‘It’s our mistake,’ he said, ‘this bone’s been put in the wrong package. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. We just can’t get the staff nowadays.’ He raised his voice. ‘They have no respect for the customers.’
My mother trembled. ‘Are you having a go at me?’ she shouted.
‘No.’ The manager was amazed. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘You shouldn’t be having a go at anyone.’ she said.
‘Ah, you thought I was accusing you.’ The penny dropped. ‘You got hold of these bones yourselves. A pair of old folks like you. You know what that is, don’t you? It’s stealing, it’s a crime.’
‘Me? Steal? But I was paying over the odds.’
‘That’s still stealing,’ said the manager. ‘And who the hell knows what kind of sinister plan you’re cooking up. We should take you down to the police station. That’ll sort you out.’
The only time my parents had been to the police was when a classmate of my mother’s had been caught shoplifting. They turned to flee.
‘Hey! Take your money!’ the manager shouted.
They didn’t care about leaving the money even though they hadn’t taken the gourd bones. They didn’t care about the bones. But the security guards caught up with them and stuffed the wad of notes into their hands, saying ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
5
‘That was all your fault! All your stupid idea!’ he turned on his wife.
‘Did you have a better one?’ she snapped.
‘Maybe I’m stupid too,’ he said, ‘with all this useless money.’ He threw the wad of notes to the ground. ‘Look at all the money I’ve earned. But what good is it now?’
He punched himself on the head. She grabbed his arm to try and stop him, but he carried on punching harder and harder, as if he was trying to brain himself.
So she let go. ‘Fine. Go ahead. Do yourself in. And I will too. We’ll die together.’
That evening he couldn’t get to sleep. He sat there on the sofa, memories of the old days going round and round in his head. There was no problem buying gourd bones back then.
My mother hadn’t been well. She was pregnant and had to eat nutritious food, like bone broth, but she wouldn’t drink it all herself. She always tried to insist he should have some too, until they ended up pushing the pot back and forth between them.
‘I can always chew the bone,’ he said.
‘So can I,’ she said.
‘But what about your teeth? Your bones are all weak because you’re pregnant.’
‘My teeth are fine.’
‘What about our child? You’re not just eating for yourself.’
‘The child doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘My stomach hurts, I can’t eat any more. I feel sick.’
‘OK, throw it away then. Go on, throw it away! If you don’t eat that bone, I’ll stick it in the bin!’
He grabbed it and shouted and waved it around in the air and tapped her on the head with it until she burst into tears, and so did he.
How he longed to eat a gourd bone one more time, even if it did lead to a row.
In the middle of the night he got up to go to the toilet. When he turned on the light in the hall he found a burglar trying to get into the study. Fear shot through him, but then he remembered there was nothing worth stealing. It was almost as if getting burgled showed they were worth something after all.
The burglar turned to run away, but my father told him to stop. He put his finger to his lips, so he wouldn’t wake my mother, then said: ‘If you reckon there’s anything of value, just take it.’
The burglar was rooted to the spot.
‘You could squash an old man like me between your fingers like an ant. What are you afraid of?’
My father went into the bedroom, got the key and unlocked the study, standing back to let the burglar in. He turned the light on. Still the burglar didn’t move. Maybe the house was full of too much stuff. They’d been gathering things for years. Or maybe the burglar thought it was a trap. And what was there to take anyway? It was all rubbish.
He went in himself, opened a drawer and took out some money. It was only a few hundred yuan, which they kept at home in case they needed a bit of cash. He held it out. But the burglar eyed him suspiciously and didn’t take it.
‘It’s not enough?’ he said.
He got out a couple of savings books and his ID card, and told the burglar the PIN number for his bank account. The burglar couldn’t believe it. He shot a fierce, mistrustful glance around the room.
‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘it’s not that much. But it’s still money, you can buy yourself something to eat … ’
The burglar didn’t say a word.
‘Do you want it or not?’ my father shouted. The burglar turned and ran.
My father followed him to the door but he had gone. He sat down on the doorstep until it got light and my mother came to find him.
‘It’s better to be a burglar,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘You can do what you want if you’re a burglar,’ he said. ‘You come and go whenever you like and if you don’t want anything, you just leave. It’s better to be a burglar.’
‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
She hadn’t got much sleep either. She dreamed she had to march through the street with a tall hat on her head, just like in the Cultural Revolution. Not that it ever happened to her. They were both Red Guards back then, like everybody else.
‘It’s like we’re no good,’ he said. ‘Everyone pushes us around.’
6
They couldn’t believe there was nowhere in the city, nowhere in a country as vast as China where they could get hold of some gourd bones, so they decided to try a farmer’s market. There was no way a small trader would refuse money — they’d do anything to make a quick buck.
As soon as they got to the market they spotted two gourd bones on a butcher’s stall.
‘We’d like those bones,’ my mother said — she didn’t want to say ‘buy’.
The stallholder laughed, his round face creasing into a broad smile.
‘You remember those?’ he asked. Finally they’d found someone who understood. Maybe he’d eaten them as a child.
‘Back then you could only get hold of them if you were sick,’ she said.
‘Exactly,’ said the butcher. ‘But those days are long gone. Things are so much better now.’
‘Yes … I suppose,’ she said. ‘But these bones, for instance, how come no one wants them now?’
‘Well, if you want them, just take them.’
‘How much do you want to sell them for?’ she stammered.
‘I’m not selling them. If you want them, take them,’ the stallholder insisted, with a dismissive wave
‘No,’ my father said, ‘we want to buy them!’
‘You can’t.’
‘We’ve got money.’
The butcher laughed again. ‘You don’t need much money to buy these.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘These bones are worth nothing. If you’ve got money, there are plenty of ways to spend it.’
‘But we want to spend it here.’
‘If you really want to buy them, just give me anything you want.’
Finally he was going to take their money. My father said quickly: ‘How much?’
The stallholder scratched his head.‘OK, how about one yuan.’
‘One yuan? One yuan each?’
‘Of course not. Are you crazy? One yuan for both of them.’
‘That’s too cheap. It’s like giving them away.’
‘But there isn’t a price for them. Look — there’s nothing to eat on them.’
‘Yes there is,’ they said together.
‘Well, maybe that’s what you think. But I can’t just sell them like that … that would be illegal, wouldn’t it?’