Cries in the Drizzle (26 page)

Soon after I moved into her house, I noticed that a newspaper had been spread out on the floor of her room; on top of the yellowing pages a pile of little white bugs had been laid out to dry. Li Xiuying was in the habit of seeking medical advice from a variety of authorities, and these fearsome little insects were a folk remedy that she had just acquired. When she boiled them in water and swallowed them one by one as calmly as if they were grains of rice, I paled at the sight. My horror actually rather pleased her: she flashed me a smile and said contentedly, “These things are good for you.”

Li Xiuying could be terribly self-centered, but deep down she was ingenuous and kindhearted. If she was prone to suspicion, that's just a common failing in women. When I was new there, she worried that I would get up to no good, so she designed a trial. Once when I was cleaning the window of one of the other rooms, I found fifty cents on the windowsill. This was a startling find: for me at the time, fifty cents was a huge sum. When I took the money through and handed it to her, my surprise at the discovery and my honesty in reporting it took a big weight off her mind. She told me straightforwardly that this had been a test and praised me in a
heartwarming tone of voice, complimenting me in such extravagant terms that I was almost moved to tears. Her trust in me never wavered throughout the whole five years, and when later I became the target of accusations at school she was the only person who believed in my innocence.

Strong and fit though he was, Wang Liqiang looked out of sorts when he was at home, and he often sat alone by himself with a frown on his face. But once during the first summer I was with them, he had me sit on the windowsill and told me about the river at the foot of the mountain and the wooden boats that plied its waters. His description, simple though it was, somehow managed to conjure up a clear picture in my mind. For the most part he was a mild-mannered person, but at times he would say shocking things. He had a favorite little wine cup, which was placed on top of the wireless and enjoyed the distinction of being the only decorative item in the whole house. So as to make sure I fully recognized its value he told me very sternly that if I was ever to break the cup he would wring my neck. At the time he was holding a cucumber, and with a sharp tearing sound he twisted it into two, saying, “Just like that.” This scared me so much I felt a chill around my nape.

As I approached my seventh birthday, the change that I had just gone through seemed to have made me a different person altogether. At this stage I must have been at a loss to know what to make of it all. Drifting with the tide, too young to fight the current, I had transformed in the blink of an eye from the Sun Guanglin of the rowdy Southgate house into a boy who was easily spooked by Li Xiuyings groans and Wang Liqiang's sighs.

It did not take me long to gain a familiarity with the town of Littlemarsh, but in the early days I was consumed by curiosity.
Those spindly streets paved with stone slabs seemed to carry on forever, just like the river that flowed past Southgate. Sometimes at dusk when Wang Liqiang grasped my hand in a fatherly way and took me out for a walk, I would fondly imagine that if we just kept going we would eventually reach Beijing. But somehow, as my mind was following this train of thought, I would suddenly notice that we had arrived back home. For a long time I was perplexed by this enigma: though we seemed to keep walking in the same direction, we always ended up back at the house. Most of all I marveled at the pagoda that overlooked Littlemarsh, for out of one of its windows a tree was growing. Inspired by this sight, I once had the strange feeling that a tree might perhaps sprout from Li Xiuying's mouth, or if not a tree some grass at least.

The paving stones would often give a creak and rock to and fro when you stepped on them. Particularly on rainy days, if you stamped hard on one side, a spray of muddy water would shoot up from the other. For a long time I thought this was the most wonderful game, and whenever I had the chance to get out of the house it was the first thing I wanted to do. I was seized by an urge to splash the trousers of a passerby, but timidity made me resist the temptation, for I felt sure this would put me at the receiving end of some horrendous punishment. Later I saw three older boys walk along the street, picking up chamber pot covers propped up outside people s doorways. They tossed the lids up in a way that made them spin through the air delightfully. Outraged residents came rushing out of their houses, but could do little more than curse the boys while they ran off, laughing with glee. From this I realized the advantages of showing a clean pair of heels, for then punishment becomes unlikely and enjoyment is prolonged. So afterward, when I saw a girl walk by in a smart outfit, I stamped on
a loose flagstone. As filthy water spattered her pants, I implemented the next phase of my plan—running away. Unfortunately even though my desire had been satisfied, no pleasure ensued. The girl did not unleash a torrent of abuse nor make any effort to pursue me, but simply stood there in the middle of the street, crying her heart out. The longer she went on crying, the more I felt panic rising inside me.

