Spilled Water (4 page)

Chapter Eleven

When the Roof Fell Down

The rain came first, in torrents. The leaky roof leaked more. We ran out of buckets to place under the ever-increasing number
of drips. We used our soup bowls, running to empty them over and over again. We lay in bed at night listening to the tuneful
plink, plonk, tink, plop. It was funny at first, until we had to empty bowls throughout the night as well.

The roof caved in one morning, when Mother had gone to the village and Li-hu and I were splashing in puddles in the yard.
There was a sickening creak, followed by a loud shudder, which fed into a resounding thud that sent the hens and ducks squawking
into the shed. We spun round to find the inside walls of the house exposed – jagged splinters of wood dangling from the tops.
A large section of roof was lying across our kitchen table and our bed. A great cloud of dust wheeled in the air before sprinkling
down on us.

Li-hu clung to my legs in terror, then, when the dust had settled, he pointed to our house and clapped his hands.

‘Look, Si-yan,’ he giggled, ‘no roof. The roof’s all gone.’ Then he burst into tears.

I held his hand and stood there anxiously in the pouring rain, wondering what to do. Mother had feared this might happen.

‘I don’t know what we’ll do if the roof falls in, Si-yan,’ she had said. ‘We don’t have the money to get it fixed, and we
can’t do it ourselves. If only the rain would stop, we could at least patch the worst bits.’

But the rain didn’t stop – it pooled its weight and the roof gave up the fight. I walked amongst the debris to find a broken
chair, fragments of crockery, toys in pieces. Even the book I was reading had broken its spine. One leg of our bed had cracked
in half, but, worst of all, our television, Father’s pride and joy, had taken the full force of the collapsing roof and was
damaged beyond repair.

Mother arrived back then. We began to clear up the mess. But we weren’t strong enough to remove the larger sheets of wood
that straddled the two rooms. I went to the village to fetch help. A team of men left their shops to follow me home, carrying
between them a huge red, white and blue striped tarpaulin. In no time, they had removed the remnants of roof and fixed the
tarpaulin over the walls. One of them took away the broken chair to mend, while another said he would send his wife with some
crockery from his shop. It wouldn’t be the best, he said – but we were grateful for anything.

Uncle visited us that evening. There was a smugness about him, tinged with irritation, as he inspected the damage then offered
to make arrangements for a replacement roof to be built.

‘It is lucky for you that I have a good job and the ability to help,’ he said to my mother. ‘If my brother had not lived with
his head in the clouds, he would have seen to it that you had a proper roof over your heads, and you would not be in the mess
you are in now.’

‘We are very grateful to you,’ replied my mother, head bowed deferentially. ‘We will try our best not to become too much of
a burden.’

‘It would be nothing new,’ said Uncle grimly.

When he had gone home, Mother and I sat listening to the rain hammering on the plastic tarpaulin. At length, I asked, ‘Why
doesn’t Uncle like us very much, Mother?’

She sighed and took my hand. ‘As you know, Si-yan, your uncle spent many years of his childhood helping to raise your father
and being responsible for him. Your father grew up to be a very different sort of person from him, which caused conflict,
though your father loved him dearly. Now your uncle finds himself responsible for us, when he has chosen not to have a family
of his own and wants to be free of responsibility.’

I thought about this and could see that Uncle might have reason to feel angry, but we had tried so hard to manage on our own
since Father died. It wasn’t our fault that the roof had caved in. Besides, Uncle had always been welcome in our house. We
had shared our meals with him for as long as I could remember. Surely the bond of family was stronger than any selfish considerations.

‘But he seems to want us to fail,’ I said.

‘He doesn’t want to believe we might succeed,’ corrected my mother. ‘And he doesn’t want to be proved wrong. Your father proved
him wrong by keeping us fed, clothed, housed and happy, despite the fact that he ignored your uncle’s advice. He can’t conceive
of being proved wrong again, especially by a woman and a girl-child.’

I struggled to grasp what Mother was saying. On the one hand, Uncle wanted us to fail, because that was what he expected,
and he had to be right. On the other hand, he didn’t want us to fail, because he didn’t want to be responsible for us.

‘Anyway,’ sighed my mother, ‘he’s paying for a new roof, and for that we must be eternally grateful.’

That night, I lay on the broken bed next to my mother and my brother, and determined to work harder still to ensure that we
didn’t fail.

