Spring Festival, by Moira Laidlaw.
For Pat, with love.
The little city wakes watchfully, vendors out early to capture as much trade as they can at this time of year. Daughters, mothers and grandmothers are beginning the task of cleaning their houses in time for the visits from family and friends. Young children are out playing, having fun, forgetting for the most part, that many of them have school in a matter of a few short weeks. Cupboards are emptied as adults search through them for respectable clothes and to find what needs to be bought new this year. Aunts, cousins, older sisters and brothers, grandparents and in-laws all count through jiao[1] and mao, even yuan, to see what they can afford for the children’s red envelope-presents. Men, women and children are already sitting in humid factories all over the county making fireworks for the end of Spring Festival celebrations. Poorer mothers’ hands stitch lanterns out of paper and cloth, or glue together old ones, in the hopes that no one notices their grimy old-age. Fathers hew wood, chopping and sawing new furniture for the sitting room, a new table to accommodate the whole family sitting together, perhaps. Richer mothers search shops for fancy lanterns with gold or brass frames, housing fat red candles, boasting the family’s future prosperity. All is busy preparation.
Ma Ping sits at the meatball restaurant’s only brick stove, resting his elbow on the warm edge, leaning into his hand, watching these city people as they eat their noodles, chat, smoke and drink tea. He sighs. A new place to live. He misses his father and mother. His older brother is a good man and it is kind of him to let him live there so he can go to school, but it isn’t home. Home is a clutter of siblings, noisy and naughty, lighting firecrackers in the street at Spring Festival, eating until they burst, sleeping late into Lantern Festival, carrying the lanterns through the dark, winter streets, singing, laughing together, then before school begins - riding their bicycles, Ma Hui challenging him to go-cart contests, Ma Ling, always kind to him when he’s sad because he must begin school and end the days of freedom. He misses her most of his brothers and sisters. But now Ma Shipeng calls to him to clear away the dishes at the big table and make way for the new guests. Ma Ping smiles at his brother, hiding sadness in his heart, for he loves his big brother and would never insult him by showing him how disappointed he is in this new city.
Tian Mei straightens her weary back in the cold dawn of a winter’s day, wiping away her tears as she does so. She looks over at Tian Hui, her clever older brother, soon to go to school in her place, leaning on a stick, looking at the distant horizon. She wonders what he is dreaming of. Now she is big enough to do some of the more difficult work on the land, and she knew her time at school was only temporary. Perhaps he is dreaming of the city, and his new career as a student. He won’t study for just one or two terms, no, he’ll be at the big city school for many years, becoming a wise man like her father. And she? Tian Mei shakes her head as if to rid herself of her thoughts, and kneels down again to shake the soil free of pebbles and stones, making small piles of the interlopers in grooves along the field. ‘Breakfast!’ calls their mother from the doorway of their house, wiping her hands on a cloth, and pursing her lips at the sight of Tian Mei’s bent face and slow gait as she lopes up the small incline towards the gateway. Poor child. How she dotes on her teacher and classmates. If only there were some way to help her. She will ask Tian Wei again, but she already knows the answer. Tian Mei is his favourite child and yet the situation is impossible. Of course Tian Hui must be the one to go to school. If there were anything they could do for Tian Mei, they would do it, but she has to work for the family. Things are changing in China, but not in time for my daughter. She sighs and steps into the house to check on her noodles with cabbage, which serves as their first family meal of the day.
