Under the Hawthorn Tree (5 page)

In the last page of her notebook she wrote an oath: ‘I promise to draw a line between myself and any capitalist thoughts, and put all my efforts into studying, working, writing this textbook, and taking concrete actions to thank the leaders of my school for the trust they have put in me.' She had to be discreet but she knew what she meant by ‘capitalist thoughts'. A few days later, however, her ‘capitalist thoughts' resurfaced. It was afternoon, nearly five o'clock, and Jingqiu was writing in her room when she heard Auntie say, ‘You're back? Did you visit your family?'

A voice that made her tremble replied, ‘No, I went to work over at the second division.'

‘Huan Huan has been asking after you. We missed you.'

Jingqiu started and then reflected, well, at least she didn't say I was asking, Huan Huan can get the blame. She heard the scapegoat scampering about in the living room, before he came in to give her some sweets, from Old Third apparently. She accepted them, and then changing her mind, gave them back to Huan Huan, and smiled as he ripped open two at once and stuffed them into his mouth, swelling both cheeks.

She was resolute; she would sit still in her room, she would not go out to see Old Third. She listened to him chatting to Auntie. She let out a long breath, and within those moments forgot her oath. She desperately wanted to see him and exchange a few words with him, but then told herself, Jingqiu, this is the moment of truth, you've got to stand by your words. So she sat stone-still, refusing to go out and meet him.

After a while she couldn't hear his voice any more and, realising that he'd left, was full of regret. I've wasted a rare opportunity to see him, haven't I? She rose to her feet, flustered, wanting to see where he had gone. A glimpse would be enough to settle her. She stood up and turned, only to see him leaning against the door frame, looking at her.

‘Where are you off to?' he asked.

‘I'm . . . going round the back.'

There was a crude outhouse in the yard, and ‘going round the back' was short for making a visit to this toilet. He smiled, and said, ‘Off you go, I won't get in the way, I'll wait for you here.'

Dumbly, she looked at him, noticing that he'd got thinner; his cheeks were sunken and bristles were appearing on his chin. She'd never seen him like this, his chin was normally smooth-shaven. She asked, ‘It must've been tiring work . . . over there?'

‘Not really, technical stuff isn't too physically demanding.' He stroked his face, and asked, ‘Thinner, aren't I? I haven't been sleeping.'

He stared at her and she grew more nervous. Maybe my cheeks have hollowed too. She said quietly, ‘How come you went without saying anything to Auntie? Huan Huan was asking after you.'

He was still staring at her but, matching her soft tone, he replied, ‘I had to leave in a hurry. I planned to come over and tell you . . . all, but I did go to the post office while I was waiting for the bus at Yanjia River and told Sen. Maybe he forgot. In the future I won't rely on someone else to give you the message, I'll come and tell you myself.'

Jingqiu froze, what did he mean? Can he read my mind? Does he know how much I've been missing him? ‘Why tell me? What do I care . . . where you go?'

‘You don't care where I go, but I want to tell you, is that okay?' He tilted his head, and spoke with an edge in his voice.

Embarrassed, she didn't know what to say and rushed off to the back of the house. When she went back to her room she found Old Third sitting at her desk leafing through her notebook. She charged at him, slammed shut the book, and said, ‘How can you go looking through people's stuff without asking?'

He smiled, and mimicked her. ‘How can you go writing about people without asking?'

‘Where have I written anything about you? Have I written your name anywhere? It was a . . . resolution, that's all.'

‘I didn't say you wrote about me, I meant you didn't ask permission from those anti-Japanese soldiers. Have you written about me? Where? Isn't this the village history?'

She was mortified that she'd mentioned the resolution; he'd obviously just been looking through the stories in the opening pages. Thankfully he didn't keep asking and instead brought out a brand new fountain pen. ‘Use this pen from now on. I've been wanting to give you one for a while, I just didn't have the chance. Yours leaks, your middle finger is always covered in ink.'

He always had lots of pens lined up in his top coat pocket, and once she had laughed at him. ‘You're such an intellectual, with so many pens.'

