Colors of the Mountain

by Da Chen

  She smiled.

  I was the only one from the town of Yellow Stone to register as an English major; only eight others in the commune were taking that major. So the National Examination Commission decided to lump us together and have all nine of us take the entire three-day exam in the city of Putien, where our final subject exam, English, was to be given.

  Mom carefully prepared a large plate of fried rice noodles with leeks, oysters, and eggs, along with some meat soup, for my breakfast. She said the rice noodles were crisp, and so should all my tests be. Dad slipped a roll of money into my pocket tightly held by rubber bands, about ten yuan in total. It was surely the last pot of money left in our family, unless it had been borrowed. I looked at Dad. His wizened face had the kindest smile. He searched for something to say but was at a loss, and so he squeezed my shoulder, then turned away. I felt my eyes moisten.

  Everyone in my family silently watched me pack a foldable bamboo mat, a sack of rice, my chopsticks, a rice pot, two bags of books, and some clothes. My youngest sister, Huang, was pumping air into a borrowed old bike. She would be giving me a ride to Putien. It felt as if they were sending me off to the battlefield, a place so far away that my family couldn’t be with me. There was an inner sadness, but I didn’t show it. I was sixteen. I threw my luggage over my back, pushed out my chest, and smiled broadly at everyone. I wanted to tell them by my actions that I was brave and ready to take on the enemy.

  Right before I stepped into the street, I turned and ran upstairs to my window. I knelt down and begged my grandfather to come with me to Putien and watch over me as I wrote the answers. He had loved me so deeply and had expected so much of me. It was he who had taught me the first strokes of calligraphy, his hands over mine. I needed him now more than ever. I told him that I would do honor to his name and that all his sufferings at the end of his life were not in vain because they had given me strength and would be the basis of all my success. Tears filled my eyes as I called on his spirit again and again.

  On the way to Putien, Huang and I talked for a while, then I took out my flash cards to review the English conjugations. I remembered them so well I was sick of them, but I was terrified my memory might suddenly fail and all that knowledge disappear without a trace. We arrived at Hillside High School at the edge of Putien after three hours of hard pedaling against a head wind. The school was temporarily converted into a camp for the test-takers from around the county. I followed the sign and found my name on the door of a dark classroom. I settled in and sent my sister home before sunset.

  It was a zoo. At least a thousand students were bunking there for the next three days. The kitchen was overcrowded. I had put my rice pot in the steamer in the afternoon; it took me half an hour to locate it at dinnertime. I ate my cold rice with dried fish on the lawn in the playground and stared at the stars. I had intended to do some studying before going to sleep, but it was impossible. There was no light, no room, and I was constantly surrounded by a mob of mosquitoes. Like the city people, the mosquitoes here were sleazy. Their snouts drilled like needles and their sting stayed with you for a long time.

  My room had a dim fifteen-watt lightbulb, two tiny windows, a dirt floor, dirty walls, and thirty sleepers. We were a bunch of strangers, but our backs were rubbing against each other. Lying there, we looked like a raft stitched together with old rope. The guy on my left came from the mountains and didn’t believe in washing his body too often. Sweat was the least of the foul smells coming from him. The diminutive guy on my left farted throughout the night, and had the runs. And the mosquitoes buzzed all night long. When I woke the next morning I found numerous bites all over my body, including two on my eyelid.

  Daylight finally came. I crept to a quiet spot and knelt down for a brief prayer, then fought my way through the kitchen, this time easily finding my rice pot. The trick was to put it in late and get it out early. I slowly swallowed half the rice I had steamed and left the other half uneaten.

  The first test was Chinese. I was ready.

  At seven-thirty, a man led the nine of us English majors on a mile-long hike. We found our test site at the top of a hill and waited outside like runners at the starting line, ready to dash as soon as the bell rang. Rich kids arrived with their bigshot daddies in cars that left a dusty trail. City boys had long greased hair, fashionable clothes; the girls had long silky legs, partially covered by flowing skirts. I wore a yellowed cutoff shirt, a straw hat, shorts, and was barefoot. Nobody looked my way, as if they had sized me up in a second and immediately dismissed me as an ignorant country bumpkin in the wrong crowd. But I stood there, bare feet and all, sure of what I knew. Nobody said I couldn’t take the test because I wore shabby clothes and had no shoes. Before the test, all were equal. Besides, I was dressed in my Sunday best.

  It was fifteen minutes to test time. I saw frightened looks on the faces of hundreds of test-takers crowding beside me. White-robed nurses were walking around, waiting for people to collapse; they were ready to scoop them into a waiting ambulance. The cops were wearing loaded firearms to quell possible unrest. I wondered why. Did we look like a bunch of looters?

