by Shen CongWen
“That’s not true! If it were within my grasp to decide this matter, I’d agree right away!”
With that settled, the two went to see a new, three-cabin boat that Shunshun had just purchased. Meanwhile, things had been going on in Shunshun’s stilt house along River Street.
Cuicui had gone to sit near the daughter of the rich folk from the countryside. Her location was spectacular; everything out on the river was clearly visible from the window, but Cuicui felt a little ill at ease. The people who crowded around the other windows to see the excitement all seemed frequently to divert their gaze from the river to Cuicui and her company. Some even pretended to have some reason for passing by, when in fact they were just interested in sizing up these people Cuicui was sitting with. Cuicui felt uneasy. She just wanted an excuse to run away. Soon a cannon sounded out on the river and several boats that had assembled on the farther shore rowed straight toward them. Four boats took the lead in close formation, like four arrows shooting evenly through the water. Halfway across, two had already gone ahead of the others, and a little later, one of those pulled into the lead. As the spectators saw it reach the customs house, another cannon shot announced the victory. One could begin to make out that the winning boat was the one belonging to River Street. Congratulatory firecrackers were heard all around. The victors rowed past the stilt houses of River Street, their drum pounding as crowds along the streets and in the dangling foot houses shouted out joyous congratulations. Cuicui noticed that the red-turbaned young man standing firmly in the prow, brandishing the little flag that gave the crew directions, was none other than No. 2—the one who had returned the gourd of wine to Green Creek Hill. Her mind flashed back to events two years earlier. “A big fish might eat you!” “Whether it eats me or not, it’s no concern of yours!” “All right, I won’t worry about it!” “Hey, dog, save your barks for those who are worth it!” At that, Cuicui remembered the yellow dog that had come with her. She’d long since lost him, so she got up from her place and searched all over the house, completely forgetting the young man in the prow of the boat.
As she looked for her dog in the crowd, she overheard some conversations.
A woman with a broad face asked, “Whose family is she from, to get that prime seat in front of a window at Shunshun’s house?”
Another woman responded, “She’s the daughter of the country gentleman Wang up in one of the stockades. They say they came to see the boats, but really they’re here to look over people—and be looked at! They must be something, to merit such a good place!”
“Who’s come to look at whom?”
“Goodness, don’t you know—that country gentleman wants his daughter to marry into Shunshun’s family.”
“Who might they want to betroth to her? No. 1 or No. 2?”
“No. 2. Just wait, and we’ll see this Yue Yun come up and pay respects to his future mother-in-law!”
Another woman cut in: “The match is made, and it’s a good one! The girl brings as dowry a brand-new mill by the river, which can do the work of ten hired laborers.”
Someone asked, “What does No. 2 think about that?”
Yet another person whispered, “No. 2 said, ‘I don’t need to look at her. To start with, I don’t want to be a miller!’”
“Did you hear Yue Yun say that?”
“That’s what someone told me. They also said that No. 2 likes that girl at the ferry.”
“He’s no dummy; if he doesn’t want to be a miller, would he really want to be a ferryman?”
“Who knows? Anyway, as the saying goes, ‘People eat what they like, even beef with chives.’ A ferryboat needn’t be any worse than a grain mill!”
They were all looking at the river as they gossiped, so no one noticed that Cuicui was right behind them.
Cuicui went away, her face burning with embarrassment, only to hear another pair of women talking about these same things. “Everything is settled. They’re just waiting for No. 2 to give the word.” And, “Just from the spirit that No. 2 showed in today’s race, you could almost guess that he got it from a young maiden watching him from onshore!”
Who was this young maiden who so moved No. 2?
