The Boat to Redemption (27 page)

That worked. The last place I wanted to be was a police station, so I stopped following her. Standing in the entrance to Cotton
Print Lane, I saw several old men sitting on stools at a table they’d set up in the sunlight next to a water-boiling tiger
oven. They were drinking tea and passing the time of day. Spotting me and knowing at once who I was, they began talking in
hushed voices. ‘That’s Ku’s son,’ one of them said. ‘He used to swagger around town, but no longer. Now he walks with his
tail between his legs.’ The other oldster, who gossiped like a woman, was passing judgement on my appearance. ‘As a boy he
looked like Qiao Limin, but the older he gets, the more he takes after Ku Wenxuan, with that hang-dog look.’ I’d forgotten
their names, but I knew who their sons and daughters were. The one with the bulging growth on his neck was Scabby Five’s father.
A retired blacksmith, he kept spitting on the ground and smearing his spit with the sole of his shoe. The other man was the
father of Little Chen, the barber. He’d worked at the public baths, where he was in charge of cleaning bathers’ ears and trimming
their corns, until he managed to pull the right strings to get a transfer to the piers as a longshoreman, although he still
plied his old trade, clearing the ears and trimming the corns of high officials after hours. I recalled the days when he’d
show up at our place with a little wooden box to perform his services on my father.

I took a good hard look at them, trying to guess how old they were and see if they were ageing faster than my father. But
then it hit me – they were the winners in this drama. They might have been old and slovenly, but they were more carefree than
my father. There were no crimes or sins associated with their names, so they were spared the need to reform themselves. Ordinary
citizens all their lives, they’d never had much of anything, which meant they
had nothing to lose. They were in good shape; so were their sons. A bizarre thought struck me: wouldn’t it be interesting
if everyone’s lineage was as easy to change as my father’s? And if I hadn’t been the son of Ku Wenxuan, but instead called
the old blacksmith or the professional ear-cleaner father, would I have turned out like Scabby Five or Little Chen? How would
I feel about that? I stood there thinking for a long time, until I was brought up short by the beating of my own heart. I
was actually envious of that bastard Scabby Five, actually willing to trade places with Little Chen the barber. I had answered
my own question: I’d be just fine with that.

It was noon, and Father’s going-ashore plan called for me to be at the clinic by one thirty and then return to the barge to
make lunch. As I passed by the tiger oven, golden flecks of rice chaff fell from its ledge on to my shoes. There were piles
of the stuff up there. The operator of the stove, Old Mu, stripped to the waist, was shovelling it into the oven. I couldn’t
see the flames, but I heard them crackle. Pop! Pop! Burn, burn, burn. My heart echoed the beat of the flames, and I suddenly
felt hot all over. There was a stabbing pain in my foot, and when I bent down to look, I saw a rice husk embedded in the space
between two toes. I picked it out and saw that it had the world’s tiniest and most abject little face; the inevitable progression
from a piece of grain to fuel for a fire gave it a fearful and terribly sad expression. I rolled it around in the palm of
my hand. The rice paddy had been plundered until there was nothing left. The next thing I felt was the hot sun on my scalp,
and then I saw my father’s face in the shrivelled rice husk, his look of fear and sadness greater even than the solitary husk
in my hand. I heard the subdued sound of his pleas: Save me, please save me!

I knew I had to save Father.

But who could I find to help me?

All of Milltown, in my mind a great metropolis, had once been
my playground; now it was alien territory. There was no one on whom I could rely; then I thought of someone – Huixian. She
owed us, and she remained a celebrity. I placed my hopes on her, but what could I say to convince her to come to my father’s
aid? I couldn’t begin to guess if she’d be willing to do so. I passed a bakery stall on the eastern edge of town, its fragrance
reminding me that I was hungry. I bought a baked flatbread and immediately sank my teeth into it. Just then I heard my name
shouted in a crisp voice. It was Desheng’s wife, who was gaping at me in complete surprise. ‘Why aren’t you back on the barge,
Dongliang? Your father is waiting for his lunch.’

‘So what? I’m not his personal servant, you know. He’s got two hands, and there’s a pot in the kitchen and rice in the pantry.
What’s keeping him from making his own lunch?’

She gave me a bewildered look. ‘Why is a dutiful son like you saying things like that? Have you fought with your father again?’

I waved her off and started walking. I hadn’t fought with my father. It was the rest of the world that was fighting with him.

