Feather in the Storm: A Childhood Lost in Chaos (36 page)

Two weeks after our trek up the mountain I decided to commemorate the Moon Festival with another gathering. I sent invitations to Yiping and his friends and to educated youths in the nearby villages. Two days later ten young men and two young women joined Cuihua and me for the celebration.

We asked everyone to bring something to add to our banquet. Some of the boys shot birds and brought them, and others stole new bamboo shoots from the commune fields. The girls picked a large pumpkin that was still green and carried it to our hut. We cooked a delicious feast together. The boys carried the table outside. The night was illuminated by a bright full moon, so we had no need for candles or lanterns. I bought several bottles of wine from the commune store. Cuihua and I poured real wine for the boys and wine mixed with water for the girls. We gathered around the table to eat. The boys made toasts. And with each new toast they became louder and wilder in their talk. We ate and drank and laughed and took turns remembering our lives in the city. Everyone complained and commiserated about life among the peasants. The light faded. Yiping pulled me aside and asked if I wanted to go for a walk.

We sneaked off together and strolled along the riverbank, talking about our hopes for the future and about how much fun it was getting together with the other educated youths. At a spot along the river was a large rock with a flat smooth surface. Beside it was a tall willow tree. We sat on the rock. The bright moon made the night beautiful, and the only sound was that of the river rushing by. We dangled our feet in the cool water. We were lost in thinking the same thoughts but afraid to move closer together.

Out of the shadows a voice thundered behind us, “Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” We froze.

Yiping raised his arms in the air and said, “Don’t shoot. I’m Zhu Yiping.”

“Ohhhhhh, so it’s you,” the voice came back. And Team Leader Huang stepped forward. He lowered his gun and said, “You frightened me.”

“Well, you frightened us,” we responded.

“I thought you were ghosts,” he said.

“Why would you think that?” I asked.

“You are a Party member. You aren’t supposed to believe in ghosts,” Yiping said.

“I believe in the Party. But I also believe in ghosts. There is no conflict in that.”

I wanted to laugh but suppressed the urge.

“You dumb city kids,” he said and shook his head. He pointed to where we’d been sitting and said, “This rock where you are standing is called the Ghost’s Dressing Table. The river is like a large mirror here. And when there’s a full moon, ghosts come here and sit on the rock and look at themselves in the river and comb their hair. That is why I brought my gun tonight. Most villagers won’t come near this rock on the night of a full moon.”

“Have these ghosts ever hurt anyone?” I asked.

“People have disappeared in the river. Men and women. And children.”

We glanced at the ruffled surface of the water nervously and made our way toward Huang.

“I was on my way back from a monthly Party meeting,” he told us. “But I had to pass here, and I heard you.”

“We’re having a banquet,” I said. “Will you join us?”

Huang walked with us back to the gathering. As we approached, I saw the others sitting in a circle on the ground. Light from the moon illuminated their faces. I recognized the sad song they were singing about educated youth. Their voices were melancholy. As I listened to them singing, I wanted to cry.

Huang laughed when he heard it. “Spoiled city kids,” he muttered. “You’re all like little lost girls.” The others continued singing, and Yiping and I joined in.

Team Leader Huang stood to the side, listening and observing. When the song ended, one of the boys poured him a drink. He took the proffered cup and swallowed it in a single gulp. He put down his gun and sat on the ground with us, pulled out a cigarette and lit it, and asked for another drink. After four cups of wine and three cigarettes, Huang had difficulty standing and finding his gun in the dark.

“Going home?” Yiping asked him.

“Yeah,” Huang responded, slurring his words. “Time for bed.” He staggered away.

After he had left some of the boys complained about his thirst for our wine. “Cheap bastard,” one of them said, and the others chimed agreement.

“Cheap bastard with a gun,” another said. “Stupid old bastard,” another said. “And dangerous bastard!”

We laughed. I looked in the direction that Huang had walked. I thought I saw the glisten of his watery eyes in the moonlight. “Shhhh, he’s watching us,” I told the others. Everyone became quiet. Then someone began to sing a slow, sad, familiar song about home.

————

After working in the mountains for six months, I was granted a home leave. Team Leader Huang issued me a permit to return to Wuhu for two weeks. When I arrived home, my parents were happy to see me but at the same time worried about my health. Because of the diet in the mountains, consisting principally of rice, I had gained weight and was lethargic. Mother went out of her way to buy fresh vegetables and meat. She cooked several special dishes for me and I regained my energy.

I asked about Yuanyu. Papa stared at me for a moment and responded, “You haven’t heard?”

“I have heard nothing,” I said. I wanted to hear something wonderful about her, a change in fortune or a new position.

“The news is not good,” he said.

“What is it?” I asked, assuming he’d merely say she was unhappy working in the countryside or at worst that she was not in good health.

“I talk to her father when he cuts my hair,” Papa said.

“Is she coming home? Will I have a chance to see her?” I asked excitedly.

“According to her father, Yimao, she had a boyfriend in the countryside. And—how can I tell you this—she became pregnant. She didn’t tell anyone about it for a long time, and by the time it was discovered, well, it was too late to do anything about it. She had the baby. It was taken away from her immediately.”

My heart sank. I remembered Yuanyu crying next to me night after night. I remembered her suspicions that she had been adopted when she was very young. Now her baby had been adopted. Or perhaps worse.

“Of course, her parents were told of her behavior—of her problem. When the news arrived they were embarrassed and ashamed. Her father wrote to her and told her he never wanted her to come home again. He told her that she was not his daughter.”

“Is that true, Papa? Was Yuanyu adopted?”

“I don’t know. He was angry when he spoke. But that’s what he said.”

“Where is Yuanyu now?”

