Father's profound self-criticism both moved and disappointed me. If he was serious about doing what he said, then if he stayed, he'd quit eating pig's head, wouldn't he? Mother yanked the door open and stood there, hands on her hips, her face ashen, her eyes red, her gaze searing. Father stumbled backward and the little girl scooted behind him, shaking from head to toe.
Mother spewed words like lava from a volcano: ‘So this is what you've become, Luo Tong, you heartless bastard! Five years ago, you abandoned your wife and son to run off with that fox demon and live the good life. How dare you come back?’
‘I'm scared, Daddy,’ the little girl sobbed.
‘How nice for you, a bastard child thrown into the bargain!’ said Mother as she glared at the girl. ‘The spitting image!’ she snarled. ‘A little fox demon! Why haven't you brought the big fox demon back with you? If she showed her face round here, I'd rip her cunt right out of her!’
Father smiled in embarrassment, his body language clearly saying ‘You have to lower your head when you're under someone else's eaves.’
Mother slammed the door shut again. ‘You take that bastard child and get the hell out of here,’ she shouted from the other side. ‘I don't want to see either one of you again! You didn't give us a thought until the fox demon tired of you and threw you out. Go away! You're already dead in the hearts of your wife and son.’
She stormed into her room and began to cry once more.
His eyes closed, Father was breathing like an asthmatic on his last legs. ‘Xiaotong,’ he said, once his breathing returned to normal, ‘I hope you and your mother have a good life. I'll be going now…’
He rubbed my head a second time, then squatted to let the girl climb onto his back. But she was too small, and her coat too bulky; she made it halfway before sliding back to the ground. So he reached behind him, grabbed her by the legs and boosted her onto his back. Then he stood up and leaned forward, sticking his neck out as far as it would go, like an ox in a slaughterhouse. His bulging knapsack swayed under his arm, like a cow's stomach hanging from a butcher block.
‘Don't go, Dieh,’ I cried, grabbing his overcoat. ‘I won't let you go!’
I banged on the door. ‘Niang!’ I shouted to Mother. ‘Niang, please let Dieh stay…’
‘Tell him to get the hell out of here,’ she screamed, ‘the farther the better.’
I stuck my hand in through the gap where the glass pane had been, unlatched the door and flung it open.
‘Go in, Dieh,’ I said. ‘You're staying for me.’
He shook his head and began to walk away with the girl on his back. But I grabbed his coat and began to cry again at the same time as I tried to pull him back through the door. As soon as we were inside, the heat from the stove wrapped itself round us. Mother was still cursing but not as loudly as before. And each outburst was followed by sobs.
Father set down the girl while I arranged a pair of stools round the stove for them. Perhaps no longer as frightened by Mother's crying, the girl seemed to gain a bit of courage. ‘Daddy,’ she said, ‘I'm hungry.’
Father reached into his knapsack and took out a cold bun, which he broke into pieces and set on top of the stove. The smell of toasted buns quickly filled the room. He untied his ceramic mug and cautiously asked: ‘Is there any hot water, Xiaotong?’
I fetched the vacuum bottle from the corner and filled his cup with warm, murky water. After making sure it wasn't too hot, he said: ‘Here, Jiaojiao, have some water.’
The girl looked at me, as if seeking my permission. I nodded, trying to be friendly. So she took the cup and began to drink, gurgling like a thirsty calf. Mother burst out of her room, snatched the mug out of the girl's hand and flung it into the yard, where it clattered noisily. Then she turned and slapped her. ‘There's no water here for you, you little fox demon!’
The girl's cap was knocked off her head, exposing a pair of braids that had been curled up and pressed down under it, little white ties on the ends. ‘Wah!’ she burst out crying, turned and ran into Father's arms, who jumped to his feet, trembling violently, his fists clenched. I knew it was wrong but I was hoping he'd slug Mother; but he slowly unclenched his fists and held the girl close. ‘Yang Yuzhen,’ he said softly, ‘I know how you must loathe me, and I wouldn't blame you if you flayed me with a knife or shot me dead. But you have no right to hit a motherless child…’
Mother stumbled backwards, the icy look in her eyes beginning to thaw. She fixed her gaze on the little girl's head, and kept it there for a long moment. Finally, she looked up. ‘What happened to her?’
‘It didn't seem like much,’ he said softly, ‘just a touch of diarrhoea. But that went on for three days, and then she died…’
The hate on Mother's face was replaced by one of goodwill. But the anger in her voice remained: ‘Retribution, that's what it was, divine retribution!’
Then she went into the other room, opened a cupboard and brought out a packet of stale biscuits. She tore open the oilpaper wrapping, took some out and handed them to Father. ‘Give them to her,’ she said.
Father shook his head, refusing to take them.
Now awkward, Mother laid them on the stove and said: ‘No matter what kind of woman winds up in your arms, a bad life and a cruel death await her. The only reason I'm still alive is that my karma is stronger than yours!’
‘I wronged her, and I wronged you.’
‘Keep your fine words to yourself, they mean nothing to me. You can talk till the heavens open up, and I still won't share my life with you. A good horse doesn't graze the grass behind it. If you had any backbone, I couldn't keep you here even if I wanted to.’
‘Niang,’ I said, ‘let Dieh stay.’
‘Aren't you afraid he'll sell the house to feed his face?’ she asked with a snide grin.
‘You're right,’ Father said, smiling bitterly, ‘a good horse doesn't graze the grass behind it.’
‘Xiaotong,’ Mother turned to me. ‘Let's you and me order some meat and wine at a restaurant. After suffering for five years, we deserve to enjoy ourselves for a change.’
‘I won't go,’ I said.
‘You little shit! Don't do anything you'll regret.’ Mother turned and walked outside. She'd taken off her sheepskin jacket and her black dogskin cap. Now she was wearing a blue corduroy jacket, and the collar of her red sweater that gave off sparks showed above her jacket. Back straight, head thrown back, she had a spring in her step, like a newly shod mare.
My anxiety lifted once she passed through the front gate. I picked up one of the baked buns and handed it to the girl, who looked up at Father; he nodded his approval. She took it from me and began eating, big bites followed by little ones.
Father took out a couple of cigarette butts from his jacket, rolled them both into a torn piece of newsprint and lit it at the stove. Through the blue smoke that emerged from his nostrils, I took note of his grey hair and the oozing chilblains on his ears. I thought back to the times he and I had gone to the threshing ground, where he'd priced the cattle, and to the times he'd taken me to Aunty Wild Mule's house, where I'd been fed plenty of meat, and I was filled with mixed emotions. I turned my back to him to keep from crying.
Then, out of the blue, I was reminded of our mortar. ‘Dieh,’ I said, ‘we have nothing to fear, no one will ever pick on us again, because we've got a big gun.’
I ran to the side room, ripped away the carton paper, picked up the heavy base, and, straining mightily, stumbled out into the yard with it in my arms. I set it down carefully in front of the door.
Father walked out, followed by his daughter.