Father, who had seemingly fallen asleep in my arms, abruptly opened his eyes and said uncertainly, ‘It’s so noisy outside.
That doesn’t sound like people. Is the river speaking? Why has the river started speaking?’
I was amazed by the sharpness of his hearing. Even with his body in such a weak state, he had actually heard the river reveal
its secret. ‘What did you hear, Dad?’ I asked. ‘What’s the river saying?’
He held his breath to listen closely. ‘It’s telling me, come down, come down.’
I fell silent. Even after the shock had passed, I didn’t know what to say. This was not a good sign. I’d always believed I
was
the only one who understood the river’s secret, but now he had heard it too, and if one day the river revealed all its secrets,
why would barges continue to stay in its waters? I felt the steel hull of our barge start to rock, along with my father’s
life and my home on the water.
Come down, come down
. The river’s secret became clearer and clearer, and it was beyond my power to jump in and stop up its mouth. River, ah, river,
why are you so impatient? Are you summoning my father or a fish to your depths?
There was nothing I could do. Then my eye was caught by a length of rope under my cot. It was the same rope that had nearly
been used to tie me up. As I stared at it, I had an idea that made my heart pound. I hurriedly lifted Father out of the wooden
tub and laid him on my cot. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘Not on your cot! Put me on the sofa.’
‘Do as I say, just this once, Dad,’ I said to him. ‘The cot is sturdier. From now on, this is where you’ll sleep.’
I began dressing him in clean clothes, and as I was putting on his socks, I bent down and took the rope out from under the
cot. First I looped it around his feet, without his realizing what I was doing. Until, that is, he noticed that my hands were
shaking. He shouted and began to struggle. ‘What are you doing? What? You’re tying me up? My own son! You’ve gone crazy! Is
this how you get your revenge?’
‘This isn’t revenge, Dad. I’m trying to save you.’ In my anxiety, I wrapped the rope around him speedily and indiscriminately.
‘Bear with me, Dad, I’ll be finished in a minute, and I won’t let you go down. You can’t go down there. I’m here, and I’ll
keep death away!’
Father kept struggling until his strength ran out. ‘Go ahead,’ he said, ‘tie me up. I raised you to adulthood and taught you
all those years, and this is what it’s all come to.’ A bleak smile creased the corners of his mouth, releasing a crystalline
bubble that fell to the floor and disappeared. He gave me a cold look. ‘You’re too late,’
he said. ‘The river wants me. I don’t care if you’re a dutiful son or an unworthy one, you’re too late. Me tying you or you
tying me, it makes no difference. It’s too late for anything.’
The hopelessness I saw in him scared and saddened me. I felt the blood rush to my head. ‘It’s not too late, Dad, it’s not.
You have to wait.’ I tied his hands to the sides of the cot as I prepared a vow. ‘Don’t fight me, Dad, don’t be stubborn.
You have to wait. I’m going ashore in a minute and I’m going to make sure that bastard Zhao Chuntang comes aboard our barge
to give you the apology you deserve.’
‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ Father cried out. ‘Even if you drag him aboard and force him to tell me he’s sorry, I won’t accept
his apology. You mustn’t go. If you do, I’ll find a way to die before you get back.’
But my mind was made up, and I wasn’t about to let my trussedup father interfere with my plan. I picked up the wooden tub,
took it out on deck and dumped the dirty water into the river. Not wanting the rope to cut into Father’s flesh, I checked
all the knots to make sure they were tight but not too tight. I placed two steamed buns and a glass of water next to his head.
‘Dad,’ I said, ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, so if you’re hungry there’s food, and water if you’re thirsty.’ I put
the bedpan down by his hip, but then it dawned on me that he could not relieve himself tied up like that. So I reached down
to take off his trousers, to which he reacted by curling up and angrily spitting in my face. What I was doing, I knew, was
taboo. We needed to talk this out. ‘I have to take them off, Dad. How else are you going to relieve yourself? Someone like
you, so insistent on cleanliness, doesn’t want to pee in his trousers.’
I saw a trickle of murky tears snake down his cheeks. Then he turned his face away and I heard him say, ‘Go ahead, take them
off, but don’t look. Promise me you won’t look.’
