Jiang Shuiying hadn’t walked far when Niannian tugged at the hem of her tunic holding up a small hand clenched around a crumpled scrap of paper.
Earlier when all the signatures and marks were being made amid the crowd Zhang Guilan had dropped her inkpad on the ground. Niannian had picked it up and kept clutching it ever since.
Scrawled crookedly in pencil on the paper were these words. Pension received in full 1200. Deduct 400 for Qingjun to build a house. Tell outsiders it’s only 800.
Jiang Shuiying’s fingers tightened. So it had never been eight hundred it was twelve hundred.
Her husband’s own family had swindled four hundred of the money he’d given his life to earn.
She folded the note carefully and tucked it into the inner pocket of her clothing right beside the letter from Qingnian.
No rush. She Jiang Shuiying would keep account of this.
Once she found Lu Qingnian she would settle every last score with them one by one.
Mother are we not going back?
Not going back. Jiang Shuiying didn’t look back. That’s not our home anymore.
Then where is our home?
With your father. Once we find him we’ll have a home.
She pressed a hand to her inner pocket seven hundred and fifty yuan solid and real was still there. It was the money Qingnian had earned with his life and she had gotten every cent back.
Mother I’m hungry. Niannian patted his tummy.
Jiang Shuiying bought a bowl of noodles at a small town eatery just twenty cents. Niannian slurped it all up. She sipped a little of the broth.
Just as they finished they saw a crowd gathered thick around the old pagoda tree in the distance.
The eldest son of the Li family’s back from the army someone shouted. Says there’s a Captain Lu who’s something else Lu Qingnian. One of our Sichuan folk too.
Lu Qingnian.
Jiang Shuiying froze in her tracks heart hammering and pushed through the crowd.
A young man in uniform was speaking animatedly about life in the forces.
Brother her voice shook. This Captain Lu you speak of how old is he. Where is he from.
Twenty-seven twenty-eight I’d guess. Sichuan same as us you could hear it in his speech the young man scratched his head.
Jiang Shuiying lifted Niannian higher. Does he have a little scar right here above his left eyebrow.
The youth blinked. That I didn’t notice.
Jiang Shuiying curled her hands tight inside her sleeves. That scar running upward at an angle an inch long was burned into her memory.
She’d been fifteen then. Orphaned young she’d lived alone in a mud-brick house at the end of the village so poor even the mice came weeping. A gang of bullies had singled her out tossing frogs in her water jar one day piling cow dung at her door the next. She’d cursed them chased them but they were too strong.
One afternoon kneeling by the river beating laundry she heard jeers behind her. Shuiying your mother never teach you how to wash. Think that’s clean.
Leading them was Zhou Damao from the next village big burly sixteen or seventeen brandishing a wooden club three others at his heels.
She didn’t look up. Get lost. You’re blocking the light.
Feisty aren’t you. With one flick of his club Zhou Damao sent her clothes flying into the river where they spun away downstream.
Laughter rang out then her wooden beater sailed through the air cracking square against Zhou Damao’s forehead.
He howled clutching his head and Jiang Shuiying lunged for his club. But she was still small they pinned her face-down in the mud.
Wild bitch. You made me bleed.
You deserve worse. Pay for my clothes. Before she could finish someone came scrambling down the riverbank.
Seventeen-year-old Lu Qingnian thin as a bamboo stalk but burning with the ferocity of a cornered leopard.
He waded straight in to retrieve her clothes laid them back on the stone then turned to Zhou Damao. Did you hit her.
None of your business she started it. The words died as a fist connected with his jaw.
All four set upon him. He fought them alone knocked down and getting up again wiping blood from his nose with his sleeve and fighting on. In the scuffle someone’s club caught him hard above the left eye. Blood streamed down his face but he didn’t make a sound. At the sight of his reckless fury Zhou Damao and his friends fled yelling that he was insane.
Lu Qingnian stood panting face streaked red like a young avenging spirit. Jiang Shuiying sat in the mud watching him tears stinging her eyes.
