Chu Ju's House Page 6

  I tried to get her to go with me, but she would not leave the land. Though months had passed since Quan had left, I believe she still expected him to return, for often she would stand at the door, her hand shading her eyes looking into the distance.

  One evening a man came walking toward us, and Han Na let out an exclamation and took a step toward him. Then she stopped. “It is only Ling.”

  “Who is Ling?” I asked.

  “The Zhangs live in the hills. Ling’s ba ba was a friend of my husband’s. Each week they played checkers together at the teahouse in the village. It is the Zhangs’ water buffalo who plows our paddy each spring. Ling is a good boy, but he is a boy who will do what he wants. His ba ba raises wheat, but Ling goes his own way.”

  As Ling came closer, I saw that he was young, perhaps not yet twenty. He was as long and thin as a noodle. A wing of black hair fell over his eyes. He wore glasses, but behind the glasses his eyes were bright and questioning. He bowed to Han Na and looked at me with surprise.

  “Ba Ba said there was talk in the village that Quan had left to work in the city,” he said. “My parents wondered how you managed the paddy on your own.” All the while he spoke, he looked at me as if he were trying to find a reason for my being there.

  “What they say is true. He left in the middle of the fourth moon. We have letters from him.” In a proud voice Han Na added, “And money.” Seeing that Ling was still staring at me, she said, “This is Chu Ju. She came as Quan left. She takes his place in the paddy.” Han Na gave me a sad smile. “She is my son now.”

  Ling grinned at me in a friendly way, showing no surprise that I should appear to take Quan’s place. He thrust a basket at Han Na. “Ba Ba sent this.”

  The basket held a heavy bag of flour for noodles and five perfect peaches.

  In a proud voice Ling said, “The peaches are mine.”

  “Your young trees have fruit already!”

  “Yes, and plums are there as well.” His smile nearly filled his whole face. “Next year I will have fruit to take into the village to sell.”

  “Will you drink tea with us?” Han Na asked.

  Ling shook his head. “Thank you—I must return.” He looked in the direction of the paddy. “You have no fish in your paddy yet?”

  “Fish in the rice paddy.” Han Na laughed. “What nonsense is that?”

  Ling’s smile was gone and he looked very earnest. “No, it is not nonsense. I told Quan. When I was getting my own pamphlet on raising fruit, I saw one on raising fish. It said the agricultural agent will give you fingerlings, and the tiny fish will grow into carp. The carp will eat the weeds. Then you can harvest the fish as well as the rice.” He spoke as if he were reading from a pamphlet.

  Han Na shook her head. “Those fish swim in your pamphlet. In the paddy they would never swim.”

  I liked the idea of the little fish swimming among us in the paddy, eating the weeds. “Where can you get the tiny fish for the paddy?” I asked.

  Ling, who had looked unhappy at Han Na’s scorn, now smiled again. “In the village there is a government office. They got me my little trees, and they could get you the tiny fish, but it must be done in the early spring before the rice shoots are planted.”

  Ling bowed to us and hurried away toward the hills.

  “He is a good boy,” Han Na said, “but from the time he was a little boy, he had his nose in one of his pamphlets. What good can come from that?”

  I looked at the five perfect peaches and thought if he had found the way to make such peaches in a pamphlet, that was surely good.

  The rice had flowered, and now the grains fattened and turned to gold. “In another week we will harvest,” Han Na said, but before we could harvest the grains, the starlings came. As we walked to the paddy, we saw the sky was dark with the birds. Their hoarse shrieks pierced my ears and rattled my brain. Han Na ran at them, striking left and right with her hoe. “They will destroy us,” she wailed.

  “We must have a scarecrow,” I said, remembering the scarecrow that was so frightening to me in our garden at home.

  We took some old clothes Quan had left behind and stuffed them with paddy straw. On the scarecrow’s head we put Han Na’s old bamboo hat. At the sight of the scarecrow most of the starlings few off, but a few perched on the scarecrow, so Han Na and I took turns staying in the paddy in the early evenings when the birds fed.