I promised, but when I pulled down his underpants, I couldn’t
stop myself from looking down. What I saw shocked me. His penis looked like a discarded silkworm cocoon, shrivelled and ugly,
lying partially hidden in a clump of grass. I’d imagined it to be ugly, but not that ugly or that shrivelled. It looked miserable
and sad. Instinctively I covered my eyes and ran to the door, not taking my hands away until I was at the bottom of the ladder.
I didn’t realize I was crying until the palms of my hands felt wet. I looked down at them – there were fresh tears falling
through my fingers.
I
WENT ASHORE.
The sunset had begun to lose its brilliance at the far end of the Golden Sparrow River when I stepped off the gangplank, and
in no time, empty, dark clouds had taken its place. This was normally the time when I’d be returning home from a visit to
the shore, but everything was different now. As night began to fall, I left the barge with a plan.
The lights had already come on around the piers, including the searchlights at the oil-pumping station, their snow-white beams
lighting up the loading docks and the sky above, then creeping across the embankment. Half of our barge was in the light,
the other half lay in the water, brooding. The stray cat leaped out of the darkness as soon as I stepped on land and scurried
up to the bow of our barge, and I let it be. With Father all alone in the cabin, having a stray cat watch over him was better
than nothing.
The evening wind chilled me as my sweat-soaked cotton jersey stuck to my chest and back. Having forgotten to put on shoes,
I walked down the newly paved street barefoot, as if prowling the decks of the barge. The soft, slightly tacky surface seemed
to be taking pity on the soles of my feet. There was no one to disturb the peace from the embankment to the loading dock.
Li Juhua and her co-workers had turned off the machinery at the pumping
station when their workday ended. The longshoremen had all gone home. A towering hoist and several light cranes sat quietly
in the twilight like strange sleeping beasts. Cargo unloaded during the day had all been taken away, leaving the piers uncannily
spacious and quiet.
Too quiet for me. Ghosts are drawn to stillness. As I passed the office of the security group, where a dim light shone through
the window, I heard someone intoning a verse or reciting a piece of prose. But that stopped abruptly, and was followed by
raucous laughter. Baldy Chen and Scabby Five’s laughter was especially loud, while the woman, Wintersweet, was laughing so
hard she could barely breathe. ‘Stop,’ she begged between bursts of laughter, ‘don’t read any more, or I’ll laugh myself sick!’
I tiptoed up to the window, where I listened to what was going on inside. When the laughter died down, Scabby Five recommenced
his intonation, and this time I heard a familiar phrase: ‘The water gourd will love the sunflower till the seas dry up and
rocks turn to dust!’
My head buzzed as I pressed my hands against my ears. No one was more familiar with that lyrical passage than I. Ah, ‘The
water gourd will love the sunflower till the seas dry up and rocks turn to dust!’ It was from
page 34
or
35
of my diary, where
I wrote down my feelings about Huixian when she was singing with the district opera troupe. Now I knew that my diary had fallen
into Wang Xiaogai’s hands. They were reciting passages from it. It was too late for regrets. I’d hidden my diary in the lining
of my bag so Father wouldn’t find it. I’d managed to keep it out of Father’s hands, but not theirs, and they were reciting
passages from it for their entertainment!
As I stood outside the security-office window, I was both ashamed and angry. ‘Don’t stop, Xiaogai,’ Wintersweet said. ‘Read
the juicy passages for us.’
‘These are the only pages I could get my hands on,’ Xiaogai
said. ‘Old Cui got some of the others, and Little Chen tore out a few for himself. Huixian got the rest, and nobody wanted
to take them from her, since she is the sunflower, and just about everything in that thick little book is about her.’
Break up their little gathering or not? I couldn’t decide. In the end, lacking the courage to burst in on them, all I could
do was mutter, ‘We’ll settle scores when this is all over. The time will come. But settle scores with whom? Xiaogai? Old Cui?
Little Chen? Or Huixian? Or maybe I should get my revenge on Old Seven of Li Village. I looked up into the sky, then turned
to face the riverbank, where barge number seven lay all alone in the deepening twilight. That snapped me out of it. Father
was more important than me, and my vow to him took precedence over my lost diary. There was no time to waste, I had to find
Zhao Chuntang and bring him back to the barge with me. Every debt has its debtor, and every injustice its perpetrator. I had
to get him to apologize to my father.
I headed for the General Affairs Building, but when I got there I realized that my plan had been a case of wishful thinking.
I’d arrived too late – all the officials had left for the day. Other than the reception office and a few windows here and
there, the lights were all off, including those on the fourth floor. I looked for Zhao Chuntang’s private car, and found it.
