Under the Hawthorn Tree (36 page)

‘Then let's go quickly.'

They rushed to the local county town and bought some fruit, before they found the county hospital as Fang's note had described. Jingqiu recalled that Fang had instructed her to go alone so she negotiated with Little Zhou. ‘Could you wait for me outside?'

‘You won't let me come in? He's got a terminal illness, what are you afraid of?'

Jingqiu had also not quite understood why Fang had said that. ‘I don't know what they're worried about either, but my friend said that we shouldn't, so perhaps you should wait outside anyway.'

Little Zhou had no choice but to wait outside, but he warned her, ‘Don't be too long, we still have to get back. You've got to collect money today, and if we're late and you don't get the money we won't be able to buy the rice . . .'

‘I know,' Jingqiu said, and then ran into the hospital.

The county hospital was quite small and it was made up of only a few buildings, so Jingqiu quickly found the ward. It had four beds. She was surprised to see Old Third sitting on one, writing in a notebook. What's he doing here? Is he looking after Lin? Why isn't he at work? Perhaps the second unit is nearby, and he got transferred so that he could look after Lin?

Old Third looked up, and a startled expression came across his face. He put down his notebook and pen and walked over to her. He didn't invite her in, but stood in the corridor. ‘Is it . . . really you?'

‘What about Lin?'

‘Lin?' he asked, surprised. ‘Isn't he in West Village?'

‘Fang said her brother was in the hospital . . .'

‘Oh,' he smiled, ‘I'm her brother too . . .'

Jingqiu's heart missed a beat. ‘How are you her brother? She said her brother was ill, she didn't say you were ill. You must be here looking after Lin? Aren't you? Don't joke around. Where's Lin?'

‘You're . . . here to see Lin? You wouldn't come if it wasn't Lin . . .'

‘You know I don't mean it like that. Why did Fang say I didn't want you? That's why I thought she meant Lin, because she knows I didn't want him.'

‘Oh. I wrote a few letters to you at the farm, but they were all sent back. I used Fang's address, and they all went back to her, so she said you don't want me any more.'

‘You wrote to me at the farm? Why didn't I get a single letter? What address did you use?'

‘I wrote, Yichang No. 8 Middle School Farm, Fujia Plateau Production Team, Yanjia River Commune, Yiling. I also put your name on the envelope. All the letters came back with “Person unknown, return to sender” written on them.'

Jingqiu thought that it must have been Mr Zheng's doing, because he was trying to set her up with Mr Quan. What despicable methods! But he wrote Fang's name on the letters, so why would Mr Zheng have suspected they were from a boy? Could he tell that it was a boy's writing? Or did he open the letters and read them?

‘What did you write in the letters? You didn't write anything I should be worried about, did you? It must have been our Mr Zheng that did it, I'm worried he might have . . . opened them and read them.'

‘He can't have. If he'd opened them I would have been able to tell.'

She was starting to be very angry with Mr Zheng. ‘Isn't it against the law to go around secretly reading other people's letters? I'm going to have a word with him when I get back, see if he really has the guts.'

‘Why would your teacher be interested in your letters? Does he . . . have those sorts of feelings for you?'

‘No way,' she reassured him. ‘He's old, and married. He's acting on someone else's behalf.'

‘The guy who drives the tractor?'

‘How do you know about the guy who drives the tractor?' she asked, looking at him in surprise.

‘I saw you two together,' he smiled, ‘in Yanjia River. It was raining and he lent you his raincoat.'

‘It's not him, Mr Zheng hates him. It's another teacher, the one who taught us volleyball. But don't worry, I don't like him. What were you doing in Yanjia River?'

‘The second unit is nearby, I often go there during our lunch break to wander around in the hope that I might bump into you.'

‘Have you been to our farm?'

He nodded. ‘I saw you once cooking, barefoot.'

‘The roof leaks in there. As soon as it rains the ground is mud soup for a week. Barefoot is the only way.' Thinking this might worry him she added, ‘But it's colder now, so I wear my rubber boots. Haven't you seen me in them?'

He looked sad. ‘I haven't been for a while.'

