Under the Hawthorn Tree (42 page)

On the morning of Youth Day, 4 May, No. 8 Middle School put on a celebration. As usual, Jingqiu played the accordion for each class's performance. Just as she finished playing for one class, a teacher came up to say there was a comrade from the People's Liberation Army waiting for her outside, and it was urgent. He was in the reception by the main gate. She had only just sent the letter so it seemed impossible that Old Third's father could have received it already. It could only be that he had come back from holiday, and on hearing that she had been looking for him, had sent someone to see her.

But this didn't seem possible either, she hadn't told the soldiers her address, so how would he know where to find her?

Filled with confusion, she ran to the reception, and at once caught sight of a young soldier who looked incredibly like Old Third. On seeing her he walked towards her and asked, ‘Comrade Jingqiu? I'm Sun Jianmin, Sun Jianxin's younger brother. My brother is in a very bad way at the moment, will you come with me to the hospital?'

Jingqiu's legs felt as if they were giving way beneath her. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Let's get in the car and I'll tell you on the way. I've already been waiting a while. I had thought of going straight in to find you, but you're having your celebrations today so they locked the campus gate.'

Jingqiu was too preoccupied to ask permission to leave, and instead said to the person in reception, ‘Will you ask Mrs Jiang to come play the accordion for the rest of the show, and ask my mother to take my class in the afternoon. I have to go to the hospital, my friend is in a bad way.'

The guard agreed, and Jingqiu rushed after Sun Jianmin to the jeep that was standing outside the gate. While they were driving Sun Jianmin told her the long sad story. After Old Third was discharged from the county hospital he didn't go back to Anhui, but stayed with the third unit in Chrysanthemum Field, for two reasons: so that he could assist in the geological unit's investigations into the two recent occurrences of leukaemia; and because it was only a few kilometres from No. 8 Middle's School's farm, and he could drive or cycle to see Jingqiu easily.

Jingqiu sat in silence while Sun Jianmin told her that after she was transferred back to the primary school in Yichang, Old Third had followed her, being transferred to the city's military hospital. He had only returned to Anhui for a brief visit during the Spring Festival. Their father wanted him to stay in Anhui, but he wouldn't, so the District Commander had had no choice but to let him return with a nurse from home who would stay with him, and look after him. Their father couldn't stay in Yichang, but made regular visits, because the distance could be covered in ten or so hours by car.

Sun Jianmin looked Jingqiu in the eye and told her sadly and slowly that right now Old Third's father, sister-in-law, uncle, aunt, cousins and even a few friends were all staying at the hospital. He smiled a little. ‘When he was well enough, we took him to your school to see you, and together we watched you taking the volleyball class. We could also see you teaching your regular class from the road outside. Later, when he was confined to his bed, he would ask me to go instead, and I would tell him what I had seen. He wouldn't let us tell you he was here in the city, nor that he had leukaemia. He said, ‘Don't let her know, let her live like this, so carefree.'

Jingqiu could see that he was struggling to say more. ‘According to his instructions, we weren't going to disturb you, but he's been in pain for too long. He's been on his death bed for several days now. The doctors have stopped giving him his medicine or trying to save him, but he won't take his last breath, close his eyes.' He took her hand. ‘We thought he must want to see you again, so we've gone against his instructions and have come to find you without his permission. We believed that you would understand, that you would come and see him one last time.' He held her hand and shook it slightly. ‘But you mustn't do anything extreme, otherwise his soul will blame us from heaven.'

Jingqiu couldn't speak. She hoped this was a dream, a nightmare. She hoped that she would wake to see Old Third bending over her, telling her that it was all fine now.

She heard Sun Jianmin speak. ‘Comrade Jingqiu, are you a member of the Party?'

Jingqiu shook her head.

‘Part of the Communist Youth League?'

Jingqiu nodded.

‘Then in the name of the Youth League, promise me you won't do anything to hurt yourself.'

Jingqiu nodded again, unable to speak. She was numb.

The jeep drove up outside Old Third's ward. Sun Jianmin helped her down, and led her to the first floor. There were lots of people in the room, each of them with red, swollen eyes. A man who looked like a leading cadre, it must have been Old Third's father, came forward and said, ‘Are you Comrade Jingqiu?'

She nodded, and he took her hand, tears streaming from his eyes. ‘He must be waiting for you,' he said, looking over to the bed. ‘Go . . . say goodbye.' He went out into the corridor.

Jingqiu looked at the person lying in the bed. She couldn't believe that it was really Old Third. He was so thin, and his eyebrows looked particularly long and bushy. His deeply sunken eyes were half open, and she could see that they were bloodshot. He had lost a lot of hair, and what remained was spread thinly over his scalp. His cheekbones were protruding, and his cheeks were like two pits. His face was as white as the hospital sheets.

Jingqiu was too scared to go any closer. This couldn't possibly be Old Third. She had seen him only a few months ago, and he was still a handsome, lithe young man. The figure before her was almost too ghastly to look at.

Hands pushed her gently towards Old Third, and she gathered all her courage to walk up to the edge of the bed. She found his left hand under the covers, and saw the scar where he had cut himself. His hand was now so thin and bony that the scar looked even longer than before. Her legs gave way beneath her and she fell to the floor.

People were trying to pull her to her feet but she couldn't move.

She heard people call out, ‘Say it! Say it!'

‘Say what?' she asked in confusion.

‘His name, call his name! If you don't say it, he won't go!'

Jingqiu couldn't make a sound. She hadn't often said his name out loud, and now it seemed impossible. She only knew how to hold his hand, and look at him. His hand was not yet completely cold, it still had a bit of warmth to it, so he was still alive, but his chest was neither rising nor falling.

People continued to urge her to ‘say it, say it', so she held his hand tightly and said, ‘It's me, Jingqiu, it's me, Jingqiu.'