I returned to the barbershop, where, amid the smells of food and Glory soap, the barbers were eating on a makeshift table
made of two stools pulled together. Their surprise at seeing me again was matched by my surprise at what I saw: since when
had Wang Xiaogai of the security group started eating with this lot? There he was, sitting in the middle, stuffing a fried
egg into his mouth.

Old Cui stared at me uncertainly. ‘What are you doing here? You’ve had your haircut.’

I’d come to help my father, after pondering what I’d say to Huixian on the way over. But one look at Wang Xiaogai drove that
thought out of my mind. What was he doing, enjoying a meal with the barbers? I glared at him – his hair, his new grey jacket,
and the area around his crotch – and was immediately reminded of the talk I’d been hearing about Huixian, especially the rumour
that Xiaogai had the hots for her. I’d laughed it off as crazy talk. Could it possibly be true?

Huixian laid down her bowl and looked me up and down. ‘Did you fight it out with Zhao Chunmei? How come you look like you’ve
lost your best friend?’ She could see I was staring at Xiaogai. ‘Who are you looking for? Wang Xiaogai?’

I knew what I must have looked like, so I turned away from Xiaogai and said to her, ‘I want to talk to you about something.
Can you come outside?’

‘Why do we have to talk outside?’ There was a guarded look in her eyes. ‘I don’t like that sneaky expression of yours. Who
do you want to talk about? You? Me?’

‘N–neither,’ I stammered, beginning to lose my composure. ‘What’s got you so uppity?’ I said. ‘All I’m asking is for you to
step outside. It won’t take long. What do you say?’

‘I say no.’ She shook her head, showing she meant what she said. ‘I’m not afraid to step outside, but I’m not a girl who shares
sweet nothings with just anybody.’

The men around the table exchanged knowing looks. With a grin, Little Chen smacked his chopsticks against his lunch box. ‘You
heard her. She doesn’t go for that kind of talk. If you’ve brought a love letter along, read it for us. We’d love to hear
it.’

Wang Xiaogai hadn’t taken his eyes off me. I was his enemy, and he was ready for anything. But then he sneered and pointed
to the mirror. ‘If you’ve written a love letter, go and take a look at yourself and see if you’re fit to read it.’

I sneered back. ‘That’s enough of that talk, Xiaogai,’ I said. ‘I may not be fit to read a love letter, but you’re not even
fit to write one. You’re not educated enough to write one even if you wanted to.’

Being put down in front of his friends infuriated him. He threw his spoon at me. ‘Kongpi,’ he snarled, ‘maybe you can write
love letters, but you’re still a
kongpi
. I may be dumb, but I’m a hell of
a lot better than you!’ He stood up and pointed to me threateningly, his eyes blazing. ‘I told you to take a look in the
mirror, but since you won’t, I’ll tell you what you look like: you look like a parasite. Who’ve you come here to feast upon,
that’s what I want to know. Who is Huixian to you? And what does she owe you? Do you think you own her just because she had
a few meals on your boat? What do you want to talk to her about? Everybody knows what’s on your mind. You’re like the toad
that wants to feast on a swan.’

I responded to the thrown spoon by picking up a pair of clippers and throwing them at him, hitting him on the leg. ‘My new
clippers!’ Old Cui shouted. ‘You’ll buy a new pair if you’ve broken them. Now get out, all of you! I’m not going to have you
two fighting over a woman in my shop!’

The veil of motives was broken by that shout. No one in the shop spoke. Boiling with rage, I glared at Xiaogai. My anger stemmed
in part from his aggressive behaviour, but also because the words had hit home. I glanced at Huixian, hoping she’d come to
my aid, but she bent over to pick up the clippers, her expression giving away nothing of what she felt. The hint of a vacant
smile appeared on her lips. She tested the clippers. ‘Do me a favour,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you fighting over me here.
If word got out, people would be thrilled to place the blame squarely on me.’ She walked over to the washbasin, then turned
and beckoned me over. ‘Come on, Ku Dongliang, I’ll wash your hair for you. Since you don’t want them to hear what you say,
come here and let me wash your hair, and they won’t hear a word.’

I hesitated as I saw Huixian turn on the water and test the temperature on the back of her hand. ‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘You
said there’s something you want to talk about. Well, everything’s open and above board here. You can talk while I run the
water, then stop and leave after I’ve turned it off.’

