When I first arrived in my new home, I seemed an honored guest, for my birth parents, my brother and his wife, and my sister and her husband all regularly asked how I was doing, but by the end of the second week I realized I was beginning to outstay my welcome. We were crowded into a three-bedroom apartment, and the family members who were already there occupied the three bedrooms. I slept on a collapsible bed in the cramped living room, and needed to push the dining table right up against the wall before I could open up the bed. Every morning, my mother would rouse me and ask me to fold up the bed and move the table back into the middle of the room, otherwise people would have no place to eat their breakfast. She apologized for the inconvenience, but assured me that my brother’s work unit was about to assign apartments and my brother-in-law’s unit was about to do the same; after they moved out, I would be able to have a room of my own.
This new family of mine would often get into arguments. Brother and sister-in-law would argue, sister and brother-in-law would argue, my birth parents would argue, and sometimes everyone would argue in such a confused medley that I couldn’t sort out who was arguing with whom. Once, they got into an argument on my account; it happened when I was about to go for a job interview. My brother said I was getting the thin end of the wedge by having to sleep in the living room and proposed that once I had work and a salary I should rent an apartment outside, and my sister said the same thing. My mother got angry. “You both have jobs and salaries,” she shouted, wagging her finger at them, “so why don’t you go rent an apartment outside?”
My father supported my mother, saying my siblings had been working for several years and had some money in the bank, so they should find a place of their own. So then they argued back, detailing how their classmates’ parents had so much pull that they had lined up homes for their children ages ago. My father, livid with rage, cursed my brother and sister for having “wolves’ hearts” and “dogs’ lungs.” My mother delivered a similar accusation but in milder language, cursing them for having no conscience, saying they would never have got their current jobs had my father not pulled strings on their behalf. I stood in the corner and watched in desolation as their argument raged. After this my brother fell out with his wife and my sister with her husband. The two women scolded their husbands for not having enough get-up-and-go, saying how so-and-so’s husband and so-and-so’s husband in their respective work units were so much more resourceful, acquiring in short order house and car and money. The two men didn’t take this lying down: their wives were welcome to get a divorce, they said, and then try their luck landing a man with a house and car and money. My sister ran into her room to draft a divorce agreement, and my sister-in-law did the same. My brother-in-law and brother rushed to put their signatures on the documents. After that there were more tantrums, and threats of suicide. First it was my sister-in-law who ran onto the balcony and prepared to throw herself off, and then my sister followed. My brother and brother-in-law softened at this point, grabbing hold of the two women, appealing to their sense of reason and then admitting their own fault. In front of me, one of the men fell to his knees and the other began to slap his own face. At this point my parents retreated to their bedroom, closed the door, and went to bed, for they were only too familiar with this kind of row.
After all the furor had died down, I stood on the balcony in the quiet of the late evening taking in the splendid night views of this northern city, and I began to miss Yang Jinbiao. Never in his life had he cursed me or beaten me; if I’d acted out of line, he would simply and gently reproach me and give a sigh as though he was the one who’d done something wrong.
The next morning the family reverted to calm, as though nothing at all had happened. After the working members had breakfast and left for their offices, only my mother and I were left sitting at the dining table. She felt embarrassed about the row, but even more she felt misused. She kept complaining, complaining about how my brother and sister and their spouses would eat and drink at her expense, never ever paying a penny for their meals; then she grumbled about how my father had too many parties after work, coming home drunk almost every single evening.
She babbled on and on. “What a mess this family is!” she said. “It’s so exhausting, managing this kind of household!”
I waited till she had finished. Then I told her gently, “I want to go home.”
She looked blank for a moment, before realizing that the home I was talking about was not hers but my other one. Tears trickled from her eyes, but she made no effort to dissuade me. “Will you come back to see me?” she said, wiping her cheeks.
I nodded.
“Things have been difficult for you here,” she said sadly.
I said nothing.
After living in this new home for twenty-seven days, I took the train back to my old home. When I got off the train, I did not leave the station, but hauled my suitcase through the underpass and looked around for my father on one platform after another. I finally saw him at the far end of platform 4, and when I approached, I found he was giving directions to a confused traveler. When the man said “Thank you” and ran to catch his train, I called out to my father, “Dad.”
He froze, and it was only when I called a second time that he turned around and looked at me in astonishment, gazing in equal amazement at my suitcase. He saw that I was wearing the clothes I wore on the day of my departure. I had returned in just the same state as I had left.
“Dad, I’m back,” I said.
He understood what this meant. He nodded slightly and the rims of his eyes reddened, then he quickly turned around and continued with his work. Looking at the clock on the platform, I could tell that he would get off work in another twenty minutes, so I lugged my bag over to the steps leading down to the underpass and stood there watching as he applied himself to his various tasks. He gave directions to several travelers, indicating where their carriages were located, and he carried bags for an elderly traveler and helped him onto his train. Once the train had pulled out, he looked up at the clock and saw that it was time to knock off, so he came up to me and, picking up my bag, went down the steps. I reached out to grab it back, but he brushed me away with his left hand. It was as though I were still a child and not strong enough to lift such a large suitcase.
I was back in my own home. By this time we had already left the shack next to the railroad line and moved into a dormitory occupied by railroad employees. There were only two rooms, but they were rooms free of argument.
My father was quite composed, despite my sudden return. Since he had not expected me back, there was nothing much to eat at home, and he suggested that I have a shower while he went to a restaurant nearby and picked up some take-out food. He seldom patronized restaurants, and for him to come back with four dishes all at once was quite a novelty. He hardly said anything as we ate, concentrating mainly on putting bits of food into my bowl with his chopsticks. I didn’t say much either, telling him simply that I felt this home of ours was the right place for me. I said it wasn’t that difficult for university graduates to find work, and a job that I found here wouldn’t be significantly inferior to the job my birth father had in mind. My father nodded as he listened, but he spoke up when I said I would start looking for a job the next day. “What’s the rush?” he said. “Take it easy for now.”
I learned later from Hao Qiangsheng that after I went to bed that night, my father paid a call on them, bursting into tears as he came in the door and announcing to him and Li Yuezhen, “Yang Fei is back! My son is back!”