The Vagrants (22 page)

Quietly Nini put out the fire and filled the basin with icy cold water.

Little Fourth and Little Fifth, who had recently formed an alliance between themselves and did not participate in much of the life outside their secret world, held hands and watched whenever their mother put on a show of morning and evening sickness. They were less annoying to Nini because they never courted their parents’ attention—they were not old enough, or perhaps they had everything they wanted from each other. A few times Nini thought of befriending them, but they showed no interest, their inquiring eyes on Nini's face reminding her that she would never be as beautiful as they—by now there was no mistaking that the two girls would grow up to be the prettiest ones in the family.

But all these things—her parents’ impatience with her, her two oldest sisters’ scheming to get her punished, and the indifference of Little Fourth and Little Fifth—bothered Nini less now that she had Bashi. She explored her power with a secret joy. She put a pinch more salt into the stew than necessary or half a cup more water into the rice; she soaked her parents’ underwear in suds and then wrung them dry without rinsing; she spat on her sisters’ red Young Pioneers’ scarves and rubbed the baby's peed cloth diapers against her mother's blouses. Nobody had yet noticed these sabotaging activities, but at her most daring moments Nini hoped to be discovered. If her parents kicked her out of their house, she would just move across town to Bashi's place, less than a thirty-minute walk and a world away, freed from her prisoner's life.

Her newly added housework, however, made it inconvenient for her to spend more time with Bashi during the day. Apart from providing coal and vegetables, Bashi did not have the magic to make meals cook themselves, or laundry do itself, or the stove and her sisters take care of themselves. He suggested coming to Nini's house and being her companion when her parents were at work. She thought about the idea, alluring and exciting, and then rejected the offer. Her parents would hear about Bashi's presence in no time, if not from the neighbors, then from her younger sisters; they would throw her out for sure. Was Bashi a reliable backup, despite all her wishful thinking? Nini decided to give him some more time.

The short hour in the early morning became the happiest time of her day. When she arrived at six o'clock, Bashi always had a feast ready—sausages, fried tofu, roasted peanuts, pig's blood in gelatin, all bought at the marketplace the day before, more than they could consume. Nini started the fire—Bashi seemed unable to finish this simple task by himself, but he was a man, after all, the deficiency forgivable—and when she cooked porridge on the stove to go with the morning feast, Bashi would peel frozen pears by her side. The flesh of the pears was an unsavory dark brown color, but when Bashi cut it into thin slices and slipped them into Nini's mouth, she was surprised to find the pear crisp and sweet; the iciness inside her mouth and the heat from the burning stove made her shudder with some strange joy. Sometimes his finger stayed on her lips even after the slice of pear disappeared. She opened her mouth wide and pretended to bite; he laughed and snatched his hand away.

The morning before Ching Ming, between slices of frozen pear, Bashi said, “Old Hua says it's time to bury my grandma now.”

“When?” Nini asked.

“Tomorrow. They think it makes sense to bury her on the holiday.”

It seemed everyone had something important planned for Ching Ming, Nini thought. Her father had booked a pedicab for the holiday a luxury they could barely afford. Little Fourth, Little Fifth, and a huge basket of offerings would ride with her mother, while the two older girls and her father would walk. Nini and the baby were to stay home because neither could keep up with the others. Nini found it hard not to feel disappointed; it was the only picnic her family had planned for as long as she could remember, and she longed to go into the mountain where she had never set foot, even though it meant that she would have to endure her family for the entire day.

“Where are you going to bury her?” she asked Bashi.

“Next to my grandpa and my baba. Old Hua said he would go there today to make sure everything is ready.”

“I didn't know Muddy River was your hometown.”

“Close to here. My grandpa was a ginseng picker. He said the best ones were those that grew into the shape of a woman's body.”

“What nonsense.”

“Shhh. Don't say that about a dead man,” said Bashi. “The ghosts can hear you.”

Nini shivered.