The house on the corner was home to a teenager who wore a peaked cap. He could make music by blowing on a bamboo tube, something that seemed as wonderful to me in my early days in Lit-tlemarsh as the tree that grew out of the pagoda window. I would see him ambling down the street, hands in his pockets, greeting grown-ups he knew, and I quietly attempted to imitate the way he carried himself. But when I stuck my hands in my pockets and did my best to strut around, the image that I had so proudly cultivated was spoiled by Wang Liqiang's rebuke. He said I looked like a juvenile delinquent.

Aside from his other tunes, the boy in the cap could also produce an amazing likeness of the jingle that the pear-syrup candy vendor used to play. When a few other greedy children and I dashed toward the source of the music, we found that it was not the street vendor at all, but this boy sitting in the window, laughing hard as could be. Our silly expressions provoked him to such mirth that he ran out of breath and ended up coughing.

No matter how often I was taken in, I couldn't seem to stop myself from heading over there every time. Summoned by those sounds, I ran with a blind and witless instinct, just so that he could have a joke at my expense. But once I was mortified to find that I was the only child to fall for the trick, and his gleeful laughter was a blow to my ego. I said to him, “The sound you make isn't like the
candy seller at all.” Thinking myself clever, I went on: “I knew it was fake as soon as I heard it.”

To my surprise he laughed even harder, and asked me, “So why did you come running?”

I could think of no answer to this.

One lunchtime we crossed paths when I was out buying soy sauce, and he found a new way of mocking me. After walking past me in the street, he suddenly came to a stop and called me over. Then he bent down, stuck his buttocks in the air, and asked me to check if there was a hole in the seat of his pants, where two red patches had been sewn. Peering at his monkeylike bottom, I had no idea that I was falling into a trap. “I can't see any hole,” I said.

“Take another look.”

I did as he said, but still saw nothing. “Bring your head a bit nearer,” he urged. As I put my face as close as I could get, he let out a resounding fart so foul I was practically gassed, and walked off laughing heartily. I couldn't help admiring him, even if he never missed an opportunity to tease.

Immersed in this new life, I often forgot the Sun Guanglin who had been tearing around the fields of Southgate not long before. Occasionally while I drifted off to sleep I could dimly make out my mother's blue-checked headscarf floating in the air. At such moments as these a sadness stirred, leaving me anxious and uneasy, but once I was asleep I forgot all about it. One evening, though, I did ask Wang Liqiang, “When will you take me back?”

He and I were walking hand in hand along the street as the sun was setting. He did not answer my question right away, but first bought me five olives. Then he told me, “Once you're grown up, that's when I'll take you back.”

Wang Liqiang, always so harried by his wife's afflictions, ruffled my hair and told me gravely that I should be obedient and study hard when I went to school. If I met his standards, he said, “When you're grown up, I'll find you a strapping young woman to marry.”

I had been wondering what kind of reward he would give me, and “a strapping young woman” came as a big disappointment.

After Wang Liqiang gave me the five olives, I no longer felt in any hurry to return to Southgate. This being a place where olives were provided, I had no wish to leave it any time soon.

Just once was I seized with a real urge to reclaim my old life. One afternoon I mistook for my big brother a boy who had hung his satchel over his chest and put his hands behind his back. At that moment I forgot that I was in Littlemarsh and thought I was back by the pond in Southgate, watching my big brother showing off on his first day home from school. I raced toward him, calling “Sun Guangping!” But my excitement drained away as an unfamiliar face swung around, looking baffled, and only then did I remember that I had left Southgate long ago. The jolt back to reality left me feeling bereft. Sobbing, I went on my way as the north wind whistled in my ears.

I made friends with a boy called Guoqing, whose birthday was October 1, and another boy named Liu Xiaoqing. When I think of them now, my heart tingles. Walking along those stone-paved streets, we would jabber and quack like three little ducklings.

