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The

Scavenger’s Daughters

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Tales of the of the Scavenger’s Daughters Series

Prologue

China, 1967

B
enfu listened to the chorus of crickets and was relieved that evening was finally upon him. Carefully he paced the three feet of space with his hands tied behind his back, squinting in the dimness but knowing there was nothing new to see. Through his swollen eyes he saw the same murky shapes he’d seen since they’d dragged him there days before. He tried to take a deep breath but felt the crackling in his chest. The ragged breaths he was forced to take told him his ribs were bruised if not a few broken. He wished he could wipe the sheen of sweat from his brow, for it burned as it ran into the cuts on his face. It was a bit better since the sun had stopped beaming down on the tin shed but it still felt like he was being baked. He reminded himself to remain calm as he tried to focus on the thought that the cooler night temperatures were coming, a welcome reprieve that gave him the energy to move again and try to make sense of his sudden captivity.

By now he knew every step and each impression in the muck. He also knew from experience where the deep holes were that dropped to the pits of waste. He’d fallen into one that first night and had to be fished out of it like a flailing whale. He still reeked and his stomach rolled with nausea each time he thought of the squishy, putrid substance he had been covered in.

He was like a caged tiger, and though he was weak from lack of food or water, if someone else came through the door to beat him again he’d fight just as hard as he had the last four days. He would not let them see him broken and he’d never give up and renounce his parents like they wanted him to do. Mao might be in control of most of China, but Benfu would not let him take possession of his mind the way he had so many others. His parents were teachers, not revolutionaries! They’d done nothing but spend their lives molding intelligent minds and strong characters, and he would not let someone tell him they were criminals.

At only seventeen, Benfu still knew right from wrong and had not joined in the obsessive following of Mao the rest of his generation seemed to have fallen into. Couldn’t they see that they were only now starting to recover from Mao’s failed Great Leap Forward? Benfu’s own father had described to him how Mao’s obsession for China to beat Europe’s output of iron and steel had overcome his common sense, making him oblivious to leading them into the worst famine in their history. What did he think would happen when he pulled everyone from working the crops and instead had them running factory—and even backyard—furnaces to melt anything and everything in sight to make steel? Steel made from anything they could find from grain bins down to the smallest kitchen pots and utensils—done so haphazardly that most of it couldn’t even be used!

Then without time to even recover completely, the government leaders had gone immediately from the failed Great Leap Forward to this new so-called Cultural Revolution. Even Benfu knew this latest plan of clearing out the superstitions and crushing Chinese traditions and artifacts to make way for modernization was not the answer. People need to keep sight of their history to see how they’re growing! When would enough be enough and the people figure out that Mao was not the leader they thought he was? Benfu could see it, but were he and his father the only ones in millions?

He shook his head and tried to shake the stench from his nostrils. Outside he could hear the work groups coming in from the fields, some trying valiantly to lead the others in a weak rendition of
The East is Red
, a song to exalt their glorious leader, the only semblance of music allowed.

When the work group had left that morning their voices were stronger—ready to take on the challenge of meeting their ever-rising quota of gathering more vegetables, planting more rows, watering more crops. Now with the way all farmers were brought together to work toward one goal, many of them failed to see the irony that they were doing more work for less personal gain. Land that had been in families for generations was now owned and controlled by the government, and the people were poorer than ever! With the failure of the Great Leap Forward, the commune system was being re-organized, but not fast enough.

Benfu had kept quiet about it as long as he could but when he’d finally exploded with frustration, his sarcastic remarks had gotten him in trouble. He’d been called in to speak to the elders and he’d thought he’d settled them down enough. What he hadn’t known at the time was his outburst had caused an investigation into his background, and they’d discovered he wasn’t who he’d said he was. He’d immediately been accused of hiding the truth about his family line. It had only gotten worse from there because he’d refused to give up his parent’s names.

