Spilled Water Page 3

  One after another, men called me forward to take a closer look at me, to inspect me, like some sort of item in a shop. Some of them pointed at me and laughed. Others talked to Uncle in hushed voices, but once I heard him say ‘She is a very obedient girl’ and another time I heard ‘You won’t find anyone better’.

  A middle-aged man, short and fat, with dirty fingernails and missing teeth, kept coming back to examine me. I was petrified that he was going to choose me, until Uncle sent him away, saying that he couldn’t afford me.

  Another middle-aged man became very agitated with Uncle. He pulled a wad of money from his pocket and waved it in front of Uncle’s face, but Uncle shook his head dismissively and pushed the man’s hand away. The man shoved Uncle in the chest, then spat on the ground and sputtered, ‘Pah! Your puny little frog is not worth the money you ask. Take her back to your pond then, where she’ll spawn a million more, all useless like herself.’

  He marched off through the crowd. Uncle gazed at me awkwardly, then shrugged his shoulders and waited for the next approach.

  By now I was faint with hunger. The smoke and noise and smells fanned a growing sense of unreality which took me far, far away from the room and off into a sunlit world, where Father was on the river in his boat and I was skipping along the shore waving to him. Suddenly, he caught an enormous fish. He hauled it into the boat, then held it up for me to see. ‘We’ll eat well tonight,’ he said but, just as he said it, a dense mist came down and swirled around him. I cried out to him and I heard him calling my name, over and over again, but the mist simply swallowed him up as he stood there proudly holding his fish.

  When the mist cleared, Uncle was shaking me by the shoulder, across the rope, and telling me to pick up my notice.

  ‘Pull yourself together, child,’ he hissed. ‘No one will want you if you look ill.’

  What if nobody did want me? I wondered. Would that mean I could go home? Would that mean the nightmare would be over? A flicker of hope dared to ignite within me, only to be extinguished instantly when a sombre, thin-faced man approached my uncle. He was well dressed in a smart suit, and seemed out of place among the noisy hordes. He was obviously impatient to conduct his business and leave. He stared hard at me, then asked Uncle several questions. I strained to hear what was said, but the man’s voice was too low-pitched. Uncle was eager, though, I could see that.

  While they continued to talk, I studied the man. He was taller than Uncle – thin, with pockmarked skin and big hands. What I noticed most was that his eyes were cold – empty and cold. They allowed not a hint of expression as he talked to Uncle, which made me shiver nervously. I had long been the target of Uncle’s hostility and hard-heartedness and expected nothing different from him, but there was passion and anger in him as well. This man seemed to show no emotion of any sort.

  The man reached into his pockets and took out what looked like a photograph. Uncle studied it, then nodded approvingly, glancing sideways in my direction as he did so. The man pulled out his wallet and held out a roll of money. Uncle hesitated, before taking it quickly and putting it inside his coat. He shook hands with the man, then lifted up the rope and brought me over to his side.

  ‘Lu Si-yan, this is Mr Chen. You will go with him. He is in charge of you now. Make sure you bring honour to your family by your good manners and behaviour.’

  ‘I don’t want to go, Uncle. Please don’t make me go.’

  I begged with him, pleaded with him. I thought for a moment that he might change his mind when his face seemed to soften and he gazed at me briefly with concern. But he dismissed me quickly with a pat on the shoulder, and marched away without looking back. My new owner signalled for me to go with him. I lowered my head, not to show obedience, but to hide my tears.

  What was to become of me? I was eleven years old, far from my home, far from my family, in the hands of a stranger, and nobody cared. As I followed Mr Chen from the building, I was certain of only one thing: that no matter what happened, one day, one day soon, I would see my mother again.

  A taxi was waiting outside. Mr Chen opened a door and sat next to me in the back. We drove for a few miles in silence, darkness descending all around us, then I fell asleep. I woke when the car stopped and he told me to get out. We turned into a building and waited for the lift. The lift doors opened, I walked uncertainly into the dimly lit cage and, as my stomach rebelled against the upward motion, Mr Chen said, ‘You will work for my wife, Lu Si-yan. One day, when you are old enough, you will marry my son. Is that understood?’