Bai Mei has slept late. Yesterday she spent many happy hours watching the people buying new clothes for Spring Festival, little children cavorting around in their new suits inside the shops until their mothers ordered them to take them off so as not to spoil them for the celebrations. With her face pressed eagerly to the windows she exulted in the pretty cloths paraded in front of happy mothers and children, silks for jackets, cotton for waistcoats, padded silk for trousers, in bright, majestic colours – banner-red, yellow and green symbolizing the glory of China. Bai Mei shivers in happy remembrance. She loves this time of year. People are happy and give extra money to beggars. Then she remembers Bai Jun and instantly her face clouds over with sadness. A tear falls, but she brushes it away. He is no longer suffering, she realises. She turns to Meimei and Junjun, still asleep under the sacking Huang Weiping has provided for their warmth during these bitter nights. ‘Come on, lazy bones!’ she says, forcing merriment into her voice. Meimei misses her brother so much and Bai Mei doesn’t know how to make her stop. She wonders if her mother knows about it. Probably. News travels fast here. She misses her mother, but there is nothing she can do about that on a cold morning. Meimei rubs the sleep from her eyes and smiling, turns to her elder sister. Her gap-toothed smile is engaging, and Bai Mei smiles back, reassured that all is fundamentally well with them. They will cope. And of course, Huang Weiping has promised to feed them during the festival time with lots of special food. She smiles when she remembers his wife’s annoyance at his generosity. ‘Three extra mouths to feed! And what do you think I am? A sorceress? How am I supposed to find this extra food, may I ask?’ She threw up her hands at her husband’s profligacy. He always did promise too much, that man. Exasperated, she fumed for a while, throwing daggers of unspoken accusations at the children, who cowered a little in the corner of their rough hut as she railed against Allah for giving her such a silly man for a husband. At one point, Huang Weiping winked at Bai Mei, who, startled by the unexpected vote of solidarity, erupted in laughter, which she quickly repressed, turning it into a long, painful and throaty cough, convincing in its pathos. When she could, she winked back. At that moment she realised she had a friend. Her first friend in the whole world. How wonderful to have a friend. Now she would never need to feel lonely again. And now as she remembers how Huang Lian gradually softened, even so far as saying the little brood could stay in the hut for as long as they liked, she realises that life is good after all and what a lucky little girl she is. ‘I suppose making noodles for eight isn’t unlike making noodles for eleven,’ Huang Lian sighs ruefully, shaking her head at her husband in a gesture he recognises warmly as containing as much affection as derision. ‘Come on, up you get,’ says Bai Mei to her siblings. ‘Let’s go and see what’s going on today, shall we?’
Wu Ying is eating jaozi, stuffing them into his mouth. ‘Careful’, admonishes his mother. Wu Ying looks up at her and smiles. ‘Sorry, Mother,’ he says. ‘It’s just there’s so much to do today and I wanted to go to the wangba[2]. Can I go to the wangba? There’s this new video game and it’s really good. I want to play it with my friends. Can I, Mother? Can I? Please!’ Wu Lian smiles nervously at her beloved son. He seems so different these days. He doesn’t get into trouble at school, he studies in the evenings, he is obedient and doesn’t defy his mother anymore. Well, usually he studies at any rate. Sometimes she finds his bedroom empty when he’s said he was studying, but he always has a good reason: he is studying with his new friends or he has gone to get some fresh air. ‘To study we must be healthy in body and mind,’ he tells his mother. ‘That’s what Teacher Deng says, anyway, and he must be right, mustn’t he, Mother?’ And Zhang Chen Hui doesn’t really seem as bad as his reputation, and there’s that new child, Chang Wei, who seems very sweet indeed. Wu Ying spends a lot of his time with this child, who comes from an excellent family. His father is a lawyer and his mother the librarian in the college. She is a very elegant lady, and Wu Lian would like to make her closer acquaintance. It would be good for their families to have a closer connection: you never knew when such relationships could be useful. ‘So can I, Mum?’ Wu Ying asks again with a beatific smile. ‘Um, yes, I suppose so, dear, but perhaps this time you could come home for lunch. Remember last time when you were so late your dinner was spoilt?’ ‘Yes, I remember, Mother. I will do my best, but Chang Wei’s father wants me show me some of his pretend terracotta warriors. I am doing a project for school on the Warriors and Mr. Deng says if I work very hard he is thinking about putting me up a grade.’ ‘Really?’ says Wu Lian delightedly. ‘Oh that is such good news. After the unfortunate occurrences last term, I was worried that our reputation would not recover. I am proud of you, son. And so will your father be.’ ‘When is he coming home, Mother?’ asks Wu Ying disingenuously. ‘He is away so much of the time and I miss him.’ ‘Yes, of course we both do,’ replies his mother quickly. ‘I don’t know, son. But he will be proud of you.’ ‘So can I go, Mother?’ he persists. ‘Yes, dear, I don’t see why not. I have to say, though, I am surprised that you are still friends with Zhang Chen Hui. His father has a very bad reputation, you know.’ ‘Yes, I know, Mother,’ replies the child demurely, ‘but you have told me many times I must forgive people when they do bad things. Can’t you see I am trying very hard to make you proud of me?’ Wu Lian looks long at her child and her heart bumps in misgivings, but she is silent.