The Jeep, which had seemed so impressive for a while, had been left idle, sitting dejected in a corner, while its original
parking space was occupied by a brand-new, black and very distinguished Volga sedan.
The driver, Little Jia, was washing the car with a hose, turning the ground around him to mud. Skirting the puddles, I went
up and asked, ‘Are you waiting for Secretary Zhao to leave the office? Is he upstairs?’
He looked at me askance and said, ‘Who do you think you are, asking after him, and what do you want?’
‘Nothing in particular,’ I said. ‘I just want to report something to him.’
He scowled and continued washing the car. ‘You can tell me what it is,’ he said arrogantly, ‘and I’ll decide if it’s important
enough to tell Secretary Zhao. Besides, what could you have to report? Still making trouble over the business of being a martyr’s
descendant?’
I was savvy enough about doing business in Milltown to know that cigarettes were a door opener, so I handed one to Little
Jia. He took it reluctantly, checked the brand and said, ‘Flying Horse? I don’t smoke those. I only smoke Front Gates.’ He
tossed the cigarette on to the front seat. ‘Hah, Flying Horse. You boat people are the only ones who think those are any good.’
But I could see that he’d softened his expression a little, so I said, ‘I promise you, I’m not here to make trouble. It’s
nothing important, so please tell me if Zhao has left to go home.’
Another frown. ‘Kongpi, that’s a good name for you. You talk like a
kongpi
. If it’s nothing important, why do you need to see Zhao Chuntang? He puts in sixteen hours a day in the office, and then
entertains guests after work. You should know that investigative teams have been sent down here just about every day, and
Secretary Zhao has to go out drinking with his guests.’
He’d piqued my interest. ‘What guests are those? What are the teams here to investigate?’
Again he looked at me out of the corner of his eye; his lips were curled into a hostile grin. ‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘It’s
family planning, including vasectomies. This has been a headache for Secretary Zhao. If there are three men in town without
vasectomies, Milltown won’t be considered progressive. Since that thing of yours isn’t doing anything, why don’t you get one
and perform a service for Milltown?’
I ignored him. Little Jia had given enough information for me to guess that Zhao Chuntang was in the dining hall having dinner
with guests, so I walked around to the side of the building and went up to the dining-hall window. In the dim light I saw
that there were only two unfamiliar officials sitting opposite one another beneath the window, either eating dinner or talking.
‘No need to look over there,’ Little Jia shouted. ‘Milltown has exchanged its shotguns for cannons. Rank plays a role in entertaining
guests these days. High-ranking officials are entertained at the Spring Breeze Inn. I doubt you’ve heard that the inn has
private rooms. But you’d be wasting your time going there, because they won’t let you in.’
I took my leave of Little Jia and rushed over to the Spring Breeze Inn, meeting a tall, skinny fellow on the way. He was wearing
glasses and had sloping shoulders; he was carrying books under his arms, heading home from school. I knew who he was – Old
Cui’s grandson, a local high-school student. Old Cui was forever boasting that the boy was a top-notch student with a bright
future. Since people with bright futures generally stayed clear of those with no future, I had no interest in stopping to
talk to him.
He walked past me with a haughty air and then spun around and fell in behind me. ‘You’re Ku Dongliang, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘Let me ask you a historical question. Do you know when Chairman Mao came to Milltown?’ I immediately sensed that this out-of-nowhere
question had something to do with my diary, so I pretended I hadn’t heard him and started walking faster. I never imagined
that getting away would be so difficult. He kept coming after me. Starting to breathe hard, he said, ‘Then let me ask you
a common-sense question. Why would Chairman Mao meet with a sunflower and not Milltown’s masses? Is it really possible that
the great man would stoop to meet with something planted in the ground? Why are you creating a false history, Ku Dongliang?’
Obviously, my diary was being read by people all over town, including Old Cui’s grandson. How could a bookworm like him
be in on my secrets? I wasn’t interested in having a historical debate with the boy and was not obliged to reveal any of my
youthful secrets. ‘How much history does a little bastard like you understand?’ I roared, glaring at him. ‘Get away from me!’