  Chapter Eleven

  When the Roof Fell Down

  The rain came first, in torrents. The leaky roof leaked more. We ran out of buckets to place under the ever-increasing number of drips. We used our soup bowls, running to empty them over and over again. We lay in bed at night listening to the tuneful plink, plonk, tink, plop. It was funny at first, until we had to empty bowls throughout the night as well.

  The roof caved in one morning, when Mother had gone to the village and Li-hu and I were splashing in puddles in the yard. There was a sickening creak, followed by a loud shudder, which fed into a resounding thud that sent the hens and ducks squawking into the shed. We spun round to find the inside walls of the house exposed – jagged splinters of wood dangling from the tops. A large section of roof was lying across our kitchen table and our bed. A great cloud of dust wheeled in the air before sprinkling down on us.

  Li-hu clung to my legs in terror, then, when the dust had settled, he pointed to our house and clapped his hands.

  ‘Look, Si-yan,’ he giggled, ‘no roof. The roof’s all gone.’ Then he burst into tears.

  I held his hand and stood there anxiously in the pouring rain, wondering what to do. Mother had feared this might happen.

  ‘I don’t know what we’ll do if the roof falls in, Si-yan,’ she had said. ‘We don’t have the money to get it fixed, and we can’t do it ourselves. If only the rain would stop, we could at least patch the worst bits.’

  But the rain didn’t stop – it pooled its weight and the roof gave up the fight. I walked amongst the debris to find a broken chair, fragments of crockery, toys in pieces. Even the book I was reading had broken its spine. One leg of our bed had cracked in half, but, worst of all, our television, Father’s pride and joy, had taken the full force of the collapsing roof and was damaged beyond repair.

  Mother arrived back then. We began to clear up the mess. But we weren’t strong enough to remove the larger sheets of wood that straddled the two rooms. I went to the village to fetch help. A team of men left their shops to follow me home, carrying between them a huge red, white and blue striped tarpaulin. In no time, they had removed the remnants of roof and fixed the tarpaulin over the walls. One of them took away the broken chair to mend, while another said he would send his wife with some crockery from his shop. It wouldn’t be the best, he said – but we were grateful for anything.

  Uncle visited us that evening. There was a smugness about him, tinged with irritation, as he inspected the damage then offered to make arrangements for a replacement roof to be built.

  ‘It is lucky for you that I have a good job and the ability to help,’ he said to my mother. ‘If my brother had not lived with his head in the clouds, he would have seen to it that you had a proper roof over your heads, and you would not be in the mess you are in now.’

  ‘We are very grateful to you,’ replied my mother, head bowed deferentially. ‘We will try our best not to become too much of a burden.’

  ‘It would be nothing new,’ said Uncle grimly.

  When he had gone home, Mother and I sat listening to the rain hammering on the plastic tarpaulin. At length, I asked, ‘Why doesn’t Uncle like us very much, Mother?’

  She sighed and took my hand. ‘As you know, Si-yan, your uncle spent many years of his childhood helping to raise your father and being responsible for him. Your father grew up to be a very different sort of person from him, which caused conflict, though your father loved him dearly. N
ow your uncle finds himself responsible for us, when he has chosen not to have a family of his own and wants to be free of responsibility.’

  I thought about this and could see that Uncle might have reason to feel angry, but we had tried so hard to manage on our own since Father died. It wasn’t our fault that the roof had caved in. Besides, Uncle had always been welcome in our house. We had shared our meals with him for as long as I could remember. Surely the bond of family was stronger than any selfish considerations.

  ‘But he seems to want us to fail,’ I said.

  ‘He doesn’t want to believe we might succeed,’ corrected my mother. ‘And he doesn’t want to be proved wrong. Your father proved him wrong by keeping us fed, clothed, housed and happy, despite the fact that he ignored your uncle’s advice. He can’t conceive of being proved wrong again, especially by a woman and a girl-child.’

  I struggled to grasp what Mother was saying. On the one hand, Uncle wanted us to fail, because that was what he expected, and he had to be right. On the other hand, he didn’t want us to fail, because he didn’t want to be responsible for us.