“And it's true. Some ginsengs grow into women,” Bashi said. He stuffed the last slice of pear into Nini's mouth and told her to wait. He soon came back from the bedroom with a red silk-wrapped box, which he opened for Nini. Inside was a ginseng root, displayed on ivory-colored silk. “See here, the head, the arms and legs. The long hair,” Bashi said, and let his finger run across the ginseng, which, to Nini's astonishment, did look like an unclothed woman's body. “Beautiful, no?” said Bashi. “This was the best one my grandpa picked. If he'd sold this, he could've bought seven concubines easily but he didn't want to part with it. He thought it was a ginseng goddess. When the army came, he and my grandma prayed to this goddess not to take my father with them, but of course she let them down.”

“Didn't you say he was a war hero?”

“War hero is rubbish. You know how he was recruited? They came to my father's village and said they would invite all the young men to a house for dinner. Well, if someone invited you to dinner with a gun at your head, you would go. So my father went along with some other young people. And they were treated to a very good dinner and then invited to sit on a big brick bed. A boy soldier kept the fire burning under the bed, adding wood so that in a short time the brick bed became very hot. Like a barbecue plate, you see? And the officer said, ‘Young men, we are the People's Liberation Army and we fight for the people. Think about it. If you are interested in our cause, come down and you'll become a glorious member among us.’ Nobody moved. Of course all their parents had warned them not to join the army; they said the Communist army would not enlist someone at gunpoint like the Nationalist army. And yes, it was true that the officer was very polite. He kept telling the boy soldier to make the brick bed warmer for the guests, and an orderly kept bringing them hot tea and more tobacco leaves for their pipes. Now, tell me, what would you do? Move, or stay on the bed to have your ass burned? So after a long time my father couldn't stand the heat and came off the bed. He was the first one so he got a higher rank than his companions, and later they sent him to learn how to fly fighter planes. The rest of them became foot soldiers and orderlies.”

“They all came off, then?”

“All except one. My father's best buddy. His bottom was so badly burned he was called ‘Hot Butt’ for the rest of his life.”

Nini smiled. Bashi often told stories, and she could never tell which part was true and which was from his imagination.

“Why? You don't believe me? Ask anyone in my father's village! They said my father was clever because he came off the bed early and got the biggest promotion, but where did that get him? On the other hand, Hot Butt didn't end up in a better place. He was executed for sabotage in ‘59. He and my father died within a month of each other. They said my father was called by his friend's ghost. What does that tell you?”

Nini shook her head.

“There is only one place for everyone to go.”

Nini tried to picture Bashi's grandmother, her body withered like a ginseng root and her ghost floating in the air, eavesdropping on them. She scooped the porridge into a bowl. “Here, you must eat more and talk less,” she said to Bashi. It couldn't hurt for the old woman's ghost to see that her grandson was well taken care of.

They sat down and ate. After a moment of quietness, Nini said, “My family will go to the mountain tomorrow.”

“Why? Your family didn't have ancestors buried here,” said Bashi. “They don't have a wire service in the mountain for them to send the offerings.”

“They just want an excuse to waste all the money and go to the mountain for fun.”

“Like every other family. Are you going?”

“Me? The sun has to rise from the west for them to take me.”

Bashi nodded and then stopped his chopsticks, looking at Nini with a meaningful smile. “So you'll be home, and … alone.”

“With the baby.”

“She can sleep anywhere, no?” Bashi said.

Nini's heart skipped a beat. “But you need to bury your grandma.”

“Do you think she'll mind if I don't go?”

“Yes,” said Nini. “Don't let her down.”

“But I may get sick and unfit for the burial trip.”

Nini smiled. She was pleased that the old woman's ghost could not compete with her. Out of modesty and caution, she suggested that Bashi buy a lot of paper money for the old woman's ghost in case she felt offended, and he agreed that it was a good idea. The more they planned, the more it seemed the perfect opportunity, Nini thought, for her to put a chain on his heart so it would not go astray to another girl. “How are you doing with Old Kwen's dog?” Nini asked. She did not believe anything he said about the dog, but it made him happy when she talked about it as if it were serious business.

It was going well, Bashi replied. He had been feeding the dog hams and steaks cured in hard liquor and now it had become his friend; what would a dog with a master like Kwen fancy other than that, Bashi said, and added with a smile that he was ready to launch a test of his poison very soon. Nini listened halfheartedly and ate with concentration.