Cuicui was too short to see over the people and take in the river scenes now. It was only from the swelling of the drumbeats as they drew nearer and more frantic, and the rise in hubbub from the crowd onshore, that she realized that No. 2’s boat had rowed up to the house. People upstairs in the house were cheering, too, and calling out No. 2’s name; over by the rich lady from the countryside, they were setting off strings of hundred-pop firecrackers. Suddenly there arose other shouts, of astonishment and dismay, as a crowd of people went out the door to go down to the river. Not knowing what had gone wrong, Cuicui felt a little confused. She didn’t know whether to go back to her original seat or keep standing in back of the spectators. But just then a tray full of zongzi and fine cakes was set before the rich country lady and her little miss, so Cuicui felt uncomfortable going back there. She decided to squeeze out the door and see what was going on by the river. A passageway next to a salt company led from River Street down to the water, under overhanging beams and rafters. She emerged head-on into a crowd of people swarming around No. 2 in his red turban. He had slipped and fallen into the water, but made his way out on his own. Cuicui dodged to get out of the way, but the path was so narrow that she still found herself elbow-to-elbow with the oncoming surge of people. No. 2 spotted Cuicui and said,
“Cuicui, you came! Did your grandfather come, too?”
Her face flushed crimson, Cuicui was too embarrassed to speak. She thought to herself, “Where has my yellow dog run off to?”
No. 2 continued:
“Why not go up to my house to watch the proceedings? I told them to save you a good seat.”
Cuicui thought to herself: “A mill for a dowry—how fine is that?”
No. 2 couldn’t persuade Cuicui to go back, so they went their separate ways. When she got to the river, her young heart was filled with feelings she could not understand. Was she annoyed? No! Worried? Not that, either. Happy, then? No, what would she be happy about? Angry, perhaps. Yes, that was it, she seemed to be angry at someone, and also at herself. It was so crowded there by the river. In the shallow waters by the docks, in the rigging and on the awnings of the boats, even among the support columns of the stilt houses, people were everywhere. Cuicui mumbled to herself: “Why all the commotion? Did somebody find a three-legged cat?” She had hoped to find her grandfather on one of the boats, but after checking them all, she found no sign of him. She jostled her way down to the riverbank and spotted the yellow dog enjoying the excitement with one of Shunshun’s laborers in an empty boat a few yards from shore. Cuicui called him twice in a shrill voice. The yellow dog pricked up his ears and head, looking all around, before bounding into the river and swimming to Cuicui. Soaked by the time he got to her, he shook himself and jumped up and down without cease, until Cuicui shouted, “Enough! What is this craziness, dog? Your boat didn’t turn over. Who asked you to jump into the water?”
Cuicui and the yellow dog looked for Grandpa everywhere. They ran into him in front of a lumber store on River Street.
The old ferryman said, “Cuicui, I’ve just seen a first-rate grain mill! The millstone is new and so is the waterwheel—even the roof thatching is fresh! The dam releases water in such a raging torrent that when the sluice gate is pulled up, it gets the waterwheel to spinning like a top.”
“Whose mill is it?” Cuicui asked, a little affectedly.
“Whose mill? Why, Squire Wang’s, who lives up in the mountains at Middle Stockade, the militia captain. I’ve heard tell that it will be his daughter’s dowry. Now that’s extravagance for you. Building it cost them seven hundred strings of cash, not including the windmill or the furnishings!”
“Who’s going to marry his daughter?”
Grandpa looked at Cuicui and forced a smile. “A big fish is going to bite you. He’ll bite you.”
“No. 2, Yue Yun!” Grandpa said, also muttering to himself. “Some people envy No. 2 for getting the mill; others envy the mill for getting No. 2!”
“Who’s envious, Grandfather?”
“I’m envious,” Grandpa said, with a smile.
Cuicui said, “Grandfather, you’re drunk.”
“But No. 2 says you’re very pretty.”
Cuicui: “Grandfather, you’re crazy.”
Grandpa said, “Your grandfather is not drunk and he’s not crazy. Come on, let’s go down to the river and see them release the ducks. Too bad I’m too old to dive in and catch one to bring home and cook in a pot with ginger.” He wanted to add: “If No. 2 catches a duck, he’ll give it to us.” But before he could say it, up came No. 2. He stood before Cuicui and smiled. Cuicui smiled back.