Of the two, I was more fond of Guoqing. He was a boy who loved to run around. The first time he raced up to me he was pouring
with sweat. Though I did not know him at all, he asked me warmly, “You're good in a scrap, aren't you? From the look of it, you really know how to fight.” My bond with Liu Xiaoqing, on the other hand, was a by-product of his brother's delightful flute-playing. The fact that he was the brother of the boy with the peaked cap meant that my affection for him was colored by envy.

Guoqing was the same age as me, but already possessed leadership ability, and he won my loyalty by bringing spice and variety to my life. I'll never forget that time in the summer when he took me and Liu Xiaoqing down to the riverside to wait for the waves. Before that excursion I had no idea what wonderful pleasures were in store for me there. We stood in a row, evenly spaced along the riverbank, and after a steamboat passed its wake would lap over our bare feet and the waves would climb up our ankles. Our feet were like boats moored to the shore, swaying in the water. But soon I had to go home to clean the windows and mop the floor. As Guoqing and Liu Xiaoqing watched a boat in the distance steadily steaming closer, I had to leave, rushing home as fast as my legs would carry me.

Another unforgettable joy was going upstairs in Guoqing's house to view the countryside off in the distance. In those days, even in a town, not many people lived in a two-story house. When Liu Xiaoqing and I went to Guoqing's place, we were as excited as two twittering sparrows. Guoqing, for his part, displayed the poise one would expect from a host. Walking between us, he rubbed his nose with his hand, concealing his childish pride with a grown-up's smile.

Then Guoqing knocked on a door. The door opened only a little, revealing half a wizened face. Guoqing called loudly, “Hi, Grannie.”

The door opened just enough to admit Guoqing, revealing the dim interior and the face of an old lady dressed in black. Her eyes were watching us with a brightness surprising for someone of such advanced years.

As Liu Xiaoqing started to go in, she swiftly pushed the door almost completely shut, leaving only one of her eyes visible. I heard her hoarse voice for the first time. “Let me hear you say ‘Grannie.’”

Liu Xiaoqing said the magic word and was admitted; then it was my turn. Again the door opened just a crack and a single eye peered out at me. The old lady gave me the creeps. But Guoqing and Liu Xiaoqing were already pounding up the stairs, so I had no choice but to call out the required greeting, at the same time giving a shiver. I gained admission to the inner darkness, and after she had closed the door the only light came from the top of the staircase. As I climbed the stairs, I heard no sound of her steps moving away and realized with dismay that her sharp old eyes must be watching me.

In the two years that followed, my eagerness to visit Guo-qing's house was always tempered with dread at having to pass the old lady's gloomy checkpoint. Her face and her voice, which often figured in my nightmares, began to haunt me. In order to work up the courage to knock on the door, I had to remind myself there was no greater pleasure than leaning out the upstairs window with Guoqing.

Unusually, on one occasion, she did not ask me to call her “Grannie” and instead ushered me in with a mysterious smile. It turned out that Guoqing was not at home, and as I nervously came back down the stairs the old lady pounced on me the way a cat
pounces on a bird. She took my hand and led me into her room. Her moist palm made me tremble, but I was too petrified to put up any resistance.

Her room, as it turned out, was bright and spotlessly clean. Many framed pictures hung on the wall, black-and-white photographs of old men and women, not one of whom was smiling. She said to me in a whisper, “They're all dead.”

She seemed to be speaking quietly for fear they might hear, and I hardly dared breathe. She pointed at a gentleman with a long wispy beard and said, “There's a good man. He came to visit me just last night.”

A dead man came to see her? I started to cry. She was not pleased and told me disapprovingly, “That's nothing to cry about.”

Pointing at another photograph, she said, “Now, her, she doesn't dare come to see me. She stole my ring, and now she's worried I'm going to ask for it back.”

This old woman who cuts such a daunting figure in my childhood memory would not let me leave that spooky room of hers until she had introduced the people in the pictures to me one by one. I never dared visit Guoqing's home again. Even if he was there to keep me company, I didn't want to have anything to do with this eerie old lady. Only much later did I realize there was actually nothing to fear from her. She was simply immersed in an isolation unfathomable to me at my age. She straddled the boundary between life and death, forsaken by both.