Halfway through the night, the rain stopped. We woke next morning to a beautiful cloudless sky. Our terraces looked as though
they had been sprinkled with diamonds where the sunlight bounced off the drops of rain clinging to our vegetables. Our ducks
and hens quacked and squawked relentlessly, stretched and flapped their wings as though celebrating the return of dry weather.
Li-hu cavorted among them, hurling feed in the air, trying to catch some before it landed, singing happily.

‘I know it’s going to be all right,’ I said to my mother, as we weeded amongst our crops and checked for marauding insects.
‘I know it’s going to be all right.’

But it wasn’t all right. Several weeks later, we went to market, our rickshaw piled high with vegetables we had been unable
to pick during the torrential rain. We hit a deep pothole in the road. It was enough to break the axle, pitching the rickshaw
on to its side. Mother and I were thrown on to the road, amidst our valuable produce. When she saw the extent of the damage
to the rickshaw, with many of our vegetables smashed and filthy, Mother howled with despair. I put my arms round her, while
people gathered to make sure we weren’t injured. Mother was in shock, someone thought, but otherwise we were just bruised.
They collected together those vegetables which had survived the accident, put them back in our baskets, and a taxi driver
offered to take us home.

Travelling in a taxi, the only car I had ever been in, would have been a high point in my life, if I hadn’t been so worried
about Mother. It was so hot that the driver wound down all the windows, and it was exhilarating to see the world flying by,
the wind tugging at my face and hair. Mother sat shaking, gazing straight ahead of her, not saying a word. I held her hand,
squeezed it tight again and again, hoping to radiate some of my own will to survive into her being. Only once did she squeeze
my hand back, but I took comfort from that and hoped that when we were home she would recover.

When the taxi driver dropped us off, he told me I should put Mother to bed. I did as he advised, and she made no protest.
I didn’t like to leave her, but I had to collect Li-hu from the village. We returned to find her fast asleep. I was relieved.
Li-hu clambered into bed next to her, though it was only early in the afternoon. Soon he was asleep as well.

Our rooms were unbearably hot under the plastic tarpaulin. I wandered outside, swept the yard, tidied the shed, then took
a pile of washing down to the river, even though it wasn’t washing day. I sat on the river bank, my feet dangling in the cool
water, happy to let my cares drift downstream with the current. Things would get better again. We had managed for nearly a
year. Mother was suffering from shock, but that would pass. I dipped Li-hu’s trousers in the water and scrubbed them clean.
Such tiny trousers for such a bundle of energy.

‘Where are you, Si-yan?’ I heard him calling.

I turned to see him trundling over the terraces towards me. Then he stopped and laughed.

‘Bet you can’t catch me,’ he screamed.

I jumped to my feet. ‘Bet I can,’ I yelled.

I gallumphed after him, making dragon noises, captured him and tossed him in the air.

‘Mummy’s dead,’ he said, as I caught him again.

My stomach somersaulted. ‘No, Li-hu,’ I said. ‘Mother’s sleeping.’

‘Not sleeping,’ muttered Li-hu.

I gathered together the washing, took Li-hu’s hand and climbed quickly back up to the house. Mother was lying exactly as I
had left her. She was so still and quiet that it seemed she had stopped breathing, but I felt her forehead to find she was
burning hot, a whisper of air escaping her lips.

‘Mother’s not dead, Li-hu,’ I said with enormous relief. ‘Mother’s not well, but tomorrow she will be better.’

I prepared our dinner from vegetables that had survived our accident. We waited for Mother to wake up before we ate, because
we always sat down together for meals. It grew dark, but still Mother slept. I became more and more anxious, but reasoned
that Mother was exhausted from everything she had had to do, that the shock and dismay over the accident had simply been too
much for her. A long sleep would do her the world of good.

Uncle arrived then, and for once I was glad to see him, for a grown-up to take over the situation.

‘We had an accident, Uncle Ba,’ I told him. ‘The rickshaw overturned. I think Mother’s in shock.’

Uncle went into the other room and came straight back out again.

‘Your Mother has a fever. Run to the village and fetch Wen Chunzu,’ he ordered. ‘He will know what to do.’