Wang Wenjing drinks her tea and looks over at her grandfather. ‘Is the pain worse today?’ she asks softly. ‘There’s no pain, dear, whatever gives you that idea?’ ‘Your face, grandfather. You cannot hide it from me. Maybe my mother doesn’t see it, but I see it. I feel it. Here.’ And she touches the region above her heart then reaches over and takes his hand. ‘I am not a child anymore, grandfather. Please don’t shut me out. I love you so much and I think we must always tell each other the truth, you and I. All those stories you’ve told me about your past. All those struggles to survive. All those bitter, terrible times. And you did it for us, for me and Wenzi, and for China, didn’t you? For the real China. The good China. Because you suffered I can study and have a good life. Why should we lie to each other, you and I?’ Professor Wang wipes a tear from his eye. How can this child have become a woman so quickly? He presses her hand to his lips. ‘Bless you, my darling child. Yes, the pain is worse today, but I find it quite bearable.’ Wenjing begins to protest, and he puts up his hand against her intended words. ‘No, listen to me. When I and millions of others suffered in the Cultural Revolution, we stopped believing it was for a better China. We didn’t know what to believe. We lost the insight about what it was for. We loved our country, but it seemed to have gone mad.’ ‘Oh grandfather!’ interrupts Wenjing with a rising sob, but he continues without pausing. ‘When it was over in ’76, we looked around at our friends, our families, our communities, our country, and we saw betrayal, courage, bitterness, transcendence, honour, despair. How could we ever learn to trust ourselves again? And, do you know, I don’t know if we can. But we trust you, your generation. I trust you Wenjing, with my whole heart and soul. So this pain, it matters nothing, I tell you. Nothing.’ He pauses, but Wenjing understands enough to allow the moment its profound silence. ‘This pain is meaningless, because the meaning of my life is in you and your children.’ Wenjing blushes. ‘Your children will save China. Do you see?’ Wenjing finds the moment so poignant she cannot speak and presses his hand tightly in her own, and then unusually moved to physical expression, she throws herself into his arms and hugs him more closely than she has ever done. He pats her back gently, nodding his head in unspoken bliss at a perfect moment, as if all the pain and joy of his life were transformed into meaning by this single gesture of love.
Yi Hongmei and Feng Xuelin walk past Ma Fengyin’s shop laughing. Hand in hand in the manner of good friends, they share secrets and confide their wishes to each other. Ma Fengyin remembers Yi Hongmei as the woman who once visited his shop, wanting to buy some English books so that she could study with their foreigner, Anna. He smiles at the memory. Ma Li Rui won’t be in to work today. Little Binbin has a cold and she is wanting to keep him warm. Ma Rui will no doubt make a noisy appearance later. She is being rather difficult these days. Perhaps she is jealous of the new baby. She has to understand, though, how wonderful he is. To have a son. Ma Fengyin sighs with contentment. He starts to unpack some new arrivals – study-books for the English Band Four and Six examinations. This should make him a mint of money. Yes, other shops stock these books, but his always arrive a few days early, because he knows someone at the distributing office in Xi’an. He runs a razor along the middle of the tape where it is sticking two parts of the cardboard together, and as the flaps spring up, he opens the box gleefully, sensing the bright lights of future days now within his grasp. With the profit from these sales, he can buy new clothes for the whole family as tradition demands, and even have some to spare for the little money-envelopes for his own and relatives’ children. He lifts a whole stash of books out of the boxes onto the table and starts to count them. The door rattles as it opens. He looks up. ‘What do you want?’ he says derisively as Ho Yanhui enters. ‘A book!’ she exclaims haughtily. ‘That’s what you sell, isn’t it?’ ‘Did anyone see you come in here?’ Ma Fengyin asks angrily. ‘Why don’t you go elsewhere for your ‘book’? You know you shouldn’t come here.’ ‘I need a book, a dictionary. For my niece,’ she says, her voice trembling. ‘Well, I don’t have any to sell you,’ he responds coldly. ‘Go elsewhere. Don’t come here again.’ Ho Yanhui makes as if to speak, then bites her lip, quelling her tears, and turns, crashing the door behind her as she leaves. Ma Fengyin sits down heavily at his desk, sighing deeply, closing his eyes at the aura of perfume left behind. Mechanically he starts to place the books in piles according to which band examination they belong to.