The Boat to Redemption (11 page)

The people who had been running after Huixian stopped when they reached our barge and watched as I jumped down into the hold
and started tossing the damaged bricks up on deck, one at a time. ‘Go ahead, look,’ I shouted, ‘and tell me which one of those
is your mama.’

Dodging the flying bricks, she stamped her foot and yelled, ‘Your mama is a brick!’

‘Dongliang!’ Sun Ximing called out. ‘What’s going on here? Why was she chasing you?’

By then I was getting angry. ‘How the hell should I know? She may think she knows me, but I sure don’t know her!’

Amid all the shouting, the tugboat crew ran out of patience and sounded the whistle. Slowly getting under way, the eleven
barges turned into a gigantic boa that smelled the arrival of spring, heading out into the river. Startled by the movement,
people aboard the barges turned and shouted, ‘Stop! The little girl’s still aboard!’
The tug crew ran into the cabin, where a burst of garbled shouts emerged from a battery bullhorn. Finally one of the men blew
into the bullhorn and said impatiently, ‘What’s all the fuss? What are you afraid of? She’s just a little girl. It’s not as
if you’ve taken a class enemy aboard!’

Frightened by the bullhorn, Huixian straightened up and gazed at the tugboat. She burst into tears and shrieked at me, ‘Tell
me right this minute, where is my mama?’

Given her youth, I saw nothing wrong with her crying and carrying on because she’d lost her mother. But she was staring at
me, wanting
me
to produce her mother. That was too much. As for the other crews, instead of coming to my aid, they all just gaped at me,
sort of stupefied, as if to force a cruel response out of me. I looked first at the barge, then at the shore, and finally
down at the water. If anything, I was more puzzled than they were, and I couldn’t help thinking about my own mother. Strangely,
the name Qiao Limin popped into my head, but for the life of me, I couldn’t conjure up a picture of what my mother looked
like. As I looked at Huixian’s tear-streaked face, I knew I couldn’t tell her the truth, tell her not to keep looking for
her mother.
My mother’s a kongpi, and it looks
like yours is too
. She was too young to understand, I couldn’t put it into words. But I was also unable to escape a responsibility I hadn’t
asked for. Then an idea came to me. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘here’s your mama.’ I held up a finger and drew a circle in the air under
her nose, then pointed mysteriously into the air. That, I figured, was a good way to get her to understand the meaning of
kongpi
. I didn’t care whether or not anyone else understood the meaning of my gesture.

H
UIXIAN SAT
on my father’s sofa in the cabin, agitated, wilful and gluttonous. She’d gone through all the snacks we had. That’s my earliest
recollection of her as she began life on the river.

Our fancy sofa was upholstered in blue corduroy with a sunflower pattern. A close look revealed its public-property origin.
The wooden armrests were host to many cigarette burns and the back was protected by canvas with the words ‘Welcome to the
Revolutionary Committee’ still legible. Given that members of the Sunnyside Fleet owned no private property, not even a chair,
our sofa had long been considered the fleet’s most extravagant item. It also symbolized my father’s special status. When he
was banished to the barge from the General Affairs Building, all he brought with him was his corduroy sofa.

Safeguarding the sovereignty of that sofa took a lot out of me. None of the barge children could restrain their interest in
it, and sooner or later every one of them chose a direct or roundabout way of asking to sit in it. ‘Let me sit in it just
once, OK? Please.’

My response never varied. ‘No,’ I said, with a vigorous shake of the head. ‘Not unless you give me half a yuan.’

Now where would they get that kind of money? Besides, they wouldn’t part with it even if they had it, so that kept them out
of
our cabin. Yingtao’s brother, Dayong, tried to sneak inside once, but I dragged him out and wrestled him to the ground, which
incurred the wrath of surprised adults on both sides. Embarrassed by the incident, Father invited Dayong inside to sit on
the sofa, but the invitation came too late. Before the boy could step into the cabin, his father slapped him.

‘What makes you think you can sit on that sofa? A privy is more like it!’

Dayong’s mother grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back to their barge, fuming, though not necessarily at her son. ‘What
gives a useless brat like you the right to sit on a sofa? No wonder you asked me for half a yuan. Half a yuan just to sit
on a sofa? Is it sewn with gold threads or something? Think you’ll get up with a gold-plated rear end?’

That sofa was the last vestige of family honour in my safekeeping, and I was not about to give it up. Money had nothing to
do with it. Someone came on board our barge one day and complained about my demand for money. Father nearly twisted my ear
off my head. I knew he’d be the one to suffer from my actions and that the sofa would exacerbate our estrangement from the
other barges, which was a constant worry to Father, who never stopped stressing the importance of our relationship with the
masses. Over time, many of the fleet’s adults followed the example of Yingtao’s mother, forbidding their children from going
aboard barge number seven. ‘What’s so wonderful about a sofa?’ they’d say. ‘For half a yuan you’d get your rear end squeezed
on to it. Children need to develop a strong will. You’re not to sit on that sofa even if you’re invited to.’