  As I sat alone at the edge of the paddy ready to strike out with my hoe, the scarecrow reminded me so of my home that it was all I could do not to make my way down the path and begin the journey that would take me back. It was hard to remember now what Hua looked like and how she had felt in my arms. She would be three years old and walking. I tried to imagine what Ma Ma and Ba Ba would say if I returned. I knew I could be sure of Nai Nai’s scolding. Han Na was kind to me, and hard as the work was, I was happy helping to make the rice grow. But Han Na was not my ma ma and her house was not my home. I grew sad, and then the starlings came and I ran about threatening them with my hoe and after a while I forgot my sadness.

  At the end of the eighth moon we harvested the rice with our scythes and beat the rice on the threshing stone to rid it of its hull and the bran. The pure white kernels that emerged were like so many pearls. Nothing was wasted. The sweet-smelling straw was saved to stuff our mattresses and to make nests for the chickens. The bran that covered the white kernels was given to the Zhangs to feed the water buffalo who would plow our land for the next crop of rice. We measured out enough rice to feed us. In the measuring Han Na counted Quan, even though he was not there.

  “We will have it if he returns,” she said.

  The rest of the crop was sold to a man who called at all the paddies, haggling over the price and paying too little. Still, Han Na was able to add to the savings that now came every month from Quan and rested in the chest. She often took out the money and counted it to see how it grew. “One day,” she said, “there will be enough for Quan to come home.”

  When the rice was sold, Han Na handed me some yuan. “Certainly your work should be rewarded,” she said.

  “What am I to do with it?” I asked.

  “As you like,” she said.

  I went to the village and stood by the stall that sold blue jeans. Finally I got up my courage and, asking the price, found I had enough yuan to buy a pair.

  “What size?” the woman asked.

  I knew nothing of size since my ma ma and nai nai had made my clothes. They were always large for me, so that I would not grow out of them too quickly, and then after a while they were too small.

  “Try these,” the woman said. I went behind a curtain and pulled them on. When I saw they fit, I folded up my trousers and, keeping on the jeans, put the money in the woman’s hand. There was still a little money, and I bought Han Na candied ginger, which was her favorite thing to eat, and her smile was nearly as pleasant to me as the blue jeans.

  seven

  It was time to plant the winter crop—radishes, cabbage, sweet potatoes, melons, and squash. When spring came, the paddy would be flooded and the rice planted again. As we worked in the field, it saddened me to see how easily Han Na tired. If she stood up suddenly, she became dizzy and I would have to steady her. Though I begged her to leave the work to me, she would not return to the house and would only rest for a bit in the shade of the bamboo.

  The rains had long since ended and the weather was pleasant. I often looked at the hills and wondered how Ling’s orchard was doing, for it was cooler there, and then one day Han Na said, “It is time to visit the Zhangs.” Han Na was not one to accept charity. Though the Zhangs’ gift of wheat flour was kindly meant, the gift weighed on her. “I must take them something in return,” she said. After that she fell upon our fattest chicken and imprisoned it in a basket.

  I washed my hair, leaving it fall to my shoulders with no ponytail.

  Han Na looked at me with surprise. “Now you are more a young woman than a girl,” she said. She was in her best jacket a
nd trousers, and I wore my new blue jeans. Together we set off with the restless chicken. It grew cooler as we went up the hill, climbing slowly so as not to tire Han Na. The winter wheat on the farms we passed trembled in the light winds. The bamboo groves swayed and rustled. Many of the farms on the hill had pigs, and one or two, like the Zhangs’, had a water buffalo. The houses were as large as three rooms. Everywhere there was stone that had been cleared from the land. The houses were made of stone, the fences were of stone, and wherever you looked there were piles of stone waiting to be put to some use.

  The Zhangs must have been prosperous, for they lived in one of the three-room houses. Ling and his parents hurried to greet us, apologizing for the climb up the hill and for the disorder of the house, which in truth was as neat as Han Na’s house.