  ‘Anyway,’ sighed my mother, ‘he’s paying for a new roof, and for that we must be eternally grateful.’

  That night, I lay on the broken bed next to my mother and my brother, and determined to work harder still to ensure that we didn’t fail.

  Halfway through the night, the rain stopped. We woke next morning to a beautiful cloudless sky. Our terraces looked as though they had been sprinkled with diamonds where the sunlight bounced off the drops of rain clinging to our vegetables. Our ducks and hens quacked and squawked relentlessly, stretched and flapped their wings as though celebrating the return of dry weather. Li-hu cavorted among them, hurling feed in the air, trying to catch some before it landed, singing happily.

  ‘I know it’s going to be all right,’ I said to my mother, as we weeded amongst our crops and checked for marauding insects. ‘I know it’s going to be all right.’

  But it wasn’t all right. Several weeks later, we went to market, our rickshaw piled high with vegetables we had been unable to pick during the torrential rain. We hit a deep pothole in the road. It was enough to break the axle, pitching the rickshaw on to its side. Mother and I were thrown on to the road, amidst our valuable produce. When she saw the extent of the damage to the rickshaw, with many of our vegetables smashed and filthy, Mother howled with despair. I put my arms round her, while people gathered to make sure we weren’t injured. Mother was in shock, someone thought, but otherwise we were just bruised. They collected together those vegetables which had survived the accident, put them back in our baskets, and a taxi driver offered to take us home.

  Travelling in a taxi, the only car I had ever been in, would have been a high point in my life, if I hadn’t been so worried about Mother. It was so hot that the driver wound down all the windows, and it was exhilarating to see the world flying by, the wind tugging at my face and hair. Mother sat shaking, gazing straight ahead of her, not saying a word. I held her hand, squeezed it tight again and again, hoping to radiate some of my own will to survive into her being. Only once did she squeeze my hand back, but I took comfort from that and hoped that when we were home she would recover.

  When the taxi driver dropped us off, he told me I should put Mother to bed. I did as he advised, and she made no protest. I didn’t like to leave her, but I had to collect Li-hu from the village. We returned to find her fast asleep. I was relieved. Li-hu clambered into bed next to her, though it was only early in the afternoon. Soon he was asleep as well.

  Our rooms were unbearably hot under the plastic tarpaulin. I wandered outside, swept the yard, tidied the shed, then took a pile of washing down to the river, even though it wasn’t washing day. I sat on the river bank, my feet dangling in the cool water, happy to let my cares drift downstream with the current. Things would get better again. We had managed for nearly a year. Mother was suffering from shock, but that would pass. I dipped Li-hu’s trousers in the water and scrubbed them clean. Such tiny trousers for such a bundle of energy.

  ‘Where are you, Si-yan?’ I heard him calling.

  I turned to see him trundling over the terraces towards me. Then he stopped and laughed.

  ‘Bet you can’t catch me,’ he screamed.

  I jumped to my feet. ‘Bet I can,’ I yelled.

  I gallumphed after him, making dragon noises, captured him and tossed him in the air.

  ‘Mummy’s dead,’ he said, as I caught him again.

  My stomach somersaulted. ‘No, Li-hu,’ I said. ‘Mother’s sleeping.’

  ‘Not sleeping,’ muttered Li-hu.

  I gathered together the washing, took Li-hu’s hand and climbed quickly back up to the house. Mother was lying exactly as I had left her. She was so still and quiet that it seemed she had stopped breathing, but I felt her forehead to find she was burning hot, a whisper of air escaping her lips.

  ‘Mother’s not dead, Li-hu,’ I said with enormous relief. ‘Mother’s not well, but tomorrow she will be better.’

  I prepared our dinner from vegetables that had survived our accident. We waited for Mother to wake up before we ate, because we always sat down together for meals. It grew dark, but still Mother slept. I became more and more anxious, but reasoned that Mother was exhausted from everything she had had to do, that the shock and dismay over the accident had simply been too much for her. A long sleep would do her the world of good.