  I was thirsty, dizzy, weak, tired, and felt the need to go to the bathroom again despite having visited it only five minutes ago. I closed my eyes and prayed in silence as I waited in agony for the time to pass. Grandpa, dear Grandpa, help me now.

  The bell brought me back to reality. I ran into my test room, sat in my numbered seat, and closed my eyes again before opening my sealed questions. I felt like puking. My hands were trembling.

  The proctor, a bespectacled bald man, nodded at me with a kind smile.

  “You may start now,” he said.

  I broke the seal with my pen. As I focused my eyes on the first question, there was a sudden rush of blood to my head. My mind went blank, and I had to grit my teeth and grip my table to let the feeling pass. No wonder some people were carried out by ambulance. I didn’t want to be one of them. Slowly, the darkness receded. I read and reread the question and wrote down the first answer of the day.

  The test lasted for four hours and ended with a long composition that was worth 45 percent of the test. I came out smiling to myself. The first thing I did was head for a quiet corner to kneel and thank all the good gods who had helped me through this first test.

  I saw others, strangers to each other, chatting and talking excitedly. I didn’t want to get involved. It was over.

  I stayed on the hilltop under a tall tree, munched on some dried fish, drank some water, and reviewed my history flash cards. There was a guard sitting near me. I gave him a Flying Horse and asked him to wake me if he found me dozing off and to make sure I wasn’t late for the test. At ten minutes to two, I put away my history book and looked for signs of the guard. He was snoring away like a buffalo, his lips twitching. Obviously he was having an erotic dream of some sort. Too many young females taking the test were wearing too many enticing skirts.

  I smiled from ear to ear when I opened my history paper. Peking Man had guessed two of the four questions. Each would bring me 15 percent of the total score. I let out an animal cry of ecstasy as I left the room, then danced down the stairs. Others watched as though I were crazy. Long live the Peking Man!

  I knew all the answers and had had plenty of time to check every nuance of the questions, as Peking Man had taught us to do, analytically and clearly. I wanted to take a picture of him and frame it above my college bunk bed and pray to him. He was almost a god. They should at least make him a local god of Yellow Stone High and give him whatever he wanted from life.

  That evening I ate twice as much as the day before. I was halfway through, only three more subjects to go.

  I sailed through the second day like a sleek sailboat. At noon, Mom and Dad dispatched my sisters, Ke and Huang, to bring me some fruit. They went to my dorm. Since nobody knew where I was, they kicked dust and hiked uphill to the top, inquiring around and asking the lazy guard.

  “The barefoot boy?” he asked my siste
rs. They nodded and he took them to my spot under the tree.

  I was so glad to see them. There were tears in their eyes, they had been terribly worried when they couldn’t find me. Now they had discovered me studying at high noon under the hot sun. It hurt them to see this, because they loved me. I told them I was having a ball. They laughed at seeing me so happy about the tests. I asked them about Jin. They said he was doing all right. I ate half a delicious watermelon at their urging, slurping it down quickly. They were pleased when they left.

  The English test came last, and it came as no surprise. I knew every word and irregular conjugation. There was a long translated article about a magic ring story. I had never felt as confident in an examination before. The large bag of exercises given to me by Professor Wei covered all the questions and more. I wanted to hug her and tell her she should become a goddess too, and that I would frame her picture and worship it every day.

  When I walked out of the test room for the last time, my burden dropped to the ground. I was free.

  Even the city folks began to look okay to me. I was ready to hug and embrace anyone when I saw my brother looking for me. I ran over to him and we shook hands frantically.

  “How did you do?” he asked.

  “Couldn’t have done better,” I said, out of breath.

  He had come to pick me up and share all the details of the experience we had come through together. We forgot about our fatigue and talked, laughed, smoked, and talked some more. We compared answers, thinking that we had gotten about 85 percent right. We were ecstatic.

  We rode home in the fading sunlight. The breeze was gentle, the air cool. Our hearts were light. My brother had become my best friend. We had fought together and won. At least in our hearts we knew that we had won.

  When we finally reached home that night, the whole family had been holding dinner for us. I didn’t realize how much I had missed them till I saw them again. I quickly ran upstairs to thank the gods, jumped into the river for a brief swim, then sat with the whole family around our large table and chatted until midnight. That night the moon was so big and round, hanging only a few feet above the treetops, that I felt as if I could reach out and touch it. The gentle moonlight filled me with hope and warmth. With a thankful heart, I went to sleep smiling.

