“Dad,” I said, “look at the way he’s made us look!”
With our plow over his shoulder and leading the ox behind him, he wore a smile as cold and brilliant as ice.
“He can write what he wants,” he said. “That boy has talent. Whatever he draws looks real.”
The onlookers’ gazes snapped around and fell on us, followed by knowing smiles. Facts spoke louder than words. We had a mighty ox and our blue faces glowed, for, thanks to a good morning’s work, we were in high spirits and very proud of ourselves.
Jinlong was standing off a ways observing his masterpiece and its spectators. Huang Huzhu was leaning against her door frame holding the tip of her braid in her mouth, her eyes fixed on Jinlong, the dazed look in her eyes proof that the stirrings of love had grown strong. My half sister, Baofeng, came up the street toward us from the west, a leather medical satchel with a red cross painted on it slung over her back. Now that she had learned midwife skills and how to give injections, she was the village health worker. Huang Hezuo rode up unsteadily from the east, apparently having just learned how to ride a bike, and finding it hard to steer. When she spotted Jinlong leaning against the wall, she shouted, Oh, no, watch out! as she careened toward Jinlong, who stepped out of the way and grabbed the wheel with one hand and the handlebars with the other; Huang Hezuo nearly landed in his lap.
I looked over at Huang Huzhu, who jerked her head around so hard her braid flew; red in the face, she spun on her heel and stormed into the house. I was sick at heart, feeling nothing but sympathy for Huzhu and loathing for Hezuo, who had cut her hair short and combed it with a boy’s part, a style that was a current fad among middle-school students in the commune. The barber Ma Liangcai, an expert Ping-Pong player who was also pretty good on the harmonica, was responsible for all those haircuts. He went around dressed in a blue uniform that had been laundered nearly white, had a thick head of hair, deep black eyes, and a case of acne, and always smelled like hand soap. He had a thing for my sister. He often brought his air gun into our village to shoot birds, and was always successful. At first sight of him and his air gun, the village sparrows flew to spots unknown. The village health clinic was located in a room just east of the Ximen estate main house. What that means is, any time that fellow showed up at the local clinic, reeking of hand soap, he was lucky if he could escape the gazes of members of our family, and if he somehow managed that, he’d fall under the scrutiny of members of the Huang family. The fellow never passed up a chance to get close to my sister, who would frown and try not to make her feelings of disgust obvious as she reluctantly chatted with him. I knew that my sister was in love with Braying Jackass, but he had left with the Four Clean-ups team and vanished like a weasel in the woods. Since my mother could see that this marriage was anything but assured, outside of sighing in frustration, all she could do was try to reason with my sister.
“Baofeng, I know what you’re feeling, but are you being realistic? He grew up in the provincial capital, where he went to college. He’s talented and good looking, and has a bright future. How could someone like that fall for you? Listen to your mother and give up such thoughts. Lower your sights a bit. Little Ma is a teacher on the public payroll. He’s not bad looking, he’s literate, he plays the harmonica, and he’s a crack shot. He’s one in a hundred, if you ask me, and since he has his eye on you, why the hesitation? Go on, say yes to him. Take a good look at the eyes of the Huang sisters. The meat is right in front of you, and if you don’t eat it, someone else will…”
Everything Mother said made sense. To me, Ma Liangcai and my sister were well suited for one another. Sure, he couldn’t sing like Braying Jackass, but he could make his harmonica sound like birds singing and could rid the village of its sparrows with his air gun, both virtues Braying Jackass lacked. But my sister had a stubborn streak, just like her father; Mother could talk till her lips were cracked, and her reply was always:
“Mother, I’ll decide whom I marry!”
We returned to the field that afternoon. Jinlong, a metal hoe over his shoulder, followed us step for step. The glinting blade of his tool was so sharp he could sever an ox’s hoof with one swing if he felt like it. His attitude of forsaking friends and family disgusted me, and I took every opportunity to let him know how I felt. I called him Hong Taiyue’s running dog and an ungrateful swine. He ignored me, but each time I blocked his way, he threw dirt in my face. When I tried to retaliate, Dad stopped me with an angry curse. He seemed to have eyes in the back of his head and invariably knew what I was up to. I reached down and picked up a dirt clod.
“Jiefang, what do you think you’re doing?” he roared.
“I want to teach this swine a lesson!” I said angrily.
“Shut up!” he railed. “If you don’t, I’ll tan your hide. He’s your older brother and he’s acting in an official capacity, so don’t get in his way.”
After two rounds of tilling, the production brigade oxen were panting from exhaustion, especially the female Mongol. Even from far away, we could hear what sounded like a confused hen trying to imitate a crowing rooster emerge from deep down in her throat, and I recalled what the youngster had whispered to me back when we were buying the young ox. He had called its mother a “hot turtle” that was ill equipped for hard work and useless during the hot summer months. Now I knew he was telling the truth. Not only was she gasping for breath, she was foaming at the mouth; it was not a pretty sight. Eventually, she collapsed and lay on the ground, her eyes rolling back into her head, like a dead cow. All the other oxen stopped working, and the plowmen ran up to her. Opinions flew back and forth. The term “hot turtle” had been the brainchild of an old farmer. One of the men recommended going for the veterinarian, but that suggestion was met with cold disdain. The comment, She’s beyond help, was heard.
When Dad reached the end of our plot, he stopped and said to my brother:
“Jinlong, there’s no need for you to follow behind me. I said we won’t leave a single hoofprint on public land, so you’re just tiring yourself out for nothing.”
Jinlong responded with a snort, and that’s all.
“My ox will not step on public land,” he repeated. “But the agreement was that your oxen and people would not step on my land either. By following me, you’re walking on my land. You’re standing on it right now, as a matter of fact.”
That stopped Jinlong in his tracks. Like a frightened kangaroo, he jumped off our land all the way to the riverbank road.
“I ought to lop off those hooves of yours!” I shouted.
His face bright red, he was too embarrassed to say a word.