‘Are you going home, Hei-hai?’ asked the woman.
Hei-hai licked the bits of sweet potatoes stuck to his lips. His belly bulged.
‘Will your stepmother leave the door open for you?’ the mason asked. ‘You can sleep here on the wheat stalks if you want.’
Hei-hai coughed and flung a piece of potato skin into the forge, and then made it curl with a pump of his bellows. A burnt smell permeated the opening.
‘What was that for, you little bastard?’ the young blacksmith said. ‘Why bother going home? I’ll adopt you as son and apprentice. We’ll roam the world together. I guarantee you’ll eat good food and drink strong liquor!’
Before his voice had faded away, the strains of a melancholy song filled the bridge opening, raising goose pimples of joy on the mason’s skin. He had heard the words of this song or aria only days before.
For love of your sword, your learning, your youthful virility
I followed you across the earth, wracked by storm and hunger, enduring countless hardships…
The old man rested his back against the flashboard, where wind from the jute field blew through the cracks above him. Strands of white hair fluttered along with the dancing coal flame in the forge. Deep feeling played on his face; his narrow jaw muscles squirmed, his eyes were like burning coals.
… A bed shared three years, those heavenly pleasures and so much love, all trodden down like muck. I fanned you on summer nights, I warmed your feet on wintry eves. The fruits of my breast, the furnace in my belly… Yet you, with your high station, your bountiful land, have abandoned me for your wife’s chambers. And I, I am a desolate slave…
Juzi’s heart was in her throat, her mouth half open, her lashes seemingly frozen on her face as she gazed at the old blacksmith’s expressive face and his long neck, on which the Adam’s apple slid up and down like a bead of mercury. The plaintive, brooding melody battered her heart like an autumn rain, but just as she was about to cry, the song turned spirited and expansive, and her heart fluttered like willow branches tossed in the wind. A tingling spread from her spine to the top of her head, and she instinctively leaned against the mason’s shoulder, taking his large, callused hand in hers, her eyes moist with tears as she was enveloped in the old blacksmith’s song, in his mood. His gaunt face burned with radiance, and she saw in it a future for her, much like that in his song.
The mason wrapped his arm around her, and again rested his large hand on her firm breast. The young blacksmith, sitting behind Hei-hai, began to squirm. He heard his master bray like an old donkey; a harsh, ugly sound. But soon he was deaf even to that. He rose up on his haunches and cocked his head; his left eye seemed to rise up with him, its gaze like a claw that scratched and gouged the woman’s face. When the mason had tenderly placed his hand on the woman’s breast, a fire was kindled in the young blacksmith’s gut. Flames flew up into his throat and burst from his nose and mouth. It felt to him as if he were crouching on a taut spring, that if he let go he would shoot into the air to crash against the floodgate’s steel and concrete surface. He held on, grinding his teeth.
Hei-hai grasped the bellows handle with both hands. The fire in the forge had weakened, and a blue and a yellow flame danced on the lumps of coal. Occasionally, the flow of air lifted the tongues of fire high above the forge bed, where they floated in the air before being brought down by human movement below. The boy, oblivious to the others, tried to train one eye on each of the tongues of fire, one yellow and the other blue, but could not manage to split his gaze into two. Disheartened, he moved his gaze from the fire and looked from side to side before fixing it on the anvil crouching in front of the forge like an enormous beast. For the first time, his mouth opened wide, and he released a sigh of emotion (a sound drowned out by the old blacksmith’s song). His eyes, big and bright to begin with, now shone like searchlights as he witnessed a strange and beautiful sight: a soft blue-green light suffused the sleek surface of the anvil, on which rested a golden radish. In shape and size it was like a pear, though it had a long tail, every fibre of which was a strand of golden wool. Glittering and transparent, exquisitely limpid, its golden skin revealed a swirling silvery liquid inside. Its contours were clean and elegant; golden rays spread out from its beautiful curves, some long, some short — the long rays like beards of wheat, the short like eyelashes — and all were gold in colour.
The old blacksmith’s song was pushed far into the distance, like the buzzing of a fly. Hei-hai floated past the bellows, a shadowy figure, and stood in front of the anvil. His hand, coated with coal dust, scarred and burned, trembled as he reached out…
The hand was but inches away from the radish when the young blacksmith raced up and kicked over a water bucket, spilling water on the ground and soaking the old blacksmith’s bedding. He snatched up the radish, his good eye bloodshot. ‘You fucker! Dumb dog! Lousy bitch! What makes you think you can eat a radish? I’ve got a fire in my belly and smoke in my throat, and this is just the thing to quench my thirst!’ He opened his mouth, exposing two rows of blackened teeth, and was about to take a bite when Hei-hai, with a rare burst of speed, stuck his rail-thin arms under the man’s elbows, lifted him off his feet, and then let him slide down. The radish fell to the ground. The blacksmith landed a kick on Hei-hai’s behind, sending the boy into the arms of the woman. The mason reached out to catch him.
The old blacksmith stopped his hoarse singing and slowly stood up. The woman and the mason stood as well. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on the young blacksmith. Hei-hai’s head was reeling, everything was spinning. He shook his head to clear it and saw the blacksmith pick up the radish and put it in his mouth. Hei-hai threw a lump of coal at him. It sailed past his cheek, hit the flashboard and landed on the old blacksmith’s bed.
‘I’ll beat the shit out of you, motherfucker!’ the blacksmith roared.
The mason stepped between them. ‘You’re not going to do anything to the boy,’ he said.
‘Give him back the radish,’ the woman said.
‘Give it back? Hell no!’ The blacksmith ran out from under the bridge and threw the radish as hard as he could. It flew with a whooshing sound; after a long moment came a sound as if a rip had been made in the river’s surface.
A golden rainbow arced in front of Hei-hai’s eyes. He crumpled to the ground between the mason and the woman.
Chapter Four
The golden radish splashed into the river, floating on the surface for a moment before settling to the riverbed, where it rolled around until it was buried in golden sand. A heavy mist rose above the spot where it had torn the surface of the river.
In the early morning hours, the mist covered the valley; the river sobbed beneath it. Early rising ducks on the riverbank stared mournfully at the rolling mist. One of the bold ones waddled impatiently toward the water, but the curtain of mist over reeds at the water’s edge blocked its way. Craning its neck left, right and straight ahead, it retreated from the spongy mist, quacking its displeasure. Eventually the sun rose and carved lanes and tunnels in the mist, through which the ducks saw an old man carrying his bedding and heavy tools over his shoulder, following the river westward. His back was badly bent, the load weighing down his shoulders and forcing his neck out ahead, swan-like. Once he was out of sight, a dark, bare-chested and barefoot boy came into view. A drake passed a meaningful look to the female next to it: Remember? It was him that time. The bucket bounced into a willow tree and rolled down to the river. He sprawled like a dog on the ground, and then went down to the river to get the nearly empty bucket; it could have killed that no-good sheldrake…