故乡 (My Old Home)

Bracing against the severe cold, I returned to my hometown over two thousand li away, which I had left more than twenty years before.

It was late winter. As we drew near my hometown, the day turned overcast again, and a cold wind blew into the cabin, whistling. Through a gap in the awning, I looked out at the pale yellow sky; scattered far and near lay a few desolate villages, not a trace of life to be seen. My heart could not help but sink into melancholy.

Ah! Is this not the hometown I have remembered all these twenty years?

The hometown I remember is nothing like this. My hometown was far better. But when I try to recall its beauty and put its charms into words, I find no image, no language. It seems as if it were just like this. Then I explain to myself: The hometown was originally like this-though it hasn't progressed, it might not be as bleak as I feel; it's merely a change in my own mood, for I returned this time in low spirits.

I came back this time solely to bid it farewell. Our old house, where our clan had lived together for many years, had already been sold to another family, and the handover deadline was set for this year. Thus, before the first day of the lunar new year, I had to part forever with the familiar old house, leave the familiar hometown, and move to the strange land where I was seeking a livelihood.

Early the next morning, I reached the entrance of my home. On the roof ridges, many broken stems of withered grass trembled in the wind, testifying to the inevitability of the old house changing hands. Most of our relatives had probably moved away, so it was very quiet. Outside my own room, my mother had already come out to meet me, followed by my eight-year-old nephew Hong'er, who flew out to greet me.

My mother was delighted, but with a touch of sorrow hidden in her expression. She urged me to sit down, rest, and have some tea, avoiding any mention of the move. Hong'er had never seen me before; he stood opposite, watching from a distance.

But eventually, we broached the subject of moving. I said that I had already rented a place outside and bought some furniture; besides, we needed to sell off all the wooden items at home and use the money to buy more. Mother agreed, adding that the luggage was mostly packed, and some of the wooden pieces that were inconvenient to transport had been sold off at a low price, but we couldn't collect the payment.

Mother said, "Take a day or two to rest and visit our relatives, then we can leave."

I said, "Yes."

Mother said, "And there's Runtu. Whenever he comes to our house, he always asks about you and longs to see you. I've already notified him of the approximate date of your arrival, so he might come soon."

At that moment, a wondrous picture suddenly flashed into my mind: a golden full moon hanging in a deep blue sky, below it the sandy shore by the sea, planted with endless stretches of emerald green watermelons, and in their midst an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy, wearing a silver necklace around his neck, gripping a steel fork in his hand, and thrusting with all his might at a Zha. The Zha twisted its body and escaped between his legs.

That boy was Runtu. When I knew him, he was just over ten years old, nearly thirty years ago now. At that time, my father was still alive, our family circumstances were good, and I was a young master. That year, our family was in charge of a major ancestral sacrifice, which came around only once in over thirty years, so it was a solemn affair. In the first lunar month, we displayed ancestral portraits with many offerings and exquisite sacrificial vessels; there were many worshippers, and we had to guard against theft of the vessels. In our family, we only had a part-time laborer-here, laborers were categorized into three types: long-term laborers who worked year-round for a family, day laborers hired by the day, and part-time laborers who farmed their own land but worked for specific families during festivals and rent-collection times. Since he was too busy, he told my father that he could ask his son Runtu to take care of the sacrificial vessels.

My father agreed; I was also delighted, for I had long heard the name Runtu and knew he was about my age, born in a leap month, and lacking the element of earth in his five elements, so his father called him Runtu. He was skilled at setting traps to catch small birds.

So I looked forward to the New Year every day, for with the New Year, Runtu would come. Finally, near the year's end, one day my mother told me that Runtu had arrived, and I rushed to see him. He was in the kitchen, with a round, purple face, wearing a small felt cap, and around his neck a bright silver necklace-this showed how much his father loved him, fearing he might die, so he had made a vow before the gods and buddhas to keep him bound with this circle. He was very shy around others, but not with me; when no one else was around, he would talk to me, and in less than half a day, we became fast friends.

I don't recall what we talked about then, only that Runtu was very happy, saying that after coming to town, he had seen many things he had never seen before.

The next day, I asked him to catch birds for me. He said, "That's not possible now. You have to wait until after a heavy snowfall. On our sandy ground, after it snows, I sweep out a clear spot, prop up a large bamboo sieve with a short stick, scatter some chaff underneath, and when the birds come to eat, I yank the rope tied to the stick from a distance, and the birds are trapped under the sieve. We get all kinds: Rice Hen, Horned Pheasant, Wood Pigeon, Blue-backed Bird..."

So I began to long for snow.

Runtu also said to me, "It's too cold now. Come to our place in summer. During the day, we can go to the seaside to gather shells-there are red ones and green ones, Ghost-fearing <<<Shell>>> and Guanyin's Hand <<<Shell>>>. In the evening, my dad and I watch over the watermelons; you can come too."

I asked, "To guard against thieves?"

He said, "No. If a passerby is thirsty and picks a melon to eat, we don't consider that stealing here. What we guard against are Badger, Hedgehog, and Zha. Under the moonlight, listen-there's a rustling sound, the Zha is biting a melon. Then you take your fork and creep up quietly..."

At that time, I didn't know what this so-called Zha was-and even now I don't-but I vaguely imagined it as something like a small dog but very fierce.

I asked, "Doesn't it bite people?"

