Yuxiu, still breathing hard, swallowed and said stubbornly, “Sister, please.” Her weak fingers clutched Yumi’s arm, but Yumi flung her sister’s hand away.
“It’s dead, I tossed it down the toilet. What made you think you could give birth to anything worth keeping?”
The light went out in Yuxiu’s eyes when she heard her sister’s words. Reluctant to give in, she propped herself up on her elbows but lacked the strength to sit up. Her head drooped down from her weak neck, a tangle of hair hanging in front of her face.
“Sister, help me up,” she said, cocking her head. “I want to take a look, just one look, and I’ll die happy.”
Yumi pushed her away and sneered. “Die? I don’t mean to mock you, Yuxiu, but you could have done that long ago if you’d wanted to.”
Yuxiu managed to hold herself up on her elbows for another minute before finally flopping back down in complete surrender, her energy spent. She lay there motionless, fixing her lovely, unblinking eyes on the ceiling; the light in those eyes was strangely clear and unusually bright.
As she looked down at her sister, despair and an almost unbearable sadness rose up inside Yumi; she tried but failed to hold back her tears. Covering her face with her hands and clenching her teeth, she said, “You’ve brought me nothing but shame.”
PART THREE
NO ONE WANTED to run 3,000 meters. What did 3,000 meters mean anyway? It meant you had to forgo food and water like a jackass and stumble blindly around seven-and-a-half laps on the 400-meter track. Yuyang, who had no physical ability worthy of mentioning and was not gifted with the height, speed, or strength of her classmates, had a stocky, solid build and, at best, a bit of awkward stamina. Anyone with a sharp eye could tell she was a country girl with little physical training—her arms and legs lacked coordination and flexibility. Like most girls from the countryside, she was not endowed with any special talents; her grades were passable, but that was about it. Her looks were even less memorable. How could her homeroom teacher ever notice a girl like her? And yet, the young teacher was a sports fan, so athletic wins and losses meant a great deal.
He entered Yuyang in the 3,000-meter race, though he didn’t expect much of her—a case of hitting a date tree just for the sake of making contact with something. But if she came in sixth place, it would add another point to their total. She might not be able to brag about any particular talent, but for the collective honor of Section Three of the class of ’82, she had an obligation to work and sweat. Pang Fenghua, another girl in the race, curled her lip and said to Yuyang confidentially, “Now you see how much the teacher values us, always giving us the most glorious tasks. Let’s not disappoint him.”
Like Yuyang, Fenghua was a country girl who had passed an exam to attend school in town. The two girls had similar backgrounds, though Fenghua often appeared more worldly. Whenever the teacher criticized her, her tears flowed as easily as pee, gushing so much that the teacher had no choice but to take pity on her.
Yuyang could tell that Fenghua had more nerve than she. Her eyes might scrunch up as the tears streamed down, but she never lost her poise and knew exactly what to say to make a point. That was something Yuyang could never hope to accomplish. Of the two of them, Fenghua was more confident, mainly because she had a nicer face, even though anyone would be hard-pressed to call her pretty. If that weren’t enough, Yuyang could see that Fenghua was a natural-born flirt.
Feeling something akin to stage fright, Yuyang stepped onto the track and immediately froze, making a fool of herself. The starting pistol sounded after the starter yelled, “On your mark.” All the other students rushed ahead, necks stretched to the limit as they fought for position, pushing and shoving to take the lead, all but Yuyang, who stood there like an idiot. She didn’t know that in races above 800 meters, only “on your mark” was shouted and “get set” wasn’t used. How was she supposed to know that? So, after all the others had taken off, the starter walked up with his pistol and said in a pleasant voice, “Are you done thinking? Do you need more time?” Then he shouted, “What are you still standing here for? Go—run.” Startled into her first step—it was more like a leap—she drew laughter from the spectators.
She had begun the race in utter disgrace. And she was surprised to see that Pang Fenghua was already five or six meters ahead. During lunchtime, Fenghua had dragged her along to see the homeroom teacher to tell him with a pained look that she was “inconvenienced” and could not run. The teacher was visibly displeased, but he could say nothing about a female student’s physical condition. Gazing into his eyes, Fenghua changed her tone: “I’ll do the best I can, but don’t be upset with me if I don’t do well.” So reasonable, so accommodating. The teacher nodded and patted her on the shoulder to show his appreciation.
The second the starting pistol fired, Fenghua took off like a racehorse with no sign of being “inconvenienced.” But then she quickly slowed her pace and contorted her face in apparent agony. She kept running slowly, making each step seem like a struggle. Yuyang recalled how Fenghua had managed to skip a physical education class recently using the same excuse. The little whore had been inconvenienced twice in one week like a faucet. She knew how to get what she wanted—she was shameless.
In fact, after counting the days, Yuyang realized that her own misfortune was only a couple of days off. She’d felt bloated during lunch, but Yuyang would never let on to anyone; it was not something she could talk about. When she was on the second lap, she realized that Fenghua had a reason to be shameless. Yuyang was in agony. She could hardly breathe, and the heaviness in her chest made her wish she were dead. Fenghua, on the other hand, had gotten what she wanted; she ran one-and-a-half admirable laps before collapsing in the arms of the homeroom teacher. Yuyang saw it all. Fenghua looked so frail, with her seemingly weightless arms draped around the teacher’s neck as if she were presenting him with a Tibetan hada. Her eyes were shut. She was so delicate, all she lacked was a pillow; she might as well have been the teacher’s own little girl.
Meanwhile, Yuyang struggled, as Fenghua, after drinking a glass of sugar water, was talking and laughing with classmates. Yuyang would have loved to give up halfway too, but the homeroom teacher was yelling at her sternly from the bleachers. Standing straight as a javelin, his arms crossed, he was watching her with a worried look on his face. She was in agony, and she was afraid, but she had to soldier on, one step at a time, for the collective honor of her class.
Yuyang had no idea where she finished, which, in reality, did not matter. When a second ring was draped around her neck after the second lap, the first six girls, maybe even the first twelve girls, had already crossed the finish line. Some were being congratulated, others were pouting like spoiled children. By now there was little happening on the track, but Yuyang kept running, silently, diligently—her neck thrust out like a little turtle’s.
Sheer embarrassment made her want to stop at one point, but a resonant, lyrical sound came through the PA system to encourage her, awarding high praise to her “spirit.” Yuyang felt that she was no longer herself; her torso was gone and so were her arms and legs. All that remained was her spirit, an involuntary force that propelled her forward. She was undeniably slow, but her second wind kicked in, revitalizing and keeping her going. The boundless power of her spirit made it impossible for her to stop even if she’d wanted to. She believed that she could keep at it till dark and reach her symbolic Yan’an[9] before daybreak, just as long as someone first brought her two bowls of rice and a glass of water.
9
Refers to the Long March (1934-35) by Communist forces, which ended at their stronghold in Yan’an.