The three of them went back up to the house on stilts.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A man arrived at Green Creek Hill bearing gifts. Dockmaster Shunshun had indeed asked a matchmaker to go to the ferry to seek matrimonial relations for his first son. Flustered, the old ferryman brought him across the creek and into the house. Cuicui, who was shelling peas outside by the door, at first paid the guest little attention. But when she heard the matchmaker say, “Congratulations, congratulations,” at the door, she began to worry. Unwilling to squat by the front door any longer, she pretended to be shooing away the chickens in the vegetable garden. Flailing a bamboo whistling pole in the air, she softly scolded them as she ran toward the white pagoda in back.
The visitor made small talk. When they got around to the matter at hand, namely Shunshun’s initiative, the old ferryman didn’t know how to respond. He could only rub his big, calloused hands together, as if he couldn’t believe it. The expression on his face seemed to say: “Fine, this is wonderful,” yet the old man said not a word in reply.
When the visitor finished, he asked Grandpa what he thought about it. The old ferryman smiled and nodded: “So No. 1 wants to make the chariot’s move, that’s just fine. But I must ask Cuicui, to get her reaction.” After he had seen off the visitor, Grandpa stood in the prow of the boat and called Cuicui down to the river for a talk.
Bringing a pan of peas down with her to the stream, Cuicui boarded the boat and asked her grandpa, with all the charm she could muster, “Grandfather, what is it?” Grandpa smiled in silence. Tilting his hoary white head, he looked at Cuicui for a long time. Cuicui sat down in the boat, a little taken aback. She bent over to continue shelling her peas when she heard the call of a yellow finch from the bamboo grove. Cuicui thought: “The days are growing longer, and Grandfather is taking longer to get his words out, too.” Her heart was gently pounding.
After another pause, Grandpa said: “Cuicui—Cuicui—do you know what that visit was all about?”
Cuicui answered, “No, I don’t.” But her face and neck flushed crimson.
Observing all this, Grandpa sensed Cuicui’s anxiety and looked up far away across the sky. In the mist he saw Cuicui’s mother as she was fifteen years earlier, and his heart melted. He said, under his breath, “Every boat needs a berth, and every sparrow needs a nest.” He began to think about the unhappy fate of Cuicui’s mother. His heart ached and he smiled with difficulty.
And Cuicui—Cuicui was thinking about so many things, amid the calls of the finches and cuckoo birds in the mountains and the chops of lumbermen felling bamboos in the valleys. Stories of tigers eating people, and the mountain songs people sang to belittle and make fun of each other, the square pit in which papermakers mixed their pulp, the molten iron that flowed out of a foundry smelting furnace—she felt compelled to recollect everything her ears had heard and her eyes had seen. It seemed to be her way of putting aside the present matter and wishing it away. And yet she misunderstood what was really going on.
Grandpa said: “Cuicui, Fleetmaster Shunshun’s family invited a matchmaker to ask for you as their daughter-in-law. They sought my permission. But I’m old. I might pass from the scene a couple of years from now, so it’s not fit for me to delay things. This is all about you. You think it over and you give me your decision. If you’re willing, then it’s settled. If not, that’s all right, too.”
Cuicui had no idea what to do. Pretending to be unruffled, she timidly eyed her old grandpa. She didn’t feel like asking for an explanation, and certainly not like giving an answer.
Grandpa added: “No. 1 is a man of good prospects. He’s fair-minded and generous. If you marry him, you can say you’re blessed with good fate!”
Cuicui understood for the first time: the intended match was with No. 1! She didn’t raise her head. Her heart beat fast and her face burned as she went on shelling her peas, from time to time throwing empty pods into the creek and watching them drift slowly downstream, as if she had calmed down.
Grandpa responded to Cuicui’s silence with a smile. “Cuicui, it’s fine if you want to think it over for a few days. Luoyang Bridge wasn’t built overnight. You’ve got time. When No. 1 came the time before, he spoke to me about this and I told him then: chariots have to move like chariots, and horsemen like horsemen, according to the rules. If his father was going to take charge of this, he had to have a matchmaker do it according to custom—that’s how chariots move; if he wanted to take charge of it himself, he had to go up into the bamboo grove on the bluffs across the creek and sing for you, three years and six months—that’s the horseman’s move. If you prefer the horseman’s move, I’m sure he’ll sing passionate songs during the day and tender ones in the moonlight, like a nightingale, singing his throat out until he spits blood!”