But the unexpected usually changes things. Huixian turned my strict control on its head. She broke all the rules. I still
recall how she headed straight for the cabin, where she stuck her little nose up to the glass to see if her mother was there.
Ours was the messiest and most mysterious cabin in the fleet. One wall was
decorated with a picture of the martyr Deng Shaoxiang cut out of a newspaper. It was just fuzzy enough to lend it a mysterious,
ancient quality. Huixian studied it through the window. ‘That’s my grandma!’ she blurted out. Everyone within earshot fought
hard not to laugh at her absurd comment, while watching me for a reaction. I disappointed them.

The next thing Huixian spotted was my father, who was sitting on the sofa, a book in his lap, looking back at the girl. He
stood up, smiled at her, and pointed humbly to the sofa. ‘Want to try it out?’ he said. ‘Come on.’

The invitation could not have come at a better time. Huixian dried her tears and darted inside. ‘Sofa!’ she cried out, loudly
enough for everyone to hear. ‘Sofa! My papa’s sofa!’

What nonsense! How could our sofa suddenly become her papa’s?

‘She says it’s her papa’s sofa!’ A bunch of kids mimicked, hoping to get under my skin.

Not wanting to pick a fight with a little girl, I tried to assess the situation objectively. Her father had probably also
sat on a sofa, which meant he might have been an official or someone who lived in the city. I watched as she jumped on to
the sofa, like a fledgling returning to its nest. For some reason, the people outside greeted her achievement with applause
and a flurry of whispers. They were obviously waiting to see what Father and I would do. His reaction was exactly what they’d
expected: he stood close by, hands at his sides, like a doddering old king relinquishing his throne to a little girl. What
piqued their curiosity was my reaction. They were eager to see how I’d deal with the girl. I knew that for some of them this
would be a test of my fair-mindedness, while for others it was my kindness and decency that were under scrutiny.

I instinctively reached out, just missing grabbing her braid. Before I knew it, she was on the sofa, draping one leg over
the armrest as she sank with practised ease into the cushion, a look of
satisfaction and gratification spreading across her face. I’ll bet her mother was the last thing on her mind at that moment,
for I heard her mutter – more like an old woman than a little girl – ‘I’m beat!’ She looked up at me, then shut her eyes,
looked up one more time and then shut her eyes again. This time they stayed shut, thanks to the sleep that had settled in.

‘Put your leg down,’ I said. ‘If you’re going to sit there, do it right, and don’t get our sofa dirty.’

Past being able to open her eyes, she gave the armrest a little kick, and I noticed that she was wearing red cloth shoes,
covered with mud. She was also wearing socks, one of which had slid down into her shoe. I turned to look at Father. ‘She’s
asleep,’ he said. ‘Let her be.’

I was OK with that, but I said, ‘Her shoes are muddy.’

And so Huixian, like a mysterious gift dropped from the heavens, settled on to the river, on our barge. She was a gift that
had come out of nowhere, for good or for ill, presented to the members of the Sunnyside Fleet, whose interest in her was all-encompassing;
for the moment, however, no one quite knew how to enjoy their gift. When the fleet’s women and children were reminded of what
awaited them, they ran excitedly to barge number seven and gazed at her through the cabin porthole, jostling for position,
like a crowd at a zoo. No longer an object of pity, Huixian slept like a baby on my father’s sofa. He gestured to the people
to keep the noise down as he covered her with a sweater. It was big enough to cover her from head to toe. Some of the women
whispered pleasantly, ‘I’d never have guessed that Secretary Ku could be so big-hearted.’

The children, on the other hand, saw this as an opportunity to get even with me. With contempt in their eyes, they stared
at me, wanting to say something I’d hate to hear, but not sure what that might be. Only Yingtao, who was still quite small,
was too envious to let the opportunity pass. She stuck her head through the cabin
door and glared at me. ‘I thought you wouldn’t let anybody sit on that sofa,’ she said, denouncing my hypocrisy. ‘How come
she can
sleep
on it? How come
she
didn’t have to pay?’

Standing in the doorway, I had no time to argue with Yingtao. I was too busy watching Father bustle around like an ant on
a heated pan after giving up his sofa for her, relinquishing his sole trusty space. He sat down on my army cot, obviously
ill at ease as he stared at the girl sleeping on his sofa, a look of anxiety and embarrassment in his eyes. Then he stood
up abruptly, waved to me and said, ‘She’s worn out. Let’s go outside and let her sleep.’

Father carried his journal outside with him. He’d begun keeping a daily journal the year he joined the fleet. He may have
lost his official position but not the habits associated with it, and he recorded his thoughts religiously. In the wake of
the incident that no one talked about, he seldom came out of his cabin, preferring to stay out of the sunlight. He had, as
a result, become pale, presenting a stark contrast to the ruddy complexions of the other barge men. He was always ill at ease,
particularly in the company of the other members of the fleet. Remorse filled his eyes when he looked at them. People had
a pretty good idea why he was so ill at ease, but only I knew the true source of that remorse. He clearly regretted picking
up those scissors and, in one rash moment, destroying what little self-respect he had left.

