After a few days resting in bed, Jiazhen gradually started to get her strength back. Before long she could sit up in bed, and she said she felt much better. She was happy and said she wanted to try going back to the fields, but I wouldn’t let her.
“From now on you can’t risk wearing yourself out,” I said. “You’ve got to save your strength — we’ve still got a long road ahead of us.”
That year Youqing was in the fifth grade. There’s a common saying that “Calamities never come singly.” With Jiazhen as sick as she was, I was hoping that Youqing would grow up quickly. His grades were terrible, and I thought I’d better not force him to go to middle school. After he graduated from elementary school, I’d let him go with me out to the fields to earn work points. How could I have known that just as Jiazhen was starting to feel better, something would happen to Youqing?
That afternoon, Youqing’s principal, the wife of the county magistrate, lost a lot of blood giving birth in the city hospital— they said she had one foot in the grave. The teachers from Youqing’s school immediately called all fifth graders to the track and sent them to the hospital to donate blood. As soon as the kids heard that the blood was for the principal, they were so happy you would have thought it was a holiday. A few of the boys even rolled up their sleeves right there, ready to donate on the spot. As soon as they left the school gates, Youqing took off his shoes and, clutching them in his hands, started running toward the hospital with four or five other kids. My son was the first one to get there, and was first in the line that formed once the other students arrived.
“I was the first one here!” Youqing proudly told his teacher.
After which his teacher dragged him aside and gave him a lecture about abiding by the rules. Youqing had no choice but to stand off to one side watching as, one by one, the other kids pressed up against one another on their way in to have their blood type checked. More than ten kids were tested, but not one had the same blood type as the principal. Youqing grew increasingly anxious as he watched them. He was afraid he’d be the last one and that by then they wouldn’t even need his blood. He walked over to his teacher and said shyly, “Teacher, I realize I made a mistake.”
The teacher just grunted but didn’t answer him. He waited until two more kids had gone in to have their blood checked. That was when a doctor wearing a gauze mask emerged from the delivery room, shouting over to the man doing the blood tests, “The blood? Where’s the blood?”
The man responsible for checking the blood said, “None of them has the right blood type.”
“Quick, send the rest of them in!” the doctor yelled. “We barely have a heartbeat on the patient!”
Youqing once again walked over to his teacher and asked him, “Is it my turn?”
The teacher looked at Youqing and waved his hand. “Go in.”
Only when they got to Youqing did they find a match. My son’s face turned bright red, he was so ecstatic. He ran over to the door and yelled to his friends outside, “They’re gonna take my blood!”
If they wanted to take some blood, they should have taken only a little. But to save the magistrate’s wife, the people in the hospital wouldn’t stop taking Youqing’s blood — they just kept extracting more and more. When his face turned white, Youqing didn’t say anything. Only after his lips turned white did he finally say, “I’m dizzy.”
The guy doing the blood work said, “You always get dizzy when you donate blood.”
Youqing had already given more than his body could take, but out came another doctor saying there still wasn’t enough blood. The fucking asshole doing the blood work extracted almost every drop of blood from my son’s body. Youqing’s lips turned blue, but the guy still didn’t stop. Only after Youqing’s head slumped and fell to one side did he finally begin to panic. He called a doctor over, who squatted down and listened with a stethoscope.
“I can’t get a heartbeat,” muttered the doctor.
The doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. He just scolded the blood technician. “You’re really an idiot.”
He then went back into the delivery room to save the magistrate’s wife.
That evening as dusk fell, when I was just getting ready to pack it in for the day, a kid from one of the neighboring villages, a classmate of Youqing’s, came running over. He rushed right over to me and shouted at the top of his voice, “Is Xu Youqing’s father here?”
My heart jumped. It was getting late, and I had just begun to worry that something might have happened to Youqing. Before I had a chance to respond, the kid yelled again, “How about his mother?”
I quickly answered, “I’m Youqing’s father.”
Wiping his nose, the kid looked at me and said, “I was right, it’s you. You’re the one who came to our classroom.”
My heart felt as if it was going to jump out of my chest, and then he finally said, “Xu Youqing’s almost dead. He’s in the hospital.”
My vision instantly went blurry. I asked the kid, “What did you say?”
“Hurry up and get to the hospital,” he repeated. “Youqing’s dying.”
With my thoughts in disarray, I threw down my hoe and ran toward town. It just didn’t make sense. Youqing had been fine that morning when he went to school, and now they were saying he was almost dead. My head buzzed wildly as I ran to the town hospital. As soon as I saw a doctor I stopped him and asked, “My son?”
The doctor looked at me and laughed, “How would I know your son?”
As soon as I heard this I was stunned. I thought, perhaps they made a mistake — how wonderful it would be if it was all just a mistake.
“They said my son was dying and that I should go to the hospital,” I said.
Just as he was getting ready to walk away, that doctor suddenly stopped and looked at me.
“What’s your son’s name?” he asked.
“Youqing,” I replied.
He extended his arm and pointed toward the room at the end of the hall. “Go ask over there.”
I ran down to the room he had pointed toward and saw a doctor sitting there, in the middle of writing something. My heart was pounding as I walked over to ask, “Doctor, is my son still alive?”
The doctor raised his head and looked at me for a long time before asking, “Do you mean Xu Youqing?”
I quickly nodded my head.
“How many sons do you have?” the doctor asked.
Immediately my legs went soft. Standing there trembling, I said, “I only have one son. I beg you, please, save my son.”
The doctor nodded his head to let me know that he understood, but then he asked, “How come you only had one son?”
How was I supposed to answer this? I got anxious and asked him, “Is my son still alive?”
He shook his head and said, “He’s dead.”
Suddenly I could no longer see the doctor — my mind went blank and my head began to spin. All I felt were the tears pouring down my face. Only after what seemed like an eternity did I ask the doctor, “Where’s my son?”
Youqing was lying alone in a small room on a bed made of bricks. When I went in, night had not yet fallen, and I could see Youqing’s small, frail body lying there. He was wearing the new outfit Jiazhen had made for him. My son’s eyes were tightly closed, as was his mouth. “Youqing! Youqing!” I kept calling to him. Only after he didn’t move did I know that he was really dead. I went to hug my son, but Youqing’s body was stiff and cold. That morning when he had gone to school he was alive and well; by evening he had become stiff and cold. I couldn’t understand it — the body before me seemed like a different person from the one I’d seen that morning. I looked at Youqing and caressed his skinny shoulders — it was really my son. I cried and cried, not even noticing the arrival of Youqing’s gym teacher. When he saw Youqing, he cried too, as he kept repeating to me, “How could it be? I can’t imagine. ”