It was going to be a scorcher. He could see purple steam shimmering and rising from the ground among the pines. Poor devil, he thought, as he raised a bowl of corn glue to his mouth, sipped, and took a bite of a piece of salted celery.
When a guard came to collect the bowl and the chopsticks, Mr. Chiu asked him what had happened to the man in the backyard. “He called our boss ‘bandit,’ ” the guard said. “He claimed he was a lawyer or something. An arrogant son of a rabbit.”
Now it was obvious to Mr. Chiu that he had to do something to help his rescuer. Before he could figure out a way, a scream broke out in the backyard. He rushed to the window and saw a tall policeman standing before Fenjin, an iron bucket on the ground. It was the same young fellow who had arrested Mr. Chiu in the square two days before. The man pinched Fenjin’s nose, then raised his hand, which stayed in the air for a few seconds, then slapped the lawyer across the face. As Fenjin was groaning, the man lifted up the bucket and poured water on his head.
“This will keep you from getting sunstroke, boy. I’ll give you some more every hour,” the man said loudly.
Fenjin kept his eyes shut, yet his wry face showed that he was struggling to hold back from cursing the policeman, or, more likely, that he was sobbing in silence. He sneezed, then raised his face and shouted, “Let me go take a piss.”
“Oh yeah?” the man bawled. “Pee in your pants.”
Still Mr. Chiu didn’t make any noise, gripping the steel bars with both hands, his fingers white. The policeman turned and glanced at the cell’s window; his pistol, partly holstered, glittered in the sun. With a snort he spat his cigarette butt to the ground and stamped it into the dust.
Then the door opened and the guards motioned Mr. Chiu to come out. Again they took him upstairs to the Interrogation Bureau.
The same men were in the office, though this time the scribe was sitting there empty-handed. At the sight of Mr. Chiu the chief said, “Ah, here you are. Please be seated.”
After Mr. Chiu sat down, the chief waved a white silk fan and said to him, “You may have seen your lawyer. He’s a young man without manners, so our director had him taught a crash course in the backyard.”
“It’s illegal to do that. Aren’t you afraid to appear in a newspaper?”
“No, we are not, not even on TV. What else can you do? We are not afraid of any story you make up. We call it fiction. What we do care about is that you cooperate with us. That is to say, you must admit your crime.”
“What if I refuse to cooperate?”
“Then your lawyer will continue his education in the sunshine.”
A swoon swayed Mr. Chiu, and he held the arms of the chair to steady himself. A numb pain stung him in the upper stomach and nauseated him, and his head was throbbing. He was sure that the hepatitis was finally attacking him. Anger was flaming up in his chest; his throat was tight and clogged.
The chief resumed, “As a matter of fact, you don’t even have to write out your self-criticism. We have your crime described clearly here. All we need is your signature.”
Holding back his rage, Mr. Chiu said, “Let me look at that.”
With a smirk the donkey-faced man handed him a sheet, which carried these words:
I hereby admit that on July 13 I disrupted public order at Muji Train Station, and that I refused to listen to reason when the railroad police issued their warning. Thus I myself am responsible for my arrest. After two days’ detention, I have realized the reactionary nature of my crime. From now on, I shall continue to educate myself with all my effort and shall never commit this kind of crime again.
A voice started screaming in Mr. Chiu’s ears, “Lie, lie!” But he shook his head and forced the voice away. He asked the chief, “If I sign this, will you release both my lawyer and me?”
“Of course, we’ll do that.” The chief was drumming his fingers on the blue folder — their file on him.
Mr. Chiu signed his name and put his thumbprint under his signature.
“Now you are free to go,” the chief said with a smile, and handed him a piece of paper to wipe his thumb with.
Mr. Chiu was so sick that he couldn’t stand up from the chair at first try. Then he doubled his effort and rose to his feet. He staggered out of the building to meet his lawyer in the backyard, having forgotten to ask for his belt back. In his chest he felt as though there were a bomb. If he were able to, he would have razed the entire police station and eliminated all their families. Though he knew he could do nothing like that, he made up his mind to do something.
“I’m sorry about this torture, Fenjin,” Mr. Chiu said when they met.
“It doesn’t matter. They are savages.” The lawyer brushed a patch of dirt off his jacket with trembling fingers. Water was still dribbling from the bottoms of his trouser legs.
“Let’s go now,” the teacher said.
The moment they came out of the police station, Mr. Chiu caught sight of a tea stand. He grabbed Fenjin’s arm and walked over to the old woman at the table. “Two bowls of black tea,” he said and handed her a one-yuan note.
After the first bowl, they each had another one. Then they set out for the train station. But before they walked fifty yards, Mr. Chiu insisted on eating a bowl of tree-ear soup at a food stand. Fenjin agreed. He told his teacher, “You mustn’t treat me like a guest.”
“No, I want to eat something myself.”
As if dying of hunger, Mr. Chiu dragged his lawyer from restaurant to restaurant near the police station, but at each place he ordered no more than two bowls of food. Fenjin wondered why his teacher wouldn’t stay at one place and eat his fill.
Mr. Chiu bought noodles, wonton, eight-grain porridge, and chicken soup, respectively, at four restaurants. While eating, he kept saying through his teeth, “If only I could kill all the bastards!” At the last place he merely took a few sips of the soup without tasting the chicken cubes and mushrooms.
Fenjin was baffled by his teacher, who looked ferocious and muttered to himself mysteriously, and whose jaundiced face was covered with dark puckers. For the first time Fenjin thought of Mr. Chiu as an ugly man.
Within a month over eight hundred people contracted acute hepatitis in Muji. Six died of the disease, including two children. Nobody knew how the epidemic had started.
Alive
Liya’s letter threw her parents into a quandary. She informed them that she had been admitted by Sunrise Agricultural School in Antu County, to specialize in veterinary medicine. They didn’t mind her pursuing that profession. What worried them was that with a diploma from such a school she might remain in the countryside for good, as an educated peasant.
For three days her father, Tong Guhan, didn’t know what to write back to her. He wished she could have returned to Muji City. If he could have found her a job here, he would tell her to forget about the agricultural school. On the other hand, the admission promised better employment and could take her away from the chicken farm where she had worked for three years. Should he tell her to go to the school? Or should he let her wait for an opportunity to come back home? He was torn by the dilemma.
“Dad, why don’t you apply for a new apartment?” his son, Yaning, asked at lunch.
“It’s not the right time yet,” said Guhan. “Don’t worry about that. If everything works out all right, we should have another apartment soon.”
“I can wait, but I don’t know how long Meili can wait.” Yaning dropped his bowl on the table with a thump, his face twitching. He and Meili couldn’t marry because there was no housing available, though they had been engaged for four years.