  They made much of Han Na’s gift of a chicken. We were given bowls of tea to drink and pickled ginger and dumplings in broth. It was a mystery where Ling’s height came from, for his parents were like two dolls, small and very neat in appearance.

  While the Zhangs talked with Han Na about Quan, Ling offered to show me his orchard. On the way we passed the stable where the Zhangs’ water buffalo was tethered. I stopped to stare at the great animal. “Is he dangerous?” I asked, looking at the beast’s curved horns.

  “He is a great baby,” Ling said. He reached over and patted the beast, who rolled his eyes at us. “I have ridden him since I was five years old and had to be tied onto his back to keep from falling off. In the spring the buffalo and I will be down to plow Han Na’s rice paddy and all the nearby paddies. When I come, I’ll give you a ride on the buffalo if you like.”

  Ling’s orchard clung to the hillside with only a high stone wall like two sheltering arms to keep the trees safe. There were twenty trees, some full-grown and some Ling’s height and a few no taller than I.

  “Each year I clear more stones and bring in more dirt,” Ling said. “Where there was nothing, there is land now.” One by one he introduced me to his trees, which in the winter season had lost their leaves. “This plum has a golden color like the wheat when it ripens, and this one is lavender like the twilight sky in the eleventh moon.” He stood frowning at a tree. “These peaches are sweet but very small. When I take them to market, no one buys them. They look at the size and won’t believe in the sweetness.”

  After I had met each tree, we sat at the edge of the orchard and Ling told me of the trees that were to come when more stones were moved and more dirt brought in. “I do not understand how Quan could have left the land for the city,” he said. “In the city when you sit down to rest at the end of the day, there are no stretches of green paddies or rising hills to see, only ugly buildings and dirty streets.”

  “Ling,” I asked, “how did you know how to plant and care for such trees?”

  The great smile took over his face. “There are pamphlets in the village, which the government gives out for the asking. I have a box full of pamphlets. You can find your fish in one of their pamphlets. I could show you the place in the village.” In a low voice he said, “It is one good thing among many bad things the government does.” Then he asked, “Can you read?”

  I nodded my head.

  That seemed to please Ling. “I have as many books as trees. Some of them are foreign stories. I could lend you one.”

  He took me back to the buffalo stable. There was a shelf of books. “Why do you keep your books here?” I asked. “The beast does not read.”

  Ling shrugged. “It’s closer to the orchard. Sometimes I stop my work and read for a bit.” He added, again in the quiet voice, “Though they can’t read, it is best that my parents do not see my books. My parents would think some of the words in the books dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Dangerous only because they speak the truth.”

  Each book was wrapped carefully in a piece of newspaper.

  “It keeps them safe from bugs and dampness,” Ling said, but I thought he had not said all he wished.

  “But how do you know which book is which?” I asked.

  “From their shapes,” Ling said, “and where they are on the shelf. Here is one for you to read, A Dream of Red Mansions. It was written more than two hundred years ago.” He handed me a heavy book.

  “So long ago?” I asked. “Why read it now?”

  The smile came again. “Do you think people change? Anyhow, it’s China’s greatest book.”

  I nodded my head.

  That seemed to please Ling. “In our house I have a pamphlet on squash and still another on radishes, all of which I know Han Na plants. I’ll lend them to you.”

  When we returned to the Zhangs’ house, Ling filled my hands with pamphlets, handling them as if they might be precious jewels.

  His father laughed. “Ling farms with his pieces of paper as well as his hoe, but as long as his trees do well, I will say nothing against the pieces of paper.”

  As Han Na and I made the return trip down the hill, Han Na said, “Ling seemed pleased with you.” After a moment she added, “Chu Ju, I have never asked you about your parents or the orphanage that you say you come from. I have only been glad to have you, but others, such as Ling’s parents, might be curious. They might wonder if you have anything to hide.”

  “I have nothing to hide,” I said. “My parents are honorable people. My father, though only trained for a short time, is a doctor.”

  “I will ask you no more of your family,” Han Na said, “but it may be that one day you will want to visit them.”