After a few days locked in a small room off the commune kitchen, they’d moved him to the outhouse to try to break him. He had to admit they’d come close when the sun was at its highest and the temperature in the metal privy had soared. As his head pounded and he sweated out the remaining moisture in his body, the flies and mosquitos never let up from their relentless attack. With his hands tied, Benfu was helpless to defend himself against them or the stench of human excrement that filled his nostrils and mouth. To keep his sanity, he recited his favorite poem over and over, allowing his mind to focus on the works of Li Shang Yin, rather than the squalor around him.

The east wind sighs, the fine rains come…..
He paced as the whisper of his words punctured the silence of the small enclosure. He wished that fine rains would come and the roof would open so he could lift his face to the sky, and take in mouthfuls of sweet water.

Twice already earlier in the day, before and after beatings, the commune leader had come to the shed to ask Benfu if he was ready to cooperate. Simple, he’d said, just tell him his parent’s names and address and Benfu could go back to work with the others. Benfu knew if he did, his mother and father would be persecuted. They’d sent him to what they thought was a safe place to hide from the Red Guards who were so vehemently against those with undesirable family backgrounds—black families—they called it. Teachers, landowners, business owners—in this tumultuous time, if you didn’t have ties to officials who could protect you, any sort of success or title you’d gained in life could be your downfall, branding you as a counter-revolutionary. He wouldn’t put his parents in danger by revealing their identity.

But he wasn’t the only one in the commune who came from a black background. There were landowner’s family members as well as other people who’d come from some sort of undesirable line. The difference was that they had not tried to hide it and they gladly attended re-education classes and renounced their family members, vowing to forever ban them from their lives. A last resort to find their way back in the good graces of Mao and his followers, and avoid persecution.

Benfu backed up gingerly and sat on the makeshift shelf over one of the deep holes. It was ironic that he was in misery from holding his bowels but was imprisoned in an outhouse. Only twice that day had someone come to unfasten his belt and allow him to relieve himself, ignoring his shame as they stood over him and watched as his dehydrated body expelled nothing but black waste. Only once had they sent a frightened young woman in with a cup of warm water to ease his swollen throat and cracked lips. He’d begged her to help him, to give him more water or bring him a ball of rice, but the girl had scampered away like a scared rabbit, too afraid to jeopardize her own freedom. He couldn’t blame her; she was just a small peasant girl and would have never been able to withstand the punishment it would have earned her if caught.

The voices faded into the night and Benfu knew they were all now in the communal kitchen for dinner, competing in line with their coupons to get their rations before the food disappeared. Gone were the days of family meals and the joy of gathering around the table to connect. In its place Mao had convinced the people that communal kitchens were bonding the people together as a nation, but Benfu knew he wanted to eliminate the people’s independence to function or fend for themselves. Total dependence would mean total commitment to his reign. Why couldn’t the people see this instead of allowing themselves to be herded like blind sheep? Benfu couldn’t understand it. Was the world going crazy around him? He once again wished for the calm assurance of his father and mother. But he’d never give up their names or tell the leaders where they were. He’d do all he could to keep them safe. Judging from the way the last few evenings had gone, Benfu knew he had about two hours before his next beating. It was usually after dinner and right before lights out that they sent someone to do the deed.

He looked up in the dark as he heard the metal chain outside the door being rattled. It was too early! He wasn’t ready! Yet he stood, proudly lifting his chin in defiance as the chain slid from handles and the door cracked open. Quickly a young man darted in and shut the door behind him, the flash of light from the receding sun too fast for Benfu to make out who it was.

“Benfu?” the boy called out.

Benfu stayed silent. He wouldn’t make it easy for whoever they’d sent. Even though usually they left the door open, Benfu suspected there were probably two or more others waiting outside to assist in dragging him out for his evening beating.

“I’m here to help you,” the boy whispered in the dark.

