“I can’t say for sure,” I said. “During class Youqing suddenly fainted and was sent to the hospital. The doctor said that this type of illness might need some time to cure.”
A sad expression began to appear on Jiazhen’s face, and tears began to trickle from the corners of her eyes.
“It’s exhaustion,” she said. “He’s been working too hard ever since I got sick. It’s all my fault.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “Even if he’s tired, exhaustion doesn’t cause someone to get sick like that.”
Jiazhen looked me over.
“Your eyes are all swollen,” she said.
I nodded. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep all night.”
I cut our conversation short and hastily made my way outside. Youqing was dead — I had only just put his body into the cold earth — and there was no way I’d have been able to control my emotions if I’d kept on with Jiazhen like that.
For the next few days I would work the field during the day, and then when night fell I would tell Jiazhen that I was going into town to see if Youqing was doing any better. I would slowly walk toward town, and as it got darker I would turn back around. When I got to the western side of the village, I would sit down in front of Youqing’s grave. The night sky was a dense black, and the wind would waft against my face as I spoke to my dead son. My words were carried away by the wind; they didn’t even seem to belong to me. I would sit there until the middle of the night before finally going home. The first couple of days Jiazhen would be waiting up for me, and as soon as I stepped through the door she would ask if Youqing was any better. I would be forced to make up some stories to keep the truth from her. But after a few days Jiazhen would already be asleep by the time I came home, lying there with her eyes closed. I knew that going on lying to her wasn’t going to solve anything, but that was all I could do — take one day at a time. As long as Jiazhen believed that Youqing was okay, that was all that mattered.
One night, after arriving home from Youqing’s grave, I climbed into bed next to Jiazhen. I thought she was asleep, but she suddenly said, “Fugui, I don’t have much time left.”
My heart sank. As I went to caress her face, I realized that her cheeks were covered with tears. Jiazhen continued, “You’ve got to take good care of Fengxia. I’m worried most about her.”
Jiazhen didn’t mention Youqing, and I immediately started to worry. I couldn’t even think of anything to say to console her.
The next night, as usual, I told Jiazhen that I was going into town to see Youqing, but Jiazhen told me not to go. Instead, she asked me to carry her around the village for a walk. I had Fengxia pick up her mother and put her on my back. Jiazhen was getting lighter and lighter — she was so skinny it felt like there was nothing but bones left. As soon as we got outside, Jiazhen said, “I want to go to the western part of the village to look around.”
That was where Youqing was buried. I said all right, but no matter what, my feet didn’t want to go in that direction. After trudging along, we ended up at the eastern end of the village. Jiazhen whispered to me, “Fugui, don’t lie to me. I know Youqing’s dead.”
The moment she uttered those words I stopped walking, and suddenly my legs began to feel weak. I felt liquid dripping on my neck, and I knew that it was Jiazhen’s tears.
“Take me to see Youqing,” she said.
I knew I couldn’t go on deceiving her. As I carried her to the western side of the village, Jiazhen whispered to me, “Each night I heard you returning from the west, so I knew that Youqing was dead.”
When we got to Youqing’s grave, Jiazhen wanted me to put her down. With tears streaming down her face, she climbed atop Youqing’s burial mound. She placed both her hands upon the earth above his grave as if she wanted to caress Youqing, but she had so little energy that all she could do was move a few fingers. Seeing Jiazhen like this, my heart hurt so much it felt like it was all blocked up. I really shouldn’t have buried Youqing — I should have let Jiazhen see him one last time.
Jiazhen stayed there until dark. I was afraid the night dew would make her sick, so I picked her up and put her on my back. Jiazhen had me take her over to the edge of the village. By the time we got there my collar was soaked.
“Youqing won’t be able to run down this trail to school anymore,” Jiazhen said, crying.
I gazed at that narrow, twisting trail that led to town and heard the sound of my son running barefoot. The moonlight was shining on the trail, giving the illusion that a layer of salt had been sprinkled along it.
I spent that entire afternoon with the old man. Even after he and that old ox of his had gotten enough rest and gone back to plowing the field, I didn’t think of leaving. I was like a sentinel watching over them from under the tree.
The farmers’ voices from down in the fields carried in all directions. The most enthusiastic of the voices came from a ridge just beyond the adjacent field, where two well-built men guzzled down bucketfuls of water in a drinking contest. The young folks beside them were yelling and screaming — although they wouldn’t have been nearly as excited if they’d been the ones drinking. Fugui looked kind of lonely being so far away from all the excitement. Transplanting rice seedlings in the irrigated field next to him were two women wearing scarves. They were talking about someone I didn’t know. It seemed the guy they were talking about was strong, and he probably made more money than anyone else in the village. From what they said, I gathered that he often worked in town as a porter. As one of the women stretched her torso and massaged her back, I heard her say, “He spends half his money on his wife and the other half on other men’s wives.”
It was then that, leaning on his plough, Fugui approached them.
“There are four rules people should remember,” announced Fugui as he made his way over to them. “Don’t say the wrong thing, don’t sleep in the wrong bed, don’t enter the wrong house and don’t rub the wrong pocket.”
Once Fugui got close to them he turned and said, “That guy, he forgot the second rule. He slept in the wrong bed.”
The two women giggled, and I saw a proud expression light up Fugui’s face. After calling out to his ox, he saw that I was laughing, too.
“These are the rules of life,” he told me.
Later he sat back down with me in the shade, and I asked him to continue his story.
He looked at me with a thankful expression, as if I was doing him some kind of favor. He felt a deep happiness because someone had expressed interest in his life experience.
At first I thought that as soon as Youqing died, Jiazhen wouldn’t be able to carry on much longer. And there was a period when it really didn’t seem like she’d make it. She’d lie in bed all day gasping for breath, her eyes barely open. She didn’t have an appetite, either; at every meal, Fengxia and I would have to lift her up and force porridge and soup down her throat. Jiazhen didn’t have any meat left on her bones. Picking her up was like lifting a piece of firewood.
The team leader had come over to the house twice, and each time, after seeing Jiazhen, he would just shake his head. He pulled me aside and whispered, “I’m afraid she’s not going to make it.”
As soon as I heard this my heart sank. It had been less than two weeks since Youqing had died, and now, right before my eyes, Jiazhen was going to leave, too. How were we supposed to get by if we suddenly lost half our family? It’s the same as if you smash a pot in two — it’s no longer a pot. Our family would no longer be a family.
The team leader said he’d go to the commune hospital and get a doctor to come look at Jiazhen. He was a man of his word. When he came back from a meeting at the commune headquarters, he really did bring a doctor back with him. That doctor was very slight and wore a pair of glasses. He asked me what kind of sickness Jiazhen had.