He'd answered then, ‘Haven't you heard? One pen means you're a student, two pens means you're a professor, and three pens . . .' He had paused.

‘What? Who has three pens? A writer?'

‘Three pens and you're a pen repairman.'

‘So you're a pen repairman?' she had laughed.

‘Uh-huh, I like to tinker with things, repair fountain pens, watches, clocks, I've even taken apart an accordion just to have a look inside. But I had a look at your old pen, and it can't be fixed, it needs to be replaced. When I get the chance, I'll buy you a new one. Aren't you afraid of getting ink on your face when you use this old pen? You girls find that particularly embarrassing.'

She hadn't replied. Her family was poor so she couldn't afford a new pen. This old pen, in its day, had also been a present.

Now he passed her the new pen. ‘Do you like it?'

Jingqiu took it. It was a handsome Gold Star brand fountain pen, so lovely. She couldn't bear the thought of putting ink into it. She thought she could maybe take it and pay him back later, but then she remembered, even the money her mother had had to pay in advance to cover her food on this expedition was borrowed. Reminded of this, and feeling ashamed, she returned the pen to Old Third. ‘I don't want it, my pen works fine.'

‘Why don't you want it? Don't you like it? When I was buying it I thought, you probably don't like black, but this type doesn't come in any other colours. I think it's a good pen, the nib is fine, perfect for your delicate characters.' He paused. ‘Use this pen for now, next time I'll buy you a better one.'

‘No, don't. It's not that I don't like this one, it's nice, too nice . . . and expensive.'

He relaxed. ‘It wasn't expensive. As long as you like it. Why don't you put some ink in it and give it a try?' As he spoke he took her ink bottle and filled the pen himself. Before writing he swayed the pen from side to side, as if mulling over a tricky problem. After performing this ritual, he wrote quickly in her notebook.

Over his shoulder, she could see that he'd written a poem.

If life is lived in single file, please walk in front so I can watch you all the time;

if life's road is walked in two lanes, side by side,

let me take you by the hand, so when we walk through life's sea of people,

She really liked it. ‘Who wrote it?'

‘I just wrote whatever came into my head. It's not a poem, really.' He insisted she take the pen, saying that if she didn't take it he would go to her association and tell them that the pen was a donation given especially to Jingqiu to allow her to write the distinguished history of West Village. Jingqiu wasn't sure if he was teasing and worried that he really might do this, and then everyone would know, she decided to take it. But she promised to pay him back once she had earned some money.

‘Fine,' he said, ‘I'll wait.'

The following Wednesday and Thursday it was Jingqiu's turn to return home to Yichang. She had given her first two allocated holidays to a fellow student, Good Health Lee, because in fact he wasn't in good health at all. His face was constantly covered in blotches which required regular hospital check-ups. But another reason Jingqiu let him go in her place was that she didn't actually have the money to get home. Her mother's salary was just over forty yuan a month and that had to pay for her mother and sister's living costs, pocket money for her brother, and some had to go to help her father in the labour camp. Each month their expenditure exceeded their income. But her form teacher had sent a letter back with a member of Jingqiu's association. The school was going to put on a show, and the class needed Jingqiu to choreograph the steps for their performance. They'd already collected the money she would need for the bus so she had noï¾ choice.

Jingqiu's mother taught at No. 8 Middle School's adjoining primary school, and was a colleague of Jingqiu's form teacher. The form teacher knew that Jingqiu's family was poor, and at registration each term she arranged to let Jingqiu suspend payment of her fees. The family couldn't afford even these three or four yuan. Jingqiu's teacher would also try to get her to claim a bursary of fifteen yuan a term from the school, but Jingqiu refused; the application required the approval of her class, and she didn't want them to know her situation.

Instead, every year during the summer holidays she would look for temporary work, mostly doing odd jobs on construction sites: moving bricks, mixing mortar and shovelling it into wooden buckets for the bricklayer. It meant she had to stand high up on ladders to catch bricks hurled from below, and sometimes she'd have to help carry heavy cement panels. It was arduous and dangerous work, but she could earn one or two yuan per day so she went back every year.