Why cry. Your clothes are safe. Didn’t lose a thing.
You’re bleeding so badly.
Just a scratch. He tilted his head grinning. Not deep. It’ll scab over. Might leave a scar look fierce won’t it. Then no one will dare trouble you ever again.
She’d called him a fool through her tears and then cried all the harder.
Sixteen years had passed. Even the mud-brick house where he’d lived had half collapsed but she still remembered exactly how that scar ran.
Ma’am the young man pulled her back to the present. What relation are you to him.
He’s my husband.
He stared her up and down cigarette forgotten halfway to his lips.
Jiang Shuiying unfastened the half-silver lock from around Niannian’s neck and pressed it into his hand. Look at this. Doesn’t Captain Lu wear one just like it matching this.
He turned it over eyes lighting up. Now you mention it I saw him in the washhouse once. He wore something shiny around his neck looked exactly like half a lock.
Jiang Shuiying’s knees gave way.
Before she could sink down Niannian knelt straight and proud holding the silver lock high above his head.
Uncle he looked up. Please give my mother the address. She’s waited three whole years for Father.
Get up child please get up. The youth reached out flustered.
Tell me first Niannian didn’t budge. If you won’t I’ll stay right here.
He looked at the little boy then at the mother tears falling to the dirt at her feet leaving tiny damp marks.
Heishiling Northeast China. Unit 308. He spoke quickly low and urgent. Ask for directions once you arrive. Please don’t say I told you.
With many thanks Jiang Shuiying led Niannian to find lodgings.
Mother will we go see Father tomorrow.
Tomorrow we take the train.
Is it fast.
Very fast she said. One night’s sleep and we’re there.
So we’ll see him the day after.
The question hung in the air. She hadn’t yet settled accounts. She had only seven hundred and fifty yuan four hundred was still in the hands of the Lu family. That scrap of paper stitched deep in her pocket was proof and she would use it.
She found an inn at one yuan a night. Barred the door propped a chair against it then lit the lamp.
Counted the money laid each note out on the bed edge. Seven hundred and forty-eight yuan and eighty cents. Three times over.
Every cent earned with his life not a penny to be wasted.
She committed the address to heart Heishiling Northeast China. Unit 308.
Blowing out the lamp she drew Niannian close.
Sometime after midnight noise woke her dogs barking voices then one voice she knew.
Woman with a boy four or five years old good-looking mid-twenties. Seen her.
Jiang Shuiying went cold all over. Lu Qingjun.
She lay perfectly still eyes wide in the dark. Fear wasn’t her first thought calculation was. This was the only inn in town had she been followed from the eatery. Or recognized sooner.
Either way they’d come for the note. Zhang Guilan would have noticed it missing. If word got out the pension was 1200 the whole family would face ruin.
Voices argued below but footsteps were already thudding up the stairs.
She clamped a hand over Niannian’s mouth grabbed their bundle and slipped to the back window above a low shed stacked with firewood. Tossed the bundle down passed the boy safely then jumped. Her ankle twisted sharply she bit back a cry.
Holding Niannian close she made her way to the railway station. Under dim lamps moths swirled in the yellow light. She sat in a sheltered corner bundle beneath her legs wrapping her coat around the shivering child.
Why not sleep in a bed.
Not tonight.
Why.
Some people want to take us back.
Niannian buried his face in her chest and asked no more. The night air bit she kept him wrapped and shivered watching the dark tracks. He slept small hand clutching her tunic. She didn’t close her eyes once.
Money pressed against her ribs too precious to risk moving. Every passing train made her hold her breath.
At dawn the ticket window opened. She was first in line.
One ticket to the Northeast please.
Thirty-one yuan fifty cents. Eight o’clock departure one hour from now.
Money exchanged ticket in hand she hurried to the platform. Seven or eight people ahead. She stood behind ticket damp in her grasp eyes fixed on the gate.
Three people left. Two. One.
The inspector reached for her ticket then a hand pressed down hard.
I know this woman.
He turned smiling a smile that sent ice down her spine.
Jiang Shuiying running off where.