She held his hand tightly, hoping with all her heart that he could hear and called louder this time, ‘It's me, Jingqiu, it's me, Jingqiu.'

She didn't know how many times she had said it, her legs were going numb, her throat was dry. Someone beside her couldn't stand it any longer, and said, ‘Stop, stop shouting, he can't hear you.'

But she didn't believe them, his eyes were half open, she knew he could hear her, it was just that he couldn't speak, he couldn't reply, but he could definitely hear her.

‘It's me! Jingqiu!'

She moved closer to his face, to his ear, pleading, ‘It's me, it's me, Jingqiu!' He could hear her, it was just that he was being covered by a layer of white mist, he needed some time, he just needed to see her birthmark to be sure that it was her.

She heard the sound of a muffled cry, but it wasn't hers. ‘It's me, Jingqiu! It's me, Jingqiu!'

His eyes closed and two tears rolled down his cheeks. Two red, crystal tears . . .

Old Third had gone, and as he had wanted, he was cremated and buried under the hawthorn tree. He wasn't a war hero but they let him be buried there. At the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, the gravestones of fallen soldiers were considered one of the ‘four olds' to be smashed, and were therefore removed. So Old Third didn't get a gravestone.

‘He insisted upon being buried there,' Old Third's father said to Jingqiu. ‘But we're so far away, so we entrust his ashes to you . . .'

Old Third had put his diary, the letters he had written to Jingqiu that the postman had returned, and some photos in an army shoulder bag, and he had given this to his brother to look after. ‘If Jingqiu is happy,' he had said, ‘don't give it to her. But if she is unlucky in love, or is having problems with her marriage, then give it to her, let her know that there was once someone who loved her with his entire mind and body, let her know that there is such a thing as eternal love.'

On the first page of one of his notebooks he had written, ‘I may not be able to wait thirteen months for you, nor until you are twenty-five, but I can wait for you a lifetime.'

The only things he had with him when he died were a photo of Jingqiu when she was six years old and that short note from his notebook. He had kept it with him always. They too were put in the army bag, and Sun Jianmin gave it to Jingqiu.

Every year, in May, Jingqiu went to the hawthorn tree to see the flowers. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she thought they were even redder than the ones Old Third had sent her.

Ten years later Jingqiu passed the university entrance examinations and started a Master's degree at the English deparment of Hubei University.

Twenty years later Jingqiu made the long journey across the Pacific to America to start her PhD.

Thirty years later Jingqiu had a job teaching at an American university.

This year, she will take her daughter back to the hawthorn tree to visit Old Third.

She will say to her daughter, ‘Here sleeps the man I love.'

About the Author

Ai Mi is a pseudonym. She lives in the United States, after having grown up in China.

About the Translator

Anna Holmwood is a translator and academic specializing in Chinese literature. She lives in England.

Questions for Discussion

Under the Hawthorn Tree
by Ai Mi

1. What do the many references to Chinese, Russian, and Western cultures reveal about the protagonists? Why is romantic love considered capitalistic?

2. How do all the details of Jingqiu's life — sports, temporary employment, family life, her ability to write essays and interpret texts — develop her character and move the story forward?

3. Mr. Zheng tells Jingqiu, “I swear on my Party membership, it wasn't me who returned your letters.” What is the implied relationship between communism and religion?

4. Jingqiu's mother tells her “Life is like a relay, with one generation passing the baton to the next.” How is this a reactionary point of view? What do you think is the rationale behind the policy to have children take over their parent's jobs?

5. What did you learn about China and the Cultural Revolution from reading
Under the Hawthorn Tree
? Do you see any parallels between the Cultural Revolution and anything in Western culture?

6. In the introduction, the book's translator says that novels are “the most fruitful way of coming to terms with this period.” Do you agree? What other historical periods can only be properly explored with a blending of historical fact and fictional plot?

7. Jingqiu's complete innocence about sex is an obvious feature of
Under the Hawthorn Tree
. How does this help or hinder the telling of the story?

8. What is the significance of Jingqiu's slogan “Bleed, sweat, but don't cry”?

9. Jingqiu thinks she is unattractive, even though people tell her she is beautiful. Ideals of beauty obviously change from one culture to another and one era to another. Are social and class systems also mere “fashions” going in and out of style? What would the perfect, unchanging social system look like?

10.
Under the Hawthorn Tree
has sold millions of copies in China. What do you think is the key to the book's popularity?

11. The translator says, “What is at stake in
Under the Hawthorn Tree
is innocence, both of the individual and of society at large, in the face of the corrupting influence of extreme politics.” What do you make of this statement?

12. Does the epilogue complete the story or distract from it? Explain.

About the Publisher

House of Anansi Press was founded in 1967 with a mandate to publish Canadian-authored books, a mandate that continues to this day even as the list has branched out to include internationally acclaimed thinkers and writers. The press immediately gained attention for significant titles by notable writers such as Margaret Atwood, Michael Ondaatje, George Grant, and Northrop Frye. Since then, Anansi's commitment to finding, publishing and promoting challenging, excellent writing has won it tremendous acclaim and solid staying power. Today Anansi is Canada's pre-eminent independent press, and home to nationally and internationally bestselling and acclaimed authors such as Gil Adamson, Margaret Atwood, Ken Babstock, Peter Behrens, Rawi Hage, Misha Glenny, Jim Harrison, A. L. Kennedy, Pasha Malla, Lisa Moore, A. F. Moritz, Eric Siblin, Karen Solie, and Ronald Wright. Anansi is also proud to publish the award-winning nonfiction series The CBC Massey Lectures. In 2007, 2009, 2010, and 2011 Anansi was honoured by the Canadian Booksellers Association as “Publisher of the Year.”