“Of course, hard work gets rewarded,” Bashi said. “While I've been working on Kwen's dog, I've found something else interesting. That woman whose body you didn't see? Some people in town are trying to organize a protest on her behalf.”

A slice of pig-blood gelatin dropped from Nini's chopsticks into her porridge. “Why?” she said. “Isn't she already dead?”

“If you ask me, people go crazy for no reason,” Bashi said. “Have you seen the leaflets all over town?”

Nini said she had not noticed, and then remembered hearing whispered conversations between her parents in bed. One time her father had said that using a dead person as a weapon was a common trick and would get the troublemakers nowhere; another time he said that they themselves had their victory and justice. Both times her mother cursed with her usual venom.

“Who are these people?” Nini asked.

“They belong to a secret group, coming at night with white skulls as necklaces.”

Nini shuddered, even though she knew that Bashi was probably being his exaggerating self. “What do they care about the woman?”

Bashi shrugged. “Maybe the ghost of the dead woman came back and cast a spell so people are under her power now, and work for her.”

“That's nonsense,” Nini said with a trembling voice.

“Why else are these people willing to act like idiots?”

Nini thought about Mrs. Gu, her former gentleness and her sudden change of attitude. Nini had stopped at the Gus’ door several times in the past week, but neither Mrs. Gu nor Teacher Gu had come out to meet her. Perhaps Mrs. Gu herself was under the spell of her daughter's ghost and had become an unreasonable woman. “That old woman,” Nini said sullenly. “She hates me.”

“Who?”

“The mother of the executed woman.”

“Why do you have anything to do with her?”

“How do I know?” Nini said. “People all hate me.”

“Not me,” Bashi said. “I like you.”

“That's what you say now,” Nini said. “Who knows when you'll change your mind?”

Bashi swore this would never happen, but Nini was no longer in a mood to listen. She said abruptly that it was time for her to leave, and before Bashi could object, she went straight to the kitchen to get the coal for herself. Bashi scratched his head and begged her to let him know how he had offended her. She thought his eagerness to keep her pleased was ridiculous. If he wanted a smile from her she would give him one, but the way he worried like an ant on a hot pot made her happy. She said she would come back the next day after her parents and sisters left the house. “You can prove yourself to me then,” she said, and left without giving Bashi a chance to defend himself.

TEACHER GU SPENT TWO WEEKS
in the city hospital, and was released the day before Ching Ming, along with other patients who had requested to go home for the holiday. Teacher Gu's left hand had recovered well, and with a barely usable left leg and a cane, he was able to move slowly. Mrs. Gu hired a pedicab, and on the short ride home from the hospital, Teacher Gu saw several people stop and watch them pass, some nodding at them and one even raising a hand to wave before scratching his head, as if he was embarrassed by his own gesture. Mrs. Gu nodded back, surreptitiously too, which did not escape Teacher Gu's eyes. He pulled up the blanket that was slipping away from his legs, and his wife, startled as if from a secret dream of her own, bent to rearrange it. “You must be cold without the boots,” she said. She took off her mittens, stuck her hands into the blanket, and held his feet. Through the cotton socks he could feel the warmth of her palms. “The doctor said to avoid the boots so the circulation wouldn't be blocked,” she said, as if she were placating a child. “We'll be home soon.”

Teacher Gu looked down at his feet, tucked away in the old woolen blanket, which bore a pair of phoenixes, the red and golden colors already fading. It had been a present from his first wife the day he had left for Muddy River, at the time a small, undeveloped town, perfect for his exile. The blanket, with its gaudy colors and patterns, was an insult to his aesthetics, and he remembered throwing it back to the woman who had decided to stop being his wife. She had picked it up and repacked it in his suitcase. It was time for them to believe in something less intellectual, she had said; it was an error for them to remain blind in their intellectualism.

Go to court your illiterate proletariat master, was his reply, hurled at her out of rage and self-pity. But later, when he calmed down, he puzzled over his first wife's words. She was always the wise one, choosing the winning side even before the civil war had tipped one way or the other. He, however, was a thorough dreamer, living in his ivory tower until an eviction order was slapped in his face.