He heard He Liping walk up to the wooden plank, then heard her spit into the pond. When he looked up to sneak a peek, he found she was leaning over the waterwheel, staring at the gander and duck skimming across the pond. Her rear end stuck up in the air. The sight terrified Junior.
After a while, He Liping asked him how old he was. He told her fifteen. She asked him how come he wasn't in school. He said he didn't want to go.
Junior's face was covered with sweat as he stood in front of He Liping, who started to giggle. He didn't dare raise his head.
Every day after that Guo Three went to Li Gaofa's house to treat the black dog, and He Liping came to pass the time of day with Junior, who was no longer nervous, who no longer broke out in a sweat, who even found the nerve to peek at her once in a while. He could actually smell her.
One very hot day He Liping shed her faded blue tunic, so that she was wearing only a pink undershirt, and when Junior spotted the straps and snaps of her bra he was so happy he nearly wept.
“You little creep,” she scolded, “what are you looking at?”
Junior blushed bright red, but still had the courage to say, “I'm looking at your clothes.”
With a vinegary frown, she said, “You call these clothes? Wait till you see my nice stuff.”
“You look good in anything,” Junior said bashfully.
“Quite the little flatterer, aren't we?” He Liping said.
“I've got a skirt,” she continued, “that's the same red as those persimmon leaves.”
As if on signal, they turned to look at the persimmon tree halfway up the river embankment. After surviving several frosts, the sunlit leaves glowed like bright red flames.
Junior took off running. Halfway up the embankment he climbed the tree and broke off one of the lower branches, which was covered by dozens of glossy red leaves. One had been gnawed by an insect; he plucked it off and threw it away.
The red-leafed branch was a present for He Liping, who sniffed it for its persimmony aroma. Her face was red, maybe a reflection of the leaves.
Guo Three saw Junior give He Liping the red leaves, so when they were back on the waterwheel, he giggled, “Want me to be your matchmaker?”
Junior blushed to the roots of his ears. “Hell no!”
“Little He isn't bad,” Guo Three went on. “Nice perky tits and a good broad beam.”
“Don't talk like that,” Junior protested. “She's an educated city girl… ten years older than me… so tall…”
“So what?” Guo Three replied. “Educated girls like doing it as much as anybody. And ten years older, for a girl, is nothing. Besides, ‘Tall girl, short boy – tits in the face, what a joy.’ Now that's living!”
This little monologue by Guo Three had poor Junior's rear end squirming and his body temperature soaring.
“The little sparrow's standing up,” Guo Three remarked. “And not so little, at that.”
From that day onward, Guo Three hardly stopped coaching Junior in certain matters, until finally, unable to suppress his curiosity any longer, Junior broached the subject of the “big teapot.” Guo Three happily obliged with a graphic description of what went on in a whorehouse.
Junior turned the waterwheel, but his thoughts were miles away: He Liping's image fluttered before his eyes. Guo Three took this as an invitation for even more salacious talk.
With a crack in his voice, Junior pleaded, “Master Three, please don't talk about things like that.”
“You dumb prick, what are you getting all weepy about? Go to her. She's itching for it, too!”
So one day Junior went into the production team's vegetable garden and stole a carrot, which he washed off and hid in tall grass until He Liping carne along. The oldster Guo Three hadn't arrived when she showed up, so Junior handed her the carrot.
She studied his face as she accepted the gift.
Junior could only imagine what he looked like at that moment, with his matted, grass-stained hair and tattered clothes.
“Why are you giving me this carrot?” He Liping asked him.
“Because I like you,” he said.
She sighed and rubbed the carrot's orange, glossy skin. “But you're still a child…” She rubbed his head and walked off with her carrot.
Junior and He Liping went to the distant field to re-sow the millet field. Since draft animals needed room to turn around, some spots were left vacant. They arrived at a field where sorghum had just been harvested. Buds were beginning to appear on the newly planted millet, and dry sorghum stalks were stacked at the head of the patch of ground. It was late autumn by then, and getting cold. After spreading their millet seeds for a while, He Liping and Junior rested in front of a sorghum stack to soak up the warm, inviting rays of sunlight. They had an unobstructed view of the newly harvested and deserted field, over which birds circled noisily.
He Liping laid some bundles of sorghum stalks on the ground and stretched out lazily against them. Junior stood off to the side, gazing down at her. Her face shone in sunlight that was bright enough to make her squint; pretty white teeth showed between her moist, slightly parted lips.
Junior shivered; his lips felt dry, and there was a lump in his throat. “Guo Three and Li Gaofa's wife do you-know-what,” he managed to say. “Goes there every day…”
Still squinting, He Liping smiled radiantly.
“… Guo Three says bad things… says you…”
Still squinting, He Liping spread her arms and legs wide.
Junior took a step closer. “Guo Three says you're always thinking about doing you-know-what…”
He Liping looked up and smiled.
Junior knelt alongside her. “Guo Three wishes I had the nerve to touch you…”
He Liping was smiling.
Junior began to sob. Through his tears, he said, “Big Sister, I want to touch you… want to touch you, Big Sister…”
Junior's hand was no sooner resting upon He Liping's breast than she wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him…
The following year, He Liping gave birth to twins, an event that rocked all of Gaomi Township.
Shen Garden
ATHUNDERBOLT CRACKLED ABOVE A LOCUST TREE OUTSIDE THE bakery, sending brilliant sparks flying off a streetcar cable strung beneath the tree. The summer's first clap of thunder caught people out on the street by surprise; they quickly ran for cover under shop overhangs on both sides of the street. Those on bicycles bent low over their handlebars, hugging the sidewalks and pedaling for all they were worth. A cool wind blew amid sheets of rain slanting down. The chaos on the street grew worse as people fled from the downpour.
He and she sat opposite each other at a table in the dark bakery, soft drinks-in front of both of them, bright ice cubes bobbing in the dark glasses. Two stale croissants lay on the table, around which a solitary housefly flitted.
He cocked his head to the side to look at the chaotic scene on the street outside. Branches and leaves on the locust tree were buffeted crazily by the wind, which sent fine dust skittering across the ground. The stench of mud filtered into the shop, overwhelming the buttery smell unique to bakeries. Streetcars rolled slowly down the tracks from somewhere off in the distance, nipping at the heels of the ones in front. The heavy rain beating down on the tops of the cars created a cloud of gray mist. The streetcars were packed with passengers, many of whose heads were sticking out of open windows, only to be pelted by stinging drops of rain. The corner of a red dress, caught in one of the streetcar doors, stuck wetly to the step, like a flag of the vanquished.
“Let it pour, the heavier the better,” he blurted out through clenched teeth. “It's about time. The city's almost dried up, after six months or more without rain. If this dry spell had lasted much longer, the trees would have withered up and died.” He sounded a bit like one of the villains in a revolutionary movie. “How is it there where you are? No rain for a long time, I suspect. I watch the TV weather reports every day to stay on top of your weather there. I was really impressed with that town of yours. I hate big cities, and if not for the kid, I'd have moved there long ago. Small towns are so quiet and cheerful. I wouldn't be surprised if people in your town live ten years longer than those in the cities.”