The brother I became most concerned about, however, was my second brother Cunyuan. He had built himself a two-storey three-bedroom house on commune-provided land, and although his marriage wasn't his choice, he had learned to love and care for his wife and their two daughters.
Then in 1986, so he told us on the night we visited him, he was working for a lumber company and was on one of his business trips to a northern province called Dongbei. He had been walking back to his hotel when he'd found a newborn girl abandoned and crying on the roadside. There was a simple note attached to her blankets: "If my daughter has luck on her side," it read, "she will be rescued by a kind-hearted person who will love her as his or her own child. May the gods bless you-my beloved child, and bless you-the kind-hearted person." It was signed, "The child's mother."
Another abandoned, unwanted baby girl. There are many such stories from China.
Cunyuan brought this little girl home. He and his wife loved and cared for her like one of their own. Now they had three daughters. She grew up to be a beautiful girl, with a sparkling personality, and the Li family adored her. The local government at first refused to recognise her as a legitimate child, but after several years of persistence from my brother and his wife, the county officials finally allowed them to adopt her and register her as a local citizen.
I had asked my second sister-in-law to cook us some typical peasant food that night, such as dried yams and corn bread, for Mary to experience. "Brother, you've been away too long!" Cunyuan said. "Some of the food we used to hate is now back in fashion- like corn bread."
"Even dried yams?" I asked.
"Not dried yams. People feed that stuff to their dogs and even they hate it," he replied quickly.
Mary did try the dried yams that night, but I noticed she mostly ate the dumplings.
After the meal, while Mary was playing with my brother's three girls, I asked Cunyuan to show me the farmland he had been allocated by the commune. But what I really wanted was a chance to be alone with him. I remembered our heart-wrenching conversation, years ago, on the way to the train station. I eagerly wanted to know how he saw life now and I desperately hoped that he was happy.
As we walked I noticed that we were heading in the direction of our na-na's burial place. I felt a rush of shame. I hadn't visited her grave yet and promised myself that I would take Mary there the very next day.
"Here is my land." My second brother pointed to a small area, no bigger than four metres by six.
"Is this it?"
"Yes, this is ours. It is not really even ours. It's on loan from the government." He gestured for me to sit down.
I sat next to him on the edge of his precious land and looked at the layered fields in front of us.
"See those buildings over there?" Cunyuan pointed at rows of newly built ten-storey apartments on the east side of our village. "Some of our land was sold to state-owned companies to build apartments for their employees. I'm afraid I will lose even this land soon." He shook his head.
"Won't they compensate you?" I asked.
"All land belongs to the government. They can take it back any time they want to."
"Is there any kind of central planning?"
"None whatsoever. Soon we will have no land left to farm. We are forced to put our faith, and our future, in the hands of a few government officials. I'm so afraid they will swindle our land away, and our livelihood, all in the name of reform," he replied.
I asked him about his marriage next.
"I love her," Cunyuan said of his wife. "She is a nice person with a kind soul. She's a good wife and a wonderful mother. She wasn't my choice and I have struggled to come to terms with it, but I have learnt to love and care for her, just like I have learnt to accept life as it is." He paused. "Do you remember our dia's story about the frog in the well?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Even though life is better now, I still feel like the unfortunate frog trapped in that deep well," he said. "The only joy in my life is my beautiful children. My wife and I pour all our love into them. We hope they will be better educated and have a happier and better life than ours," he said. "It's a shame that I will never have the privilege to see the world out there. Maybe my children will one day."
At that point we saw Mary and my sister-in-law coming towards us, the children with popsicles in their hands, and we left our discussion at that.
The following morning our dia led all of his sons, his grandchildren and Mary, to our na-na's grave. We carried stacks and stacks of yellowish rice paper with gold bars stamped on it, several boxes of incense and a bottle of water.
I was sad to see that there was not much of the grave left. Years of rain had washed away part of the hump of earth, but my family had prevented the weeds from becoming overgrown. Our dia knelt in front of our na-na's grave and murmured, "Niang, your seventh son is here with all my sons, Jing Hao's wife Mary, and all my grandchildren to give you our love. We've also brought you money, food and drinks." He then kowtowed three times. Cuncia followed him, then my other brothers from eldest to youngest.
When it was my turn, both Mary and I knelt down in front of the grave together. No words could express what I felt. I remembered na-na's kind face, her toothless smile, the way she would hobble around on her bound feet and the sweet, kind deeds she did. I remembered the time I broke six of my niang's precious new plates and she pretended that she'd been the one who had broken them instead. She was still so vivid in my mind, even though it was over nineteen years since she'd died. I kowtowed, and kowtowed, and kowtowed, to make up for the lost years, and Mary followed in turn.
After all the children had finished their kowtows, our dia placed a stack of paper money and eight pieces of incense on top of our na-na's grave. He secured the paper money with a piece of rock so the wind wouldn't blow it away. Then we lit all the paper and incense and our dia poured the bottle of water around the grave. We will never know if her spirit knew we were there, but it satisfied something deep inside me, this tribute to my beloved na-na.
This was also the day Mary and I were to spend with my fourth brother Cunsang and his family. True to his word, as soon as he'd finished his four-year term in the navy, Cunsang had come home and married Zhen Hua. My parents tried in vain to persuade him to serve for longer but he didn't want to be apart from Zhen Hua. Now they were happily married with two children, and living on a small egg farm which they'd started on a piece of rented land up on the Northern Hill. When Mary and I went to visit, he proudly showed us his fifty hens and about a hundred chicks. He cooked us many different chicken and egg dishes-and they were all delicious.
Cunsang's family lived simply and happily. He was so proud of his achievement with this farm. He so desperately wanted to expand it but he had no money. So Mary and I gladly gave him some to help him realise his dream. Cunsang was overwhelmed by this. He couldn't speak for several minutes, just held the money in his shaking hands, and looked from me to Mary and back to me again. Eventually he put his hand on his heart. "Thank you!" he murmured.
The following day, it was my third brother's turn for our visit. Cunmao had married a beautiful girl he'd met at high school and they dearly loved their six-year-old girl, Lulu. They lived in a two-storey house, similar to my second brother's, and by now Cunmao was a successful businessman. He did all kinds of business deals and his wife was an accountant in the Qingdao Carpet Factory. Cunmao had remained a kind and considerate son to his adopted parents-my fourth uncle and aunt. I was relieved.
Cunmao cooked us a table full of food for lunch that day, and after many "gan beis", Fourth Uncle and Aunt went to bed for a rest. When my third sister-in-law and Lulu took Mary for a walk to the village shop, I took the opportunity to quietly ask Cunmao how he was.