Benfu straightened up. Help? He couldn’t believe it. He hoped whoever it was, he had brought food and water. Anything—he’d eat anything at all. Even the tree bark he’d heard was the newest delicacy in the poorer circles that’d refused the life of communes. If he could only get to a tree, he’d strip it clean.

“What help? Who are you?” Benfu asked, trying to keep the pleading tone from entering his voice.

“It’s me. Pei. I work on the other work team. You’ve seen me. I’m always at the end of the line.”

Benfu struggled to remember who Pei was and suddenly his voice sounded familiar. If it was who he thought it was, the boy was several years younger than him and they rarely crossed paths due to the work teams being segregated by age and ability. Here, everyone was assigned to a team, some inside the commune for the cooking, cleaning, or minding the children, and the stronger ones were sent to the fields to plant, collect, or water. It was a strict enforcement, and though in some communes around China, families were still allowed to live together, in this one all males and females had separate sleeping quarters with each cabin assigned by age. Still, he’d seen Pei around a few times.

“Pei? What do you want? Are there more of your cadres out there?” Benfu didn’t trust anyone at this point.

“No, just me. Come closer. I’m going to unbind you.”

Benfu felt the young man’s hands touch his shoulder. Then a sliver of light entered the shed again as the boy cracked the door enough to see him better.

He examined Benfu from head to toe and inhaled deeply. “
Aiya,
it’s much worse than I thought. You’re covered in welts and bruises. Is anything broken?”

“Why are you untying me?” Benfu asked, his swollen eyes frantically trying to see through the slit in the door to what lay waiting outside. He could handle a beating from one, but he didn’t know if he could take on three or more tyrants. His body hurt so much and though he’d try, he didn’t know how long he could remain strong.

But surprisingly, the boy was gentle and had brought a small kitchen knife. He moved around Benfu and cut cleanly through the rope around his wrists. With the sudden release, Benfu’s shoulders throbbed and he rubbed his hands together, trying to restart the blood flow.

“I asked you why you are untying me?” Benfu stared in the dark, trying to see the boy’s face.

“Let’s just say I found my good sense again.” The boy began rustling in his pockets. He brought out four balls of rice and a chunk of bread. With his overflowing hands, he reached out to Benfu. “This is my share of rations from the last two days. I’ve been saving it for you.”

Benfu took the food and his mouth watered right along with his eyes. Food. He’d been dreaming of it all day. But why? He swallowed past the sudden lump of gratitude that rose in his throat and he fought the urge to stuff it all in his mouth at once. He knew if he started, he’d look like a ravished animal and his pride couldn’t take any more shame.

Then the boy unlatched the canteen hooked to his belt. He reached over and snapped it on Benfu’s waistband. “And here’s my water. I’ll tell them I lost it in the fields.”

Benfu looked at the canteen and shook his head in confusion. “You can’t leave that here. They’ll find it when they come back and your initials are carved on it.”

“It won’t be here when they return. Because
you
won’t be here. I’m here to let you go, but you have to hurry before they are done with dinner.”

The boy spoke in such a low voice that Benfu had to strain to make out his words. But Benfu could have sworn he said he was going to let him go. Now he knew he was finally losing it—there was no way he would have said that.

“Did you say let me go?” he asked, his voice just as low but shaking now with hope.

The boy went to the door and peeked out, then gestured his hand toward Benfu. “Yes, the coast is clear. Just run through the corn field until you reach the other side. You’re about ten miles from Wuxi, follow the lights. From there, you’ll have to find a place to hide for a few days. Then you need to keep moving far, far away from here.”

Benfu knew where they were, he’d watched carefully when they’d been bused in from the city. But he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was the boy really offering him his freedom? He tried to clear the tornado of thoughts in his head—he wouldn’t let his confusion stand in his way of possible freedom. He stuffed one rice ball into his mouth and the others into his pocket. He’d eat them on the way. The bread he first held under his nose and inhaled the sweet aroma. Then he put it in the other pocket.