He said, "You have the fork. When you get close and see the Zha, you stab it. This creature is very cunning; it might charge at you, then slip between your legs. Its fur is as slippery as oil..."

I had never known there were so many fresh things in the world: the seaside had such colorful shells; watermelons had such dangerous adventures. I had only known they were sold in fruit shops.

He said, "In our sandy fields, when the tide is about to come, there are many Jumping Fish leaping about, all with two feet like frogs..."

Ah! Runtu's mind held endless strange things, all unknown to my usual friends. They knew nothing of such matters; when Runtu was by the sea, they and I only saw the four-cornered sky above the high walls of our courtyard.

Unfortunately, after the first lunar month, Runtu had to return home. I cried bitterly in despair, and he hid in the kitchen, weeping and refusing to leave, but eventually his father took him away. Later, he asked his father to bring me a package of shells and a few beautiful bird feathers, and I sent him a couple of things in return, but we never met again.

Now that my mother mentioned him, these childhood memories suddenly revived in a flash, as if I had glimpsed my beautiful hometown. I responded, "That's wonderful! He-how is he?..."

Mother said, "Him?... His circumstances are also quite unfortunate..." As she spoke, she looked outside the room. "These people are here again. They say they're buying wooden items, but they just take whatever they fancy. I must go and see."

Mother stood up and went out. There were women's voices outside. I beckoned Hong'er over and chatted with him: I asked if he could write and if he was willing to travel.

He said, "Are we going by train?"

I said, "We're going by train."

He asked, "What about a boat?"

I said, "First by boat,..."

"Ha! Look how you've grown! Such a long beard!" a shrill, strange voice suddenly cried out.

I was startled and quickly looked up to see a woman of about fifty standing before me, with prominent cheekbones and thin lips, her hands on her hips, not wearing an apron, her legs apart like a pair of compasses from a drawing instrument.

I was dumbfounded.

She said, "Don't you recognize me? I even held you in my arms!"

I was even more astonished. Fortunately, my mother came in and said from the side, "He's been away for many years and has forgotten everything. You should remember," then turning to me, "this is <<<Sister Yang Er>>> from diagonally across the street... she runs the bean-curd shop."

Oh, I remembered. In my childhood, there was indeed a <<<Sister Yang Er>>> who sat all day in the bean-curd shop diagonally across the street; everyone called her "Bean Curd Beauty." But she had powder on her face, her cheekbones weren't so high, her lips weren't so thin, and she always sat there; I had never seen her in this compass-like stance. Back then, people said that because of her, the bean-curd shop did very good business. But probably due to my age, I wasn't influenced in the slightest, so I had completely forgotten. Yet the compass was very indignant, showing a contemptuous look, as if scoffing at a Frenchman who didn't know Napoleon or an American who didn't know Washington, and she sneered, "Forgotten? Truly, the eyes of the noble are high..."

I was flustered, stood up, and said, "How could that be... I..."

She said, "Well then, let me tell you. Brother Xun, you've become rich, and moving is such a hassle. Why do you need these broken wooden things? Let me take them. We poor folks can use them."

I said, "I haven't become rich. I need to sell these first, then..."

She said, "Good heavens, you've been appointed a daotai, and you still say you're not rich? You have three concubines now; when you go out, it's in a sedan chair carried by eight bearers, and you say you're not rich? Ha, nothing escapes me."

I knew there was no point arguing, so I fell silent and stood there wordlessly.

She said, "Oh dear, oh dear, the richer you are, the tighter you cling to every penny, and the tighter you cling, the richer you get..." As she spoke resentfully, the compass turned away, muttering, and slowly walked out, casually stuffing a pair of my mother's gloves into her waistband before leaving.

After that, relatives from nearby came to visit. I entertained them while snatching moments to pack, and thus three or four days passed.

One cold afternoon, after lunch, I was sitting and drinking tea when I sensed someone coming in and turned to look. What I saw startled me greatly; I hurriedly stood up and went to meet him.

The newcomer was Runtu. Although I knew at once it was Runtu, he was not the Runtu of my memory. He had doubled in size; his once round, purple face had turned sallow and was deeply lined; his eyes, like his father's, were red and swollen all around-I knew this was common among those who farmed by the sea, exposed to the sea wind all day. He wore a tattered felt cap and only a very thin cotton-padded jacket, shivering all over; in his hand he carried a paper package and a long pipe, and his hands were not the red, sturdy, round hands I remembered, but coarse, clumsy, and cracked, like pine bark.

I was very excited but didn't know what to say, only managing, "Ah! Brother Runtu-you've come?..."

Then many words rushed to my tongue: Horned Pheasant, Jumping Fish, shells, Zha,... but I felt as if something were blocking them, swirling in my mind but unable to be spoken.

He stood still, his face showing joy and sorrow; his lips moved, but he made no sound. Finally, his attitude turned respectful, and he clearly said, "Master!..."

I felt as if a cold shiver ran through me; I knew then that a sad, thick wall had grown between us. I, too, could not speak.

He turned his head and said, "<<<Shuisheng>>>, kowtow to the master." He pulled out a child hiding behind him, who was exactly the Runtu of twenty years before, only thinner and yellower, and without a silver necklace. "This is my fifth child; he hasn't seen the world and is shy and timid..."

Mother and Hong'er came downstairs; they had probably heard the voices.