I felt sheepish after chasing the youngster away, and as I walked the streets of Milltown at twilight, it seemed to me that
my private affairs were like streetlamps lighting up the little town and its residents’ lonely lives. I had the feeling that
the laughter emerging from windows along the way was directed at me and at my diary. Keeping to the dark side of the streets,
I continued on to Spring Breeze Inn, taking pains to avoid meeting up with anyone else. Profound doubts filled my mind. How
many more pages of my diary remained, I wondered, and how many of those were with Huixian?
I stopped at the entrance to the inn, with its lanterns that heralded a May Day celebration. The spot was deserted; there
was no trace of any vehicles. I glanced up at the third-floor windows of the concrete building, with its isolated ‘penthouse’.
The purple curtains were shut, making it impossible to determine whether or not the investigative teams were up there. I breathed
in deeply, but couldn’t smell food; when I held my breath, I heard nothing that sounded like people at a dinner table. Feeling
dejected, I went up and tried the front door. It was locked. But by looking through the glass door, I could see someone asleep
at the reception desk. I knocked, then knocked again, but the head didn’t move. ‘Who’s there?’ It was a woman’s listless voice.
‘You need permission from the police station to stay here.’
‘I’m not a guest,’ I replied. ‘I’m looking for somebody.’
‘Who?’ she said. ‘You can’t do that without permission either. Who are you? And who are you looking for?’
I wouldn’t tell her my name. ‘You have a private room,’ I said. ‘Is Zhao Chuntang in there with dinner guests?’
The sleepy-eyed woman stood up and strained to see who I
was. Her tone of voice was guarded. ‘I asked you who you are. Who told you we have a private room?’
I decided to try being clever. ‘Secretary Zhao,’ I said. ‘He told me I’d find him here.’
Still she wouldn’t open the door for me. She squinted to get a good look. ‘I don’t know you,’ she said. ‘You’re not an official.’
She sat down and laid her head back down on the desk. ‘Go and look for the Party Secretary at the General Affairs Building,’
she snarled. ‘There’s no Party Secretary here, only paying guests.’
Assuming that Little Jia had lied to me, I felt my anger rise. I just wanted to talk to Zhao Chuntang, not commit violence
against him. ‘Why did you lie to me, Little Jia, you son of a bitch?’ Cursing him under my breath, I sat down on the steps
of the inn, suddenly weary beyond imagining. When you’re overly tired, all your aches and pains start acting up. My hip began
throbbing so badly I couldn’t get to my feet.
The lights in Pock-faced Li’s bean-curd shop, which was next door to the inn, came on, as Li and his wife busied themselves
emptying bags of soy beans that were piled up at their door on to their millstone. Father had always liked the bean curd from
this shop, and since you could buy it without ration coupons, I figured this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Father
could use some nutritious food. ‘Two cakes of bean curd!’ I called out. ‘I’ll buy two cakes.’
The response was immediate. Li’s wife stepped outside with two cakes, but when she didn’t see anyone at the door, she cried
out, ‘Who’s that shouting? A ghost?’
‘Over here,’ I said with a wave of my hand. ‘It’s me.’
Seeing me sitting on the steps of the inn, she said with obvious displeasure, ‘You must think you’re some kind of big shot,
buying bean curd with the airs of an official! Rather than take a few steps, you expect me to deliver it to you.’
I tried to stand up, but couldn’t, and was reminded that buying the bean curd would stop me from doing what I’d come to do.
How would it look if I went searching for Zhao Chuntang with two cakes of bean curd in my hands? I changed my mind. ‘Forget
it,’ I said to Li’s wife. ‘I don’t want it after all. I’ll just rest here a while.’
‘How am I supposed to trust anything you say?’ she grumbled. ‘First one thing, then another. Are you going to rest or do you
want this bean curd? Don’t play games with me. There are plenty of customers for bean curd from our shop.’
I muttered an apology, then changed the subject. ‘Do you know where Zhao Chuntang moved to, Aunty?’
Something clicked when she heard my question. Still holding the two cakes of bean curd, she gave me a long look, her eyes
lighting up, and exclaimed, ‘Aha, you’re Ku something-or-other Liang, aren’t you? I know you, you’re Ku Wenxuan’s son. Still
running around pleading your father’s case, are you? Well, you can stop running. They’ve located the martyr Deng Shaoxiang’s
son. It isn’t your dad and it isn’t the idiot Bianjin. The ordained descendant is a one-time schoolteacher in Wufu with a
bright future. He used to be a middle-school headteacher, but has been promoted to chief of the Education Bureau.’