, and each day Han Na grew weaker. Though she was against it, I went to the village and gave the doctor money to come to the house.

“You must go to the hospital in the next village,” he told her, “and you must do it sooner rather than later.”

Han Na refused. Nor would she have needles or herbs.

“Han Na,” I begged, “if you will not do it for yourself, do it for me.”

Han Na only shook her head. Her gaze was
always on the door, waiting for Quan. I would have gone myself to drag Quan home from his beloved city, but I could not leave Han Na. It was nearly the end of the fifth moon when Quan came. He was tender with his mother and wept at her weakness, but he took no notice of the rice paddy and sent me to the village to buy him the Shanghai newspaper.

In the evening Han Na asked Quan to carry her out to the courtyard so that she could see how the rice was growing. “Quan,” she asked, “could you not return and work the land? Chu Ju has added fish to the rice, so the paddy is as good as a lake. It is a wonderful thing.”

“No, Ma Ma. I am happy where I am. I was never meant to be a farmer. There is nothing about putting my hands into the earth that raises my spirits. I am a builder. The choosing and lifting and placing of the stones is what gives me pleasure, that and the great city.”

“But when I am gone, Quan, what will become of the land? And the money you have sent—it is all there. We have not spent a penny.”

“I will take the money I have sent you. It may be that it will let me marry. Do what you want with the land.”

“Then it must be Chu Ju's. She has planted the rice and tended it as it should be tended. Even the little fishes have thrived under her hand. Chu Ju will make enough money from the crops to pay the rent fees and the taxes. She is eighteen now, and if she marries, her lease on the land will be her dowry.

“But Chu Ju,” Han Na said to me, and took my hand in hers, “do not think that the land is payment for caring for me. There can be no payment for that. Where there was your love, there is only my love. And Chu Ju, you must promise me to see your parents. Look how I waited for Quan. Your
ma ma waits for you as well. Promise me you will see her.”

I promised.

In two days' time Quan was ready to return to the city, but Han Na said, “Wait a few days and you will not have to make the return trip.”

Quan was horrified. “Ma Ma, are you to hurry with your dying so that I need not make a second trip? I am only going because I am sure you will soon be well.” No one believed Quan's words, least of all Quan.

Han Na had only a little strength, but with the little she had, she mended the worn places on her best jacket. Neither she nor I said a word, yet we both knew why the mending was carried on.

On the day Quan was to return to the city, Han Na died. I saw that Quan was ashamed of his tears, and leaving Quan with his ma ma, I took my tears out to the paddy. I thought back to the day when I
had first seen Han Na in the paddy, working alongside Quan. She had asked no questions of me but had taken me into her house and given me a home. Her house had become my house. What would my life be without her? I had given up my own family, and now the only family I knew was gone.

A soft wind rippled the rice, making green waves on a green ocean. Beyond our paddy were endless paddies, endless green oceans whose harvest would one day fill a million bowls. In the distance a heron stalked a frog, piercing it with its sharp beak, throwing it up in the air, and swallowing it with one gulp. With all the plenty there was cruelty. There had been Han Na's love as wide as a
hai
and now she was gone, snatched from me forever. I hunched down and, covering my face with my hands, cried until there were no tears left.

Ling's ma ma came bringing food and comfort. Together we readied Han Na in the mended jacket
and covered her face with a bit of silk cloth. Though I thought it superstition, I said nothing when Ling's ma ma bound Han Na's feet together with string to keep her from moving about in the coffin should she become possessed by evil spirits. Ling's ma ma and I fashioned a wreath of white paper and bamboo, while Quan wrote out stories of Han Na's life on strips of white paper, which he hung at the entrance to the house.

A diviner was called and a date set for the funeral. I knew that it might be as long as a month before a date was chosen for the burial. Perhaps Quan was generous with the diviner, for the diviner found the very next day to be an auspicious one.

A coffin was purchased. A Taoist priest was summoned from the village to chant a sutra for the dead and a musician came to play the
suona
, whose mournful music tore at my heart. An empty chair was carried in the procession so that Han Na's
spirit might join it and not stay behind to haunt the living, though I would have given much to have her about me.

Along with the other women I walked at the front of the procession. Ling's ma ma had instructed me that as the “daughter” of the house I had a duty to cry and wail, which would help to destroy the barriers Han Na might meet with as she started her long journey through the many realms of the Underworld. I had no need to be prompted, for the crying and wailing came from my heart.

When we returned home, Quan had the priest kindle a small fire. Before those of us in the procession could enter Han Na's house, we had to jump across the fire so that any evil spirits remaining from the death of Han Na would be left behind.

In all he did Quan honored Han Na, yet I could see that Quan was eager to return to Shanghai as soon as the funeral was over. “There is nothing
more I can do here, and every day I am away, there is the chance that my job will be gone. Of the money I have sent, I will leave some yuan to carry you until the harvest. Unless, Chu Ju, you wish to share it all with me?”

“Share it?” I asked, puzzled. “It is yours, Quan. You are generous to give me the land. You might have sold the lease and taken the money. I am no blood relation to you.”

“It was my mother's wish, and I could not go against that. Had you not stayed with her, I would never have been able to leave her and go to the city. When I was here, each day in the paddy was like a prison. But Chu Ju, that is not what I am speaking of. You could sell the lease and come with me to Shanghai. With the money of mine that Ma Ma saved and the money from the land, we could marry and find a small room of our own.”

I stared at Quan in amazement.

“I know I am older than you are, Chu Ju, but I am a hard worker and it would be a great thing to live in such a city. You are clever and would have no trouble finding work. I have watched you since I have been here. You would make just the kind of wife I wish for.”

I thought of the city at night with all its lights. I thought of cinemas, and stores with the silk scarves and with everything one could want. I thought also of living in one room, in one of the high buildings. I thought of the rush of people and cars and trolleys and the way when you went from place to place there was no path with paddies and bamboo groves but only a dark tunnel that shot you like a bullet from one stop to another.

“You are kind, Quan, but I would die in the city like a plant stuck into a pot of stones with no water or earth.” I said nothing of Ling.

Quan looked disappointed but not surprised.
“Then we must go to the government office and register the lease in your name. You are eighteen now, and there will be no trouble.”

 

The official at the government office frowned at Quan. “You are giving the lease for the land over to this young girl?”

Quan produced a letter that Han Na had had a scribe write for her and that she had signed with her mark. “It is all here. Chu Ju is to get the land, all five
mu
. We have the money for the fee, and she can pay the taxes when they are due as well as anyone else.”

The official looked at me and Quan and then at the money Quan had given for the fee to transfer the land. At first I thought he would say no. Instead he said, “This transfer of lease is irregular and will cause me much extra work.” He looked at Quan.

After a moment Quan said, “I am sorry for the
extra work. Let me increase the fee to make up for it.” He put down more yuan, which the official swept up as quickly as the heron snatched the frog. The papers were completed and a seal put on them. Quan handed them to me and led me out of the office.

“I will wait in the tea shop for the train.” He took my hand. “It was a day of great fortune when you came to us. I am only sorry you will not go back to Shanghai with me.” With that he hurried away, and I turned toward my land.