  Uncle arrived then, and for once I was glad to see him, for a grown-up to take over the situation.

  ‘We had an accident, Uncle Ba,’ I told him. ‘The rickshaw overturned. I think Mother’s in shock.’

  Uncle went into the other room and came straight back out again.

  ‘Your Mother has a fever. Run to the village and fetch Wen Chunzu,’ he ordered. ‘He will know what to do.’

  I ran as fast as I could, terrified now that every extra second I took would lead to a worsening in my mother’s condition. Returning with the village doctor, I was frustrated by the old man’s slowness. Much as I urged him on, he complained of his rheumaticky joints and would not be hurried. I took his bag from him in my impatience and supported his elbow as he huffed and puffed his way down the steep pathway to our house.

  Uncle welcomed him like a long-lost friend, led him to my mother’s side, and shooed me out through the door into the kitchen.

  ‘Bring us cold, damp cloths, and tea for the doctor and myself,’ he ordered.

  I did as I was told, but was sent away again. Li-hu clung to my legs and cried for his mother. Inside my head, I cried too. I stood up against the door and tried to hear what the doctor was saying. Could I trust this old man with my mother’s life?

  At last, the door opened and Uncle ushered the doctor out.

  ‘We’ll soon see what sort of a fighter she is,’ said the doctor gravely. ‘The next twenty-four hours will be critical. I’ll be back to see her tomorrow morning. In the meantime, keep her cool with cold compresses and moisten her lips regularly. I wish you good day.’

  He shook hands with Uncle, who helped him up towards the road, while Li-hu and I slipped through the door to my mother’s side. She lay there quietly, an expression of deep peace upon her face, which concealed the battle that raged inside her.

  ‘You can do it, Mother,’ I whispered, holding her hand. ‘I know you can do it.’

  ‘You can do it, Mother, I knowed you can do it,’ copied Li-hu. ‘Wake up soon, Mother.’

  Uncle told us that Mother had a very high temperature and fever which it was imperative to bring under control. The doctor had given her medicine to help, but Mother was not strong. She would need constant care for the next few days. He would arrange for someone from the village to sit with Mother that night, and would call in himself first thing in the morning. I was to make up a bed on the kitchen floor and sleep there with Li-hu, so as not to disturb my mother. I wanted so much for him to put his arms round me and tell me that everything was going to be all right. F
or a brief moment he hesitated in the doorway and I saw the anxiety in his face. I thought he was going to say something more, but then he turned abruptly and headed off home.

  I couldn’t sleep. The woman from the village, Mrs Jin, arrived, took over from me the mopping of my mother’s brow, and left me feeling useless. I wanted her to be there, in case, but I wanted her to sit in a corner and let me care for my mother. Every so often I would get up from my makeshift bed and hover by the door of the bedroom. Sometimes Mother was still and quiet, other times she rolled her head from side to side, moaning and groaning. I didn’t know which was worse. At least if she was moving around, even if she was agitated and delirious, I could see that she was alive. When she was motionless, it was hard to tell if she was even breathing. Mrs Jin tried her best to reassure me, but I couldn’t help fearing the worst.

  In the early hours of the morning, I finally dozed off. I was woken by a horrendous wailing. I rushed to the bedroom door. Mother was tossing around, arms flailing, legs kicking. A sound like an animal in pain came from her lips. Mrs Jin wiped her forehead and spoke gentle words to her. Mother was oblivious. I reached for her hand, squeezed it and caressed it. I kissed her on the cheek and was sure I felt her hand respond to mine.

  At last, the wailing stopped, to be replaced by a stillness that mimicked death so perfectly that I thought I had lost her.

  ‘Don’t worry, child, she is still fighting,’ whispered Mrs Jin. ‘Go back to bed now. You will need to be strong to help her.’

  I must have fallen into a deep sleep, for when I woke again Uncle had returned and was talking quietly to Mrs Jin.

  ‘Is she all right?’ I asked urgently, leaping from my bed.

  ‘She is sleeping peacefully,’ said Uncle.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness,’ I sobbed, and without even thinking I threw my arms round his waist and held him tight. ‘I was so scared she was going to die.’