第十章 十年 (Chapter Ten: Ten Years)

Ten years ago, the mountains in the village, the stream at their foot-they remain just as they were ten years ago. The water flows quietly, and the slopes change their garb with the seasons. Vast stretches of the village, with their cycles of life and death, are unchanged from ten years before.

Sparrows on the rooftops are just as numerous. The sun is still warm. Down by the foot of the mountain, a shepherd boy is singing a nursery rhyme-an old tune from ten years ago: “Autumn nights are long, autumn winds are cold; whose child has no mother, whose child has no mother... the moon fills the western window.”

Everything is as it was ten years ago. Granny Wang seems unchanged, only Ping'er has grown up! Ping'er and Bowlegs are both adults now!

Granny Wang, her hair tousled by the cool wind, listens from beyond the fence to the nursery rhyme drifting down from the hillside.

She walks back to her room alone. Ping'er asks her, “Where is Bowlegs? Is my father looking for an official?”

Ignoring the child's idle chatter, she goes over and stops by the pile of firewood. Her lips move as if she has something to say but cannot utter it. She recalls the village women's gossip about her sons, Ping'er and Bowlegs. She says, “What’s there to fear from the wind outside? As a mother, you should teach them. Go find some old rags in the broken chest to mend for them.”

Ping'er brings the old rags. She teaches Ping'er to start mending again in that way.

As dusk falls, she continues mending. She feels ill, with a headache and fever. Still, she mends on!

The village chatter fades, the children disperse. The moon hangs over the pine forest at the village edge. The sound of the stream outside the window murmurs. The night is silent.

Granny Wang faces the oil lamp alone, her mind wandering: Ping'er dressed in loose garments, like his father’s clothes. She thinks of her son’s father. She fears he may be dying soon! She thinks of the wheat grains in the fields, grains that have sprouted. She thinks of her late husband, who in his grave must be decaying! Yet her son is so skilled at driving horses. She thinks of the wheat grains in the fields, of her late husband decaying. As for herself, she feels like an object on the verge of rot, her whole body crawling with maggots. She thinks of the coffin, perhaps taken by others... She thinks of the new grave, its soil glistening from the rain.

Granny Wang hears dogs barking in distant villages. The night watchman passes by, clacking his wooden clapper. She imagines the watchman might be calling her, for he had been with her once. There was another man too, but she cannot recall who it was-he had slept beside her. But she cannot remember, she cannot remember!

She will not forget. She knows who the man was she slept with. He was growing old, and his beard prickled her, itchy. And his breath, the smell of sweat... She turns over, feeling the terror of the night's darkness. She thinks she might soon die-better to die. But then she thinks of her Ping'er, of her wheat fields, of her late husband, who in his grave must be decaying...

Dawn approaches. Roosters crow from distant households, and dogs begin to bark. Still, she mends.

Ping'er wakes up. Day has broken. He sees his mother sitting there, a white cloth over her head, her clothes disheveled. He asks, “Did you not sleep last night? Are you ill?”

Granny Wang does not answer. Ping'er asks again, “Where is Bowlegs? Where is my father?”

Granny Wang remains silent. Ping'er senses something serious. He hurriedly runs into the yard. No one is there. Smoke rises from the rooftops of other homes. In the village lanes, people carry water back and forth. Ping'er returns to ask his mother again. She still says nothing, only mending. Ping'er does not know why his mother is like this. He is afraid; he cries.

Seeing Ping'er cry, Granny Wang feels like crying too, but she has no tears. Her heart is parched. She takes Ping'er’s hand and says, “Ping'er, Mother's good child, don't cry, don't be afraid. Mother is here.”

Ping'er stops crying. He leans against his mother’s knees. She strokes his head with her hand. Her hand is withered, like winter branches.

The sun rises. Sunlight streams through the window lattice, falling upon the mother and son. Granny Wang stops mending. She looks at the sunlight; it is warm. She remembers ten years ago, under similar sunlight, she held Ping'er in the yard, basking in the sun. Then Ping'er was small, sleeping in her arms. Now Ping'er has grown up, can drive horses, can ask about his father.

Footsteps sound in the yard-Zhao San has returned. Anger is on Zhao San’s face. As soon as he enters, he curses, “That bastard Bowlegs, where has he run off to? He didn't come back all night!”

Granny Wang says nothing, just looks at Zhao San. Seeing the white cloth on her head and her vacant eyes, his anger subsides somewhat. He asks, “Are you ill again?”

Granny Wang nods. Zhao San says, “Then lie down. Why keep mending?”

Granny Wang shakes her head and resumes mending. Zhao San sighs and goes to the stove to start a fire.

Ping'er follows him. He asks his father, “Is Brother Bowlegs really not coming back?”

Zhao San says, “Who knows! His wings have hardened; he wants to fly!”

Ping'er does not understand his father's words. He only feels his father's anger is fearsome. He returns to his mother's side. She is still mending, as if the old rags will never run out.

Days pass like this. The village mountains, the stream at their foot, seem eternal, unchanging. The nursery rhyme still sings, in the same tune: “Autumn nights are long, autumn winds are cold; whose child has no mother...”

Granny Wang's illness seems better. She no longer mends through the night. Sometimes she goes into the yard, looking at the distant mountains, the clouds above them. The clouds change shape, now like horses, now like dogs. She recalls her youth, when she too had dreams, dreams as free as the clouds. But now, she is like a withered tree, rooted in this soil, unable to move.

Bowlegs never returns. Some say they saw him in the city-he joined the army. Others say he died on the road. At first, Zhao San curses, but later he stops mentioning it, as if he never had this son.

Ping'er still follows his father to drive carts. Gradually, he grows accustomed to his father's temper and his mother's silence. He feels that this is how life is-yesterday is like today, and today will be like tomorrow.

Only Granny Wang knows that life is different. Ten years ago, she still had hope in her heart, a glimmer of light. Now, her heart is empty, like a house emptied of all belongings, only wind and dust swirling within.

Autumn comes again. Cool winds blow, and the nursery rhyme is sung once more. Granny Wang sits by the fence, listening to the song. It is mournful, like autumn rain, ceaseless and soft. She recalls her whole life-like a dream, and when she wakes, nothing remains.

She slowly walks back into the house. Inside, it is dark. She lights the oil lamp; its glow is dim and yellow. She sits under the lamp and begins mending again. This time, she is not patching clothes; she is sewing a small padded jacket for Ping'er, winter clothing prepared for him. She sews stitch by stitch, with great care, as if stitching all her life into it.

Night deepens. The oil lamp’s flame flickers, casting her large, swaying shadow on the wall. Outside, the nursery rhyme has ceased. Only the sound of wind and the distant stream remains, murmuring softly, carrying away ten years of time.