She was too scared to look at him. ‘What's . . . wrong with you?' She was extremely anxious, afraid that he would say the terrible word.

‘Nothing, just a cold.'

She exhaled slowly, but she didn't quite believe him. ‘You're in hospital for a cold?'

‘People do if it's bad.' He laughed quietly. ‘I'm a glass whistle, remember? I'm always getting colds. Are you going home or back to the farm? How long can you stay?'

‘I'm heading home, and I have to go now. A colleague is waiting for me, I need to collect money so we can buy rice.' She saw the disappointed look on his face and promised to come back. ‘I'll be back the day after tomorrow. I've got two days of holiday, so I can leave home a day early.'

His eyes filled with happiness. Then he began to worry. ‘Aren't you worried your mother will find out? '

‘She won't find out.' She wasn't actually that sure, but she couldn't worry about that too. ‘You won't leave over the next few days, will you?'

‘I'll wait for you here.' He rushed back into the ward, grabbed a paper bag and stuffed it into her hands. ‘Such good timing, I bought it yesterday. See if you like it.'

She opened the bag and took a peek. Inside was a length of hawthorn-red corduroy with small black flowers embroidered on it. ‘This is my favourite colour and type of material, it's like you read my mind.'

‘I knew you would like it,' he said proudly. ‘When I saw it yesterday I had to buy it, but I never guessed that you would come the next day. You make something from it and let me see it when you next come.'

He walked her to the main entrance and saw Little Zhou and his tractor in the distance. ‘Your colleague is waiting, I'll stay here so he doesn't see me. What's his name?'

‘He's got the same name as you, but his last name is Zhou.'

‘As long as he doesn't have the same fate too.'

‘What . . . do you mean by that?' she stuttered.

‘Nothing. I'm just . . . jealous. I hope he's not chasing you too.'

As they drove to Yichang, Old Third's words echoed in her head, ‘As long as he doesn't have the same fate too.' He may have explained, but she still felt that it wasn't jealousy he was talking about, but something else entirely.

Fang said that her brother had contracted a terminal illness, and it was true Old Third did not look too good. He was pale, but perhaps that was because he was wearing black. Yet he said that it was only a cold. Was it possible that, were he really terminally ill, he could be so calm and collected, as if nothing was wrong? And, if he was that ill, would the doctors tell him?

Fang must have been mistaken, or else she did it on purpose so that she would go visit Old Third. Fang thought that she didn't want him any more, so maybe she came up with this story to trick her into visiting him at the hospital. But what had he meant?

Once they arrived in Yichang, Little Zhou stopped the tractor before a restaurant. ‘Let's eat first, it's better to wait until everyone's home from work before going to collect money.' She nodded, and gazed absent-mindedly as Little Zhou bought some food.

After they had finished eating, Little Zhou drove them to Jiangxin Island where he took them to each student's home, one by one, to collect the money. He asked her to give him the piece of paper with their addresses, and he took charge of navigation. For her, it was as if she was floating in a dream; she followed Little Zhou in a daze, first here then there. When he told her to keep the accounts she did so, when he asked her to find change she did so. He spoke to the parents while she stood dumbly by his side. Eventually, Little Zhou took the paper and money bag from her and organised the whole thing by himself.

They worked until past nine o'clock, when they had more or less collected all the money. Little Zhou took her home. ‘I'll come tomorrow morning and we can go and buy the rice. Don't think about it too much, a county hospital can deal with leukaemia, pneumonia, whatever, right?' This startled her. Can Little Zhou tell I'm worried about Old Third? She told herself she mustn't look sad, in case her mother could tell.

Her mother was surprised but happy at her return, and hurried to make some food for her. But Jingqiu said she was not hungry, that she had already eaten. She took out the material Old Third had given her and started washing it first in cold water and then in hot in order to shrink it. Then she wrung it out and hung it up where the breeze could dry it quickly, so that she could make something from it as soon as possible.