Cuicui remained silent. She felt like crying, but for no apparent reason. Grandpa got to talking again, and now he came to Cuicui’s dead mother. After a while, he fell silent. Dipping her head in sadness, Cuicui could see tears in her grandpa’s eyes. Upset and afraid, she fearfully asked him, “Grandfather, what’s the matter?” Without saying a word, Grandpa clumsily wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. He jumped ashore and ran home, giggling like a little boy.
Upset, Cuicui couldn’t bring herself to run after him.
As it cleared up after the rain, the sun beat down painfully on people’s backs and shoulders. The reeds and water-willow shrubs by the creek, like the vegetables in the garden, ran riot, bearing a hint of wild vitality. Green grasshoppers flew among the thick grasses, their wings setting a stir in the wind. Newly emerged cicadas on the branches had not yet set up a din, but their noise was gradually strengthening. In the stunning verdure of the emerald bamboo groves on the mountains, yellow finches, bamboo finches, and cuckoos sang in turn. Cuicui looked and listened, took it all in, and also reflected:
“Grandfather is seventy this year…three years and six months—who gave us that white duck?…what luck to get that mill, or is the mill even luckier to get him?…”
In her own little world, she stood up abruptly, spilling half her pan of peas into the creek. As she retrieved the pan from the water, someone hailed the ferry from the other shore.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next day, Cuicui was in the vegetable garden below the white pagoda again when Grandpa asked for her decision. Her heart still pounding, she bowed her head as if she hadn’t heard and went on picking her scallions. Grandpa smiled and thought: “I’d better wait till later. If I keep at her, she’ll pick every scallion in sight!” Yet he also sensed something strange in her manner. He couldn’t very well continue in this vein, so he stifled his words and changed the subject with a contrived joke.
The weather was warming day by day. It was hot by the time the sixth month drew near. The old ferryman found time to drag a black earthenware vat covered with dust out of the corner of the house and piece together some wood slats to make a round lid for it. He also took out his saw and made a tripod stand, whittled a big bamboo tube as a lad
le for dipping out tea, then tied it to the vat with kudzu vine. After he’d moved this vat out the door to the stream bank, Cuicui would boil a big pot of water every morning to make tea. Sometimes she’d add tea leaves; other times, she’d just drop in some burned crusts from their cooked rice. The old ferryman, as was his custom, prepared native cures from roots and tree bark to heal sunstroke, stomachaches, blisters, and sores. He kept these medicines close at hand. The moment he saw a passenger who didn’t look right, he’d press the traveler to try his remedies, relating the source of his many prescriptions (it went without saying that he learned them from the medics and spirit healers in town). Bare-armed the day long, he stood firm in his square-nosed ferryboat, often bare-headed, too, his short, white hair shining like silver in the sunlight. Cuicui acted happy, running around outside the house singing. When not on the move, she sat in front of the house on the high bluffs, in the shade, playing her little bamboo flute. Grandfather acted as if he had completely forgotten No. 1’s marriage proposal, so of course Cuicui did, too.
But before long the matchmaker returned to sound them out. As before, Grandpa relegated the matter to Cuicui and sent the go-between back. Later he had another talk with Cuicui, again without any resolution.
The old ferryman couldn’t guess what the obstacle was, or how to fix it. He’d lie in bed, mulling it over until finally it began to occur to him that perhaps Cuicui loved the younger brother, not the elder. That made him smile, an unnatural smile from fear. In truth he was a little worried, because it suddenly occurred to him that Cuicui was like her mother in every way. He had a vague feeling that mother and daughter would share the same fate. Events of the past swarmed into his mind and he could no longer sleep. He ran out the door alone, onto the high bluffs by the creek. He looked up at the stars and listened to the katydids and sounds of the other insects, constant as rain. He could not sleep for a very long time.