Outwardly, the barge people maintained a measure of respect towards him. ‘Aren’t you coming out, Secretary Ku? You need to
get some fresh air. Spending all your time in there is bad for your health.’ But their eyes gave away their secret. Their
concern for his health was concentrated on one spot. No matter who was speaking – men, women, young and old – their gaze invariably
travelled to his crotch, with either the purest of intentions or salacious glee, like the needle of a compass pulled by the
earth’s magnetic field. Father dressed in grey nylon trousers, buttoned up
and impeccably creased. But that did not satisfy anyone; their eyes kept roaming to his fly, and they wished they could see
through the fabric to learn the secret of the severed penis.

They could not, of course, and that fired their imagination. Six-Fingers Wang and Chunsheng would exchange looks and snigger.
The women’s train of thought was slightly less vulgar and more veiled. Their gaze would move quickly down past Father’s crotch
before they instinctively turned towards the shore; a moment later they would turn back again, and I once saw Yingtao’s mother
stifle a giggle with her hand. Not knowing why she was giggling, Yingtao tugged at her sleeve and asked, ‘What are you laughing
at?’ She received a resounding smack. ‘What are you saying? I’m not laughing.’

Father would become even more pale than usual. He was dressed properly, but he might as well not have been wearing a shirt
or those nylon trousers. His shameful genitalia were like an exposed target, inviting dart-like gazes from everyone. He could
have worn a thousand pairs of trousers and still not have been able to keep his lower body out of sight. He would hold out
as long as he could before thrusting his journal into his jacket pocket and, forcing himself to remain as calm as possible,
say, ‘I haven’t seen you comrades for a long time. I hope you’re all well.’ They’d nod and mumble a response, gazing up and
down, looking at him curiously. He knew what it was they cared about, but he lacked the courage to talk about it. So he’d
gaze into the cloud-filled sky. ‘Nice weather,’ he’d say, just as thunder crackled, and the people would look skyward. Then
they’d look back at Father with puzzled expressions and mutterings of surprise on their lips.

Dayong, from barge number five, once cackled and said, ‘Is he seeing things? It’s going to start raining any minute, and he’s
talking about nice weather!’

That was more than I could take. I pushed Father back towards the cabin. ‘Go on inside,’ I said, like a father ordering his
son.
‘Go in and read.’ Knowing what I was doing, he went and stood beneath the hatch, an embarrassed look on his face, as I turned
my attention to the others. First I shoved Dayong. ‘Go on!’ I said. ‘Get off our barge.’ Then I pushed his sister. ‘Get off,
go back to number five.’

That had the desired effect on the adults, who wisely took their leave. ‘Time to go,’ they said. ‘Let the poor little mite
get some sleep.’

But Yingtao’s mother was determined to let me know that she was unhappy. She left a mystifying comment in her wake: ‘I’d like
to know what that boy and his father have in mind, hiding a little girl in their cabin like that.’

That really upset Desheng’s wife. ‘How can anyone respond to a mean, ugly comment like that?’ she said, trying her best to
defend us. ‘Watch what you’re saying, Yingtao’s mother, or you might wake up tomorrow with your mouth twisted out of shape
from a stroke.’

The fleet’s mysterious gift was now under the protection, however temporary, of Father and me. We headed downriver with an
unrelated girl aboard. Our corduroy sofa was now a boat within a boat. After we passed the duck farm, the river widened and
there was less traffic, the sound of churning water in our wake a potent contrast to the deathly silence aboard the barge,
silence that was abruptly shattered by our little passenger, who cried out in her dreams, ‘Mama!’ Father and I were startled
by her shrill cry, but fortunately, she slept on. She rolled over, apparently agitated, but then lay peacefully again. One
of her socks had fallen off; her pale toes, which were pointing at me, quivered slightly.

We stood in the doorway keeping watch over the sleeping girl. Father seemed morose as he looked down at the water. I knew
how fragile he was; humiliation greeted him each time he emerged from the cabin, and he was wallowing in feelings of shame.
But I couldn’t keep my eyes off the muted light Huixian’s naked foot
gave off, and had the sudden feeling that the light somehow broke through the loneliness and depression that never seemed
to leave barge number seven. Father and I were each occupied with our own thoughts. For some strange reason, my heart was
flooded with happiness, but in the face of Father’s dejection, I had to keep that to myself.

Desheng and his wife came over to check on our passenger as we were passing Deer Bridge Village. I can’t pin it down, but
there was something sneaky about their behaviour. ‘Is she being a good girl?’ Desheng asked.

‘She’s still sleeping,’ I said. ‘How am I supposed to know if she’s a good girl or not?’

Desheng looked first at me, then at Father, then nudged his wife conspiratorially. ‘Don’t you have something to say? There’s
no one around, now’s the time.’

She glared at him. ‘I wasn’t serious,’ she said.

Father looked at Desheng and his wife, not sure what was going on. ‘If you’ve got something to say, say it,’ he said. ‘We’re
neighbours, one boat after the other, so don’t treat me like a stranger.’