  For an answer I only shook my head, but sooner than I imagined I was indeed telling Han Na of such a visit. It was a terrible lie, and it came about in this way. I returned from the village with a letter to Han Na from Quan. As usual she opened it and handed it to me to read. For the first time in many months the letter contained no yuan, but Han Na said nothing of that. It was always Quan’s words she looked for and not the money. The first part of the letter was short and much as usual. Beneath the usual part were these frightening words.

  This is for the girl’s eyes only. I am in jail. There was a cha hukou. The police searched our room and caught all who had no residence permits. Unless a fine is paid for me, I must remain in the detention center. Take the train and come to this address with all the money I have sent. You must not mail it or the jailers will steal it. Do not tell Ma Ma, for it would kill her. Quan

  The letter shook in my hand.

  “What is it?” Han Na asked.

  “I feel a little sick,” I said. “The broth in my bowl of noodles tasted strange.”

  “Ah,” Han Na said, “they are sloppy at the noodle shop. Who knows what was in your bowl? Drink a little boiled water and lie down for a bit and rest.”

  I drank the boiled water and said, “I think the air would make me better.” Gratefully I escaped, and as soon as I was out of sight of the house, I sank down in a bamboo grove. I had read Quan’s words only once, but I knew them by heart as surely as if they were cut into my brain with a knife. Everything he asked was impossible. I must steal the money from Han Na. I must find a way to get onto the train. It must be a train that would take me to Shanghai. In Shanghai, a city of millions, with who knew how many thousands of streets and turnings, I must go to the detention center and find Quan. Each thing was more impossible than the other. My heart sank within me. I would tell Han Na, and we would go together. But Han Na tired easily these days, and to learn that Quan had been arrested might truly kill her.

  All the rest of the day and all the night I turned over Quan’s dreadful words. The next day when our work was done, I said to Han Na, “This book that Ling gave me to read is too difficult. May I take it to him and ask for another?”

  Han Na laughed. “You were never a girl to find something too difficult, but if you wish to see Ling again, one excuse is as good as another.”

  I blushed at what she was suggesting, but I had to have someone’s help and there was only Ling. It might be that he had a train pamphlet
or even a Shanghai pamphlet. I believed the boy who made an orchard from stones would understand how a thing must be done.

  I hurried past the Zhangs’ home hoping I would not be seen and made my way to the orchard. Ling was standing at the edge of the orchard, his arm stretched out, and perched on his hand was a hawk. The hawk flew off and I watched it soaring over the paddies and fields. For a moment I forgot my trouble, amazed that Ling should have held a wild bird in his hand. I called softly to Ling and he looked around, startled at my voice. Then a great smile came over his face.

  “How is it that the hawk sits on your hand?” I asked.

  “I take a hawk from its nest and train it to hunt. When I have had it for two years, I let it go and train another. My ba ba taught me and his ba ba taught him.” Ling saw the book in my hand. “You have not read the book already?”

  “No, the book is only an excuse. I have a great worry.” Quickly the words tumbled out. It was a relief to tell someone else of Quan’s problems, for they had been too much for me to carry alone.

  Ling listened closely to my story. “How could Quan ask such a thing of you? It is impossible.”

  “No,” I said. “I must go or Quan will stay in jail forever. Han Na has been so kind to me, I must do what I can for her son.”

  “I will go,” Ling said. “This is a time of year when the trees don’t need me. The making of the new land can wait.”

  I shook my head. “A young man like yourself without a residence permit would be as likely to be arrested as Quan, and there is not enough money for two fines. I’ll dress like a young girl. No one will suspect me. It is something that I must do. I came to you for help in doing it.”

  Ling had many arguments against my going to Shanghai, but at last he saw that I meant to make the trip. “I’ll go into the village in the morning and see when the train goes to Shanghai and how much a ticket will be,” he said. “Shanghai itself is another matter.” He looked thoughtful. “I’ll come to your house to tell you what I’ve found.” He gave me a searching look. “Quan is lucky to have such a good friend,” he said, as if he were asking a question.