After posting his first love letter to Little Lion, Wang Gan was so excited he dragged me down to the riverbank to pour out his feelings. That was in the summer of 1970, soon after our graduation from the rural middle school. Grain stalks and dead critters were being swept along by raging waters over which a solitary gull flew quietly past. Wang Renmei’s father was sitting on the riverbank fishing in the calmer water close by. Li Shou, a schoolmate younger than us, was crouched down watching him.
Want to tell Li Shou?
He’s just a kid, he wouldn’t understand.
We climbed an old willow tree halfway down the riverbank and sat side by side on a branch that reached out over the water. The tip actually broke the surface, creating a series of ripples.
What do you want to tell me?
You have to promise not to tell anyone.
Okay, I promise. If I breathe a word of what Wang Gan tells me, let me fall into the river and drown.
Today I… I finally dropped a letter to her in the postbox…
Wang Gan had turned pale and his lips quivered as he spoke.
To who? The way you’re acting, it sounds like you wrote to Chairman Mao.
Why would you say that? What does Chairman Mao have to do with me? No, I wrote to her. Her.
Who is ‘her’? I started to tense up.
You promised to never tell anyone.
I promised.
She’s as far as the ends of the earth, yet right in front of your eyes.
The suspense is killing me!
Her, she… A strange look came into Wang Gan’s eyes. With a tone of longing, he said, She’s my Little Lion.
Why write to her? Want to marry her or something?
You and your practical view of things! Wang Gan said emotionally. Little Lion, my dearest Little Lion, the one I want to love with all my youth, with my very life… my love, my true love, please forgive me, for I have already kissed your name a hundred times…
Cold chills and goose bumps were my only reaction. Wang Gan was obviously reciting his letter as he wrapped his arms around the trunk, face pressed tightly against the bark of the tree, tears in his eyes.
… I fell under your spell the first day I saw you at Xiaopao’s house. From that moment till this very day, till the end of time, this heart of mine belongs to you only, and if you wished to eat it, I would unhesitatingly dig it out for you… I’ve fallen in love with your bright pink face, your lively nose, your soft lips, your fluffy hair, and your sparkling eyes; I’ve fallen in love with your voice, your smell, and your smile. Your laughter makes me dizzy, makes me want to fall to my knees, wrap my arms around your legs, and gaze up at your smiling face…
Fisherman Wang jerked his pole backward; beads of water dripped from the flashing brightness of his line, glistening like pearls in the sunlight. At the end of his hook a soft-shelled beige turtle the size of a tea bowl crashed to the ground, and was probably dizzy from the fall, lying on the ground looking skyward, its white underbelly exposed, four legs pawing the air, sad but awfully cute.
A turtle! Li Shou shouted gleefully.
Little Lion, my dearest, I am lowborn, the son of a farmer, while you are a doctor whose table is graced with top quality food. There’s a chasm between our social standings, and you may not care to even take notice of me. After you finish my letter, only laughter will emerge from your lovely mouth before you tear it to shreds. Or maybe when it reaches you, you will toss it into a wastepaper basket unread. Nevertheless, I want to say to you, my dear, my dearest one, if you will accept my love, like a tiger with wings or a fine steed with a carved saddle, I will acquire unprecedented power and, as if boosted by an injection of blood from a young rooster, my spirit will be invigorated. There will be bread and milk; with your encouragement, I will improve my social status to stand with you as someone who, like you, subsists on marketable grains…
Hey, what are you two doing up there, reciting passages from novels? Li Shou shouted when he spotted us up in the tree.
… If you won’t accept me, my dear, I’ll not retreat, not give up, but will quietly follow you, trail you wherever you go, going down on my knees to kiss your footprints, I will stand outside your window to gaze at the lamplight inside, from first light to last — I want to turn into a candle and burn for you until there is nothing left of me. My dear, if I spit up blood and expire, I will be content if you favour me by coming to my gravesite for a brief look. If you can shed a tear for me, I will die with no regrets — your tears, my dear, a magic elixir that will bring me back from the dead…
The goose bumps on my arms were gone, and I was starting to be moved by his recitation of infatuation. I’d never dreamed he could fall for Little Lion and fall that hard, or that he had the literary talent to write such a plaintive letter. At that moment I felt that the doorway to adolescence was rumbling open for me, and that Wang Gan was leading the way. I knew nothing about love, but its splendour would draw me dashing recklessly towards it, like a moth to the flame.
The way you love her, I said, she has to love you back.
Do you think so? He gripped my hand, his eyes blazing. Will she really love me?
She will, absolutely. I gripped his hand back. If it doesn’t happen, I’ll ask my aunt to act as matchmaker. Little Lion will do anything she says.
No, he said, no, no, no. I don’t want to rely on anyone else. A melon won’t be sweet if you yank it off the vine. I want to win her heart with my own effort.
Li Shou looked up. What goofy stuff are you guys up to? he asked.
Fisherman Wang grabbed a handful of mud and threw it at us. You’re scaring the fish with all that jabbering.
A motorised red and blue boat chugged towards us from downstream, the sound of its engine instilling in us a hard-to-describe sense of anxiety, panic even. The boat was straining against the rapid flow, its bow throwing up whitecaps and ploughing thin ridges right and left that filled back in little by little. A layer of blue mist floated atop the surface of the river, the smell of diesel fuel spread to our lips. A dozen seagulls glided along behind the boat.
The boat belonged to the commune’s family-planning group, that is, Gugu’s boat. Little Lion was aboard, of course. County officials had assigned the boat to Gugu to aid her in keeping residents from exceeding the family-planning quotas through illegal pregnancies and other unanticipated problems, and to keep the bright family-planning banner flying even when passage across the swamped stone bridge was interrupted during flood season. The small cabin had a pair of faux leather seats; a twelve-horsepower diesel motor was attached to the stern and loudspeakers were mounted on the bow to broadcast a lilting popular Hunan song, a paean to Chairman Mao that was soft on the ear. The bow turned towards our village and the music ended. A brief moment of silence intensified the motor noise. Then: The Great Chairman Mao has instructed us, Gugu announced hoarsely, that humanity must proceed with planned population growth…