“I went for a haircut last week, Yimao. Her father told me that Yuanyu is dead.”

I held my hands to my face and closed my eyes. “How?”

“She had become pregnant again. She tried to get rid of the baby herself. She took pills. She took too many.”

I doubled over and wept.

“Her father denounced and disowned her. He said she was shameless and brought nothing but grief to his family.”

I remembered all the times Yuanyu and I played together, walked back and forth to school and the market, sat in the branches of the tree outside and looked down at the world. I could not stop sobbing.

“Why are you crying so hard, Yimao? My goodness, even her mother and father didn’t cry. She brought this on herself.”

I wanted to say something, but I could not find the words. I didn’t think anyone else would understand. I curled up in the chair, sobbing. I knew if I went to my bed and lay down beside the wall, I would only think of her and cry harder. My best friend was gone. My connection to a brief period of happiness was gone.

The two weeks at home flew by. It was difficult returning to the mountains. Yet there was no choice. Mama packed several books in my bags to keep me company. There were no tears this time at my departure. Mama and I exchanged looks of resignation and sadness. I carried with me also the burden of the fate of Yuanyu. As the bus bumped its way out of the city, I stared out the window at the pedestrians and cyclists going about their business, and I was filled with envy and longing and deep sadness.

The day after my return to the mountains, there was a big commotion at a cluster of huts not far from ours. Villagers ran from their huts and hurried down the slopes. “What’s going on?” I asked as a woman pushed past me.

“A hunter trapped a tiger,” she said.

Cuihua and I joined the others. It was indeed a huge tiger. The hunter displayed it in a cage constructed of thick wood bars, each the size of a man’s leg. Inside, the tiger paced back and forth; now and then he paused and looked through the bars at the curious villagers and gave a deep menacing growl.

Cuihua and I stood near the edge of the crowd and stared at the incredible and beautiful beast. I had never seen such brilliant colors or such long claws. I stepped closer to the cage and stooped to look into the animal’s piercing black-and-amber eyes. He gazed back at me. I could smell him. I could feel his warm, ragged breath. He stilled. I felt sorry for him. He reminded me of myself. He was trapped like me in this godforsaken place. My condition and that of all the educated youths was as desperate and hopeless as his. We had wild spirits
and hopes and longed above all else for a different destiny. I was transfixed by the caged tiger. The villagers mocked him and praised the hunter and laughed when the tiger scratched at his cage. Some flipped pebbles into the cage to anger him. I saw the desperation and the fear and frustration in the eyes of the beast, and I wanted to free him.

Winter arrived. Snow covered the mountaintops, and the reds and greens of the landscape became a brilliant white. Schoolchildren were given a New Year’s holiday, and Yiping was given permission to return home. I wanted to go home, too. A telegram arrived from my father giving me an excuse to apply for a special leave. It read, “Father hospitalized. Mother broke arm. Hurry home.” I was disturbed by the news and went to Team Leader Huang’s home. He was sitting down to eat his dinner. In the mountains it was customary for the head of a household to eat alone. His children and his wife were not allowed to sit with him and were nowhere to be seen. He invited me in, and I showed him the telegram and asked him for two weeks of leave.

“It’s dinnertime,” he said. “Sit down and we can talk about it.”

“I need to return to my hut to have dinner with Cuihua,” I told him.

“Tell you what,” he said. “If you drink three cups of wine with me, I’ll grant you the leave.”

I needed his authorization, so I agreed. I seated myself across from him at the table. He poured me a full cup of wine, poured one for himself, and offered a toast to a long life. He emptied his cup in one gulp, and I sipped mine twice before returning it to the table.

“Drink the wine if you want your leave,” he teased. I forced myself to do as he required and, following his example, tipped the cup back and swallowed the wine. It burned in my throat as it went down. He chuckled mischievously and refilled our cups. He drank his down and insisted I do the same. I felt I had no choice but to obey. My face flushed, and I felt light-headed.

“Team Leader Huang,” I said, “I don’t think I can have another. Can’t you give me the permission now?”

“We have a deal,” he said. He raised three fingers in the air. “Three cups of wine. Not two—three!”

He poured a third cup. We clinked our cups together and drained them. My stomach grumbled and I felt I needed to throw up. I was unsure I could stand.

“May I have your permission?” I asked.

He leered across the table at me in the light of the flickering kerosene lantern. “I’ll have to think about it,” he said.

“Team Leader Huang,” I said, slurring my words, “you just promised me if I drank three cups of wine—”

“I’ll
think
about it!” he said, his face aglow in the light of the kerosene lamp and his eyes glistening.

“I’m leaving,” I said and rose, steadying myself with my hands on the table.

“You don’t have to go yet,” he said and reached out to grasp my wrist.

I pulled away and opened the door and stepped out into the cold night air.

In a flash he was behind me. His heavy breath was on the back of my neck. “Don’t go,” he slobbered. His arm snaked around my waist.

I twisted loose and moved aside.

“I told you to wait,” he grunted behind me. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

I ran across his yard and headed up the mountain toward my hut, gasping, stumbling, red-faced, frightened and embarrassed. When I
burst into our hut Cuihua was seated at the table eating. She looked up at me, surprised, and asked, “What happened to you?”

“I tried to get permission from Team Leader Huang to go home,” I cried.

She smiled and shook her head. “And Team Leader Huang said, ‘If you drink three cups of wine with me.…’ Right?”

She knew exactly what he’d done.

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “That’s the requirement for all the girls,” she said. “Three cups of wine and his hands all over you for a few minutes.”

“I ran away from him,” I said and seated myself across from her.

“In that case,” she said, “I doubt if he’ll ever let you leave.”