Early the next morning Little Zhou came round early to collect her. Her mother was uneasy as she watched Jingqiu climb up on the tractor. Perhaps she was tempted to jump on too so that she could keep an eye on them. Jingqiu made a special effort to speak animatedly with Little Zhou because she was not afraid of her mother thinking there was something between them. In fact, the more she suspected the better. If her mother was taken up with worrying about Little Zhou she wouldn't be suspicious when Jingqiu went to visit Old Third the next day.

Once they had bought the rice Little Zhou drove her back home and gave her the receipt to keep safe. Then he left to deliver the rice back to the farm. With the danger gone, Jingqiu's mother relaxed and began to warn her daughter that she mustn't, under any circumstances, have anything to do with this Little Zhou.

In the afternoon Jingqiu went to the school to report on their progress at the farm. She also went to the homes of Mr Jian and Miss Zhao in order to collect their private supplies of pickles. Once everything was taken care of, she went to Mrs Jiang's house to borrow her sewing machine. She popped home in the evening for dinner before returning to Mrs Jiang's house to carry on sewing.

Once she had finished she still couldn't bring herself to leave, as if she still had some unfinished business, something she wanted to do but didn't dare. After a great deal of thought it occurred to her that she wanted to ask Dr Cheng about this leukaemia business. She crept up to his bedroom, the door was open, and she could see Mrs Jiang sitting reading, and Dr Cheng playing with their son on the bed.

‘Jingqiu, have you finished sewing?' Mrs Jiang asked on seeing her.

Jingqiu nodded blankly, and then plucked up the courage to ask, ‘Dr Cheng, have you ever heard of leukaemia?'

Dr Cheng gave their son to Mrs Jiang and moved to the side of the bed to talk to her. ‘Who's got leukaemia?'

‘A close friend.'

‘Where were they diagnosed?'

‘At Yiling hospital.'

‘That hospital is very small, they might not have made the correct diagnosis.' Dr Cheng asked her to sit down, and reassured her, ‘Don't worry, wait and see what it really is.'

Jingqiu couldn't explain, all she knew was what Fang had said. ‘I don't know for sure what it is either, I just want to know if a young person can get . . . that kind of disease?'

‘Most people who get it are young, usually teenagers or those in their twenties, and perhaps young men more than women.'

‘If . . . you get it . . . does that mean you'll definitely . . . die?'

‘Fatalities are . . . rather high,' Dr Cheng said, choosing his words with care. ‘But didn't you say they were examined at the county hospital? The county hospital is badly equipped, they are very constrained. Your friend should get themselves to the city or provincial hospital as soon as possible. You shouldn't worry yourself sick over an inconclusive diagnosis.'

‘Didn't that happen at our school?' Mrs Jiang joined in. ‘The hospital said this boy had cancer and scared him half to death, and in the end it wasn't. When it comes to these sorts of situations you won't find three hospitals that give the same diagnosis, you just can't trust them.'

Jingqiu sat in silence while Mrs Jiang and Dr Cheng continued to give examples of misdiagnoses, but she couldn't see that they had any relevance to her situation. ‘If he really does have it, how long has he got?'

Dr Cheng bit his lips together nervously, as if afraid that the answer would fly out of the side of his mouth. She asked again and he replied, ‘Didn't you say that he's only been to the county hospital?'

Jingqiu was so anxious she had to fight back the tears. ‘I'm asking “if”. If . . . if . . .'

‘That depends . . . I . . . can't say how long exactly, it might be six months, it could be longer.'

Jingqiu got back home and started packing her things until she realised that it was already evening and there would be no buses to Yichang County until tomorrow. She lay on her bed and did what she did best: she prepared for the worst. As she didn't know whether it was the county hospital that had diagnosed him, her thoughts alternated between peaks of optimism and the deepest depths of despair. Such wild ups and downs were the most painful of all.

Now, if he had not been diagnosed by the county hospital, what would that mean? That he really did have leukaemia. If that was the case, then he would not have long to live. But how long was not long? When she was fourteen or so her mother had had an operation to remove a tumour from her uterus, and Jingqiu had looked after her. There had been a woman with late-stage ovarian cancer in the same ward who everybody called Granny Cao. She was as thin as a ghost, and spent most nights groaning in pain, so that no one else on the ward was able to sleep.