I ran as fast as I could, terrified now that every extra second I took would lead to a worsening in my mother’s condition.
Returning with the village doctor, I was frustrated by the old man’s slowness. Much as I urged him on, he complained of his
rheumaticky joints and would not be hurried. I took his bag from him in my impatience and supported his elbow as he huffed
and puffed his way down the steep pathway to our house.

Uncle welcomed him like a long-lost friend, led him to my mother’s side, and shooed me out through the door into the kitchen.

‘Bring us cold, damp cloths, and tea for the doctor and myself,’ he ordered.

I did as I was told, but was sent away again. Li-hu clung to my legs and cried for his mother. Inside my head, I cried too.
I stood up against the door and tried to hear what the doctor was saying. Could I trust this old man with my mother’s life?

At last, the door opened and Uncle ushered the doctor out.

‘We’ll soon see what sort of a fighter she is,’ said the doctor gravely. ‘The next twenty-four hours will be critical. I’ll
be back to see her tomorrow morning. In the meantime, keep her cool with cold compresses and moisten her lips regularly. I
wish you good day.’

He shook hands with Uncle, who helped him up towards the road, while Li-hu and I slipped through the door to my mother’s side.
She lay there quietly, an expression of deep peace upon her face, which concealed the battle that raged inside her.

‘You can do it, Mother,’ I whispered, holding her hand. ‘I know you can do it.’

‘You can do it, Mother, I knowed you can do it,’ copied Li-hu. ‘Wake up soon, Mother.’

Uncle told us that Mother had a very high temperature and fever which it was imperative to bring under control. The doctor
had given her medicine to help, but Mother was not strong. She would need constant care for the next few days. He would arrange
for someone from the village to sit with Mother that night, and would call in himself first thing in the morning. I was to
make up a bed on the kitchen floor and sleep there with Li-hu, so as not to disturb my mother. I wanted so much for him to
put his arms round me and tell me that everything was going to be all right. For a brief moment he hesitated in the doorway
and I saw the anxiety in his face. I thought he was going to say something more, but then he turned abruptly and headed off
home.

I couldn’t sleep. The woman from the village, Mrs Jin, arrived, took over from me the mopping of my mother’s brow, and left
me feeling useless. I wanted her to be there, in case, but I wanted her to sit in a corner and let me care for my mother.
Every so often I would get up from my makeshift bed and hover by the door of the bedroom. Sometimes Mother was still and quiet,
other times she rolled her head from side to side, moaning and groaning. I didn’t know which was worse. At least if she was
moving around, even if she was agitated and delirious, I could see that she was alive. When she was motionless, it was hard
to tell if she was even breathing. Mrs Jin tried her best to reassure me, but I couldn’t help fearing the worst.

In the early hours of the morning, I finally dozed off. I was woken by a horrendous wailing. I rushed to the bedroom door.
Mother was tossing around, arms flailing, legs kicking. A sound like an animal in pain came from her lips. Mrs Jin wiped her
forehead and spoke gentle words to her. Mother was oblivious. I reached for her hand, squeezed it and caressed it. I kissed
her on the cheek and was sure I felt her hand respond to mine.

At last, the wailing stopped, to be replaced by a stillness that mimicked death so perfectly that I thought I had lost her.

‘Don’t worry, child, she is still fighting,’ whispered Mrs Jin. ‘Go back to bed now. You will need to be strong to help her.’

I must have fallen into a deep sleep, for when I woke again Uncle had returned and was talking quietly to Mrs Jin.

‘Is she all right?’ I asked urgently, leaping from my bed.

‘She is sleeping peacefully,’ said Uncle.

‘Oh, thank goodness,’ I sobbed, and without even thinking I threw my arms round his waist and held him tight. ‘I was so scared
she was going to die.’

Uncle stood briefly, awkwardly, and patted my head, before pulling away and addressing Mrs Jin.

‘Are you able to stay longer?’ he asked. ‘Si-yan will make breakfast and I will call by again this evening.’

For the next five days, I looked after Li-hu and helped Mrs Jin to keep my mother comfortable. Gradually, the fever left her.
She lay in bed sunken-eyed and exhausted, but peaceful. After ten days, she was able at last to walk around, though not for
long, and I was shocked by how thin she had become. She was very quiet, and seemed not to be interested in what was happening
on our farm. Uncle had arranged for two men from the village to keep things going, but I knew that we couldn’t rely on them
for ever, and that we would have to take charge ourselves again soon.