As they say, riding a tiger is easy, getting off is hard. So, under
the mocking gazes of Xiaogai and the others, I stumbled nervously over to the washbasin. ‘Put your bag down,’ she said. I
didn’t. Instead, I laid it on my knees after I’d sat down on the stool. ‘What do you have in there, gold ingots? No one’s
going to steal your stuff.’ She took it from me and laid it to one side.

Warm water flowed from the hose, and I was encircled by an unfamiliar but rich fragrance, one I couldn’t begin to describe.
It came not only from Huixian’s jasmine face powder, but drifted over from somewhere else as well, and I wondered if it might
be her natural smell, the faint aroma of sunflowers. I know it sounds far-fetched, but her body gave off the aroma of sunflowers.
‘My dad … my dad, he …’ I couldn’t say what I wanted to say and felt as if I were suffocating.

‘What about your dad?’ she said. ‘Is that what you want to talk about, your dad?’

‘I mean, you helped my dad …’ I felt her fingers moving between my scalp and the tap and swallowed the rest of the words.
‘I mean, my dad … he’s actually a good man, someone who’s suffered a lot.’

‘That’s something you should talk to the authorities about. Why tell me?’ She kept massaging my scalp. ‘What’s wrong with
your head, why’s it so stiff? Lower it for me.’

I did, and I felt her push it down further, her fingers gently massaging. Then she put one finger into each of my ears and
made two full circles. My memory is clear on that, two full circles, and my old problem returned: I forgot what it was I wanted
to talk to her about as a mysterious current shot down from the top of my head through my body, all the way to my crotch,
where an erection sprang up. Now the feeling of suffocation intensified. Danger! Danger! My brain was sending a warning, stronger
and stronger. The tap was turned off and no more water ran through the hose. The sound was replaced by my father’s raspy shout:
‘Leave, get out of there, come back to the boat!’

I jumped down off the stool, flustered, picked up my bag and held it in front of me to hide the bulge in my trousers. I fled
from the People’s Barbershop before anyone knew what was happening. ‘What got into him?’ someone shouted. ‘Did he say something?’

I looked behind me. Huixian had run to the door. I’d really offended her this time. Her face was flushed. She raised her fist;
she was still holding the bar of soap. ‘Ku Dongliang!’ she shouted. ‘You’re crazy. People kept telling me you were, but I
didn’t believe them. Now I do! And you said you wanted to talk! I tell you, go to Horsebridge, that’s where the lunatic asylum
is!’

I ran like an escaped convict, all the way to the public toilet on People’s Avenue. I’d shamed myself, and every time I did
that on the shore, that’s where I went. I was a sick young man, and this was my remedy. But, just my luck, the toilet offered
no aid this time, had no place for me. A skinny monkey of a man was standing in front of the only cubicle, impatiently trying
to undo a knot in his trouser sash. I couldn’t get him to hurry, and was forced to stand there and wait. And as I watched
him getting ready to urinate, I found myself envying him. What a good life people like him had, with a home to return to when
the need to vent his desire came upon him, able to relieve himself in the toilet, pull up his pants, and leave without a care,
unlike me, who had a different need for a public toilet. The stink inside got stronger, so I edged closer to the urinals.
But the smell was strong there too, forcing me to hold my nose.

Outside, either a gust of wind or a passer-by kicked up the sand on the ground and called out to me. ‘Danger, Dongliang, danger!’
It sounded so familiar. It was my mother’s voice. I went out and looked around, but there was not a trace of Qiao Limin, who
had been gone from Milltown for years. I was puzzled. What special talents did she have? After all this time, being so far
away, how and why had she returned now to interfere with my private life? I was in control of my own body, and yet her voice
could come
on the wind to remind me that I was twenty-six years old and ought to have a sense of shame and propriety, that I must keep
up the struggle against erections and must not continually seek that remedy; I must stop acting rashly and find a new solution.
A determination to mend my ways arose as I headed back inside and stood in front of the urinals, head down. I could sense
Qiao Limin’s shadow floating in the air outside, forcing me to develop a new remedy, but nothing suggested itself. And so
I shouted my nickname to myself – ‘Kongpi, Kongpi, Kongpi’ – seven or eight times, and a small miracle occurred: my erection
finally listened to me and subsided. With some difficulty, I pissed into the urinal, feeling a great sense of accomplishment,
and then, like all the local residents, strode guiltlessly out of the toilet.