The thought of returning home now made her both happy and anxious. She was happy that she would get to see her mother and sister. Her mother wasn't very strong and her sister was still young, so Jingqiu worried about them. She knew she could help them buy coal and rice and do some of the heavier work around the house. But the truth was she didn't want to leave Old Third. Two days at home would mean two days of not seeing him, and she knew she didn't have much time left in West Village before she had to return to Yichang for good.

When Auntie heard that Jingqiu was going home for two days she tried to insist that Lin should accompany her over the mountain to the bus. Jingqiu refused saying she didn't want to get in the way of his work, but really it was because she knew she would never be able to repay his kindness in the way he wanted. She knew from Fang that a few years earlier Lin had fallen for a young city girl who had been sent down to learn from the peasants in West Village. It was likely that she had only returned Lin's affections once conscious of Mr Zhang's influential position in the village. She later made Lin a solemn promise that if he were to arrange for her return to the city she would marry him. Lin did so, asking his father to organise the transfer. She left without ever returning, saying to people that it was Lin's fault for being so stupid, that he hadn't cooked his rice in time. Had he proposed to her she couldn't have left him in the lurch like that. The episode had made Lin a laughing stock of the whole village, and even the young children taunted him, ‘Stupid Lin, Stupid Lin, the chicken's flown off, and the egg is bust; she's gone to the city, can't see her for dust.'

For a long time Lin's face had been lined with sorrow. He was listless, refusing all offers of matchmaking from friends and family. But ever since Jingqiu arrived, his spirits had been revived and seeing this Auntie encouraged Fang to propose the match to Jingqiu. Jingqiu thought that a graceful way to avoid it all was to ask Fang to tell Auntie that because her class background was bad, she wouldn't be a good match for Lin. On hearing this Auntie rushed over herself to speak to Jingqiu. ‘What does it matter if your class status is bad? If you marry Lin it will improve, as will your children's.'

Jingqiu blushed crimson, and silently begged for a hole to appear and swallow her up. She said, ‘I'm young, I'm young. I'm not planning to find a partner so soon, I'm still at school, and they're encouraging later marriages. I can't think about this until after I turn twenty-five.'

‘Marry at twenty-five? You'll be so old your bones will slap together like a wooden clapper. The girls in our village marry early. The production unit can get you a licence anytime so you can marry whenever you like.' Auntie Zhang reassured Jingqiu, ‘I don't want you to marry this instant, I just wanted to say that as long as our Lin is in your heart, that's all that matters.'

Jingqiu didn't know what to say to Auntie and so pleaded with Fang to explain. ‘Old Second and me, well it's not possible. I . . . don't know what else to say, just that it's not possible.'

Fang was highly amused by it all. ‘I know it's not possible, but I'm not going to be the bearer of bad news, you'll have to say it yourself.'

The day before Jingqiu was to leave for Yichang Lin came to find her, his face flushed. ‘Mother has told me to accompany you tomorrow. The mountain road is empty and not safe, and it's far . . . and the water levels could rise.'

Jingqiu desperately tried to make excuses, repeating, ‘There's no need, I can go myself.' Then a thought occurred to her. ‘Are there tigers on the mountain?'

Lin was honest in his reply. ‘No, this mountain's not big, I've never heard of any wild animals. My mother just said she's afraid there might be . . . villains.'

Actually, the truth was that Jingqiu really did want someone to accompany her over the mountain as she didn't feel brave enough to walk it alone, but she preferred to risk the dangers of the road alone rather than finding herself in Lin's debt.

That evening Old Third came round. Jingqiu wanted to tell him that she was leaving the next day and would be in Yichang for two days, but somehow couldn't find the right moment. She hoped that someone else would mention it but no one did. Maybe there's no need to tell him, she thought, he probably won't even come over, and if he does, he probably won't be upset at not seeing me. She got up from the living room and returned to her bedroom pretending that she needed to write a few reports. She kept her ears pricked for activity in the living room. I'll just wait until he says goodbye and then sneak out to tell him, she promised herself.