  The next day I woke up to the painful twisting of my ears and nose. I tried to get up but my legs were pinned down. I opened my eyes to see my four friends, making ugly faces as they tried to wake me up.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I rubbed my eyes.

  “We’re taking you hunting, college man,” Siang said. “I heard you did well in the tests.”

  “Yeah, everyone’s talking about it.” Mo Gong gave my ear another twist.

  “We’re gonna take you out for a day of fun.” Yi pulled my quilt off and lay beside me.

  Sen was nudging my behind with the butt of his hunting rifle. “Wake up. We’ve got catching up to do. Who knows, you’re probably gonna be outta here in no time.”

  I was surprised that Mom and Dad had sent them to my room, which was in the innermost recess of our house, and also by the fact that my buddies didn’t seem the least upset about the letter I had sent Yi a couple of months ago.

  “I was having such a good time taking the tests in Putien,” I said, pulling my shirt on. “You should have seen the girls sitting next to me. Short skirts and really nice white legs.”

  “Slow down there, my friend. You sat next to a pretty gal for the whole three days? Did she smile at you?” Mo Gong was a die-hard romantic.

  “She did whenever she had difficulty answering a question,” I said.

  “And did you give it to her?”

  “No way.”

  “Well, Da, that’s stupid. Otherwise we could be on our way to visit her today. Wouldn’t it have been lovely? Success plus women. It’s your loss.”

  We all burst into laughter. Mo Gong seemed sincerely sad about it.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty to choose from. We’ll help you find the best,” Sen said.

  “You guys never sent me a letter back,” I said to Yi.

  “We didn’t know you were into the letter-writing business.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know? What do you mean?” He laughed, not knowing what this was about.

  “Well, I sent a letter to you a while ago.”

  “A letter to Yi and nothing to us?” Sen joked. “What was it about?”

  “Yeah, what was it about?” Yi asked.

  “Well, that’s another thing I wanted to talk to you guys about. I wrote the letter because I was concerned about a rumor. Remember the money?”

  “Oh, yeah, the money,” Siang said. “You know, Da, someone was trying to smear my dad’s reputation. The shoe factory’s money was returned to the treasurer’s office a few days after it was stolen. No one confessed to anything, but the case was over.”

  “Who returned the money? And how?” I asked.

  Siang shook his head innocently. “Someone broke into the office at night and put the money back. Not a cent missing and there was no word. The investigation was over a long time ago.”

  “I’m really glad.”

  My friends were quiet. It was time to change the subject.

  I spent the whole day shooting birds in the thick woods, eating fruit, and smoking. Sen had brought a bottle of liquor that we passed around. Mo Gong was a little woozy after a few greedy gulps. We sent him to pick up the fallen birds. At one point, he stumbled into wet mud, and almost sank into a mudhole. We had to pull him out. Then he rolled on the ground till dried leaves stuck all over his body, and started dancing around like an aborigine, singing weird tunes that sounded like Japanese folk songs. I threw more leaves on him and he danced even more madly. Sen passed the bottle to him and he finished it off. Totally drunk, he started to laugh so heartily that it began to sound like crying. Then he collapsed on the floor, still in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. We had to kick him to stop his craziness. Then we carried him to the middle of a wooden bridge, and dropped him into the Dong Jing River. He continued laughing until he sank beneath the water.

  We applauded, expecting to see him jump up like a fish for air. But one minute passed, then two. We looked at each other.

  “Don’t worry. He’s fooling us this time.” Sen was calm.

  “He could never hold his breath for that long,” I said.

  “He’s a better swimmer than you are.”

  “But he could be dead. He’s drunk, remember.”

  “Even a drunk is always 30 percent clearheaded. Don’t let him fool you,” Yi said.

  “The guy is dying! Do something! I’m going down there.” I took off my shirt and jumped into the water. My actions brought them all to the edge.

  Suddenly, Mo Gong shot up like a fish and let out a wild cry. “I got you!”

  “See, I told you,” Sen said.

  Mo Gong swam to the edge. “I saw it all. Da was the most worried about me. Not you guys. If I’d come up and saw you still there on the bridge, smiling, I woulda quit being your friends. I really liked that, Da. Your shorts are soaked.”

  We splashed water all over him and forced him into the river again.

  The day’s fun ended on a sad note. Siang, in his carelessness, missed a bird and the tiny bullet went into the shoulder of a woman who was passing by. She hadn’t even been aware of it. There’d been a sharp sting and a small pearl of blood had appeared. We all went to apologize. The woman grabbed Siang’s collar and threatened to kill him with the bamboo pole she was carrying.

  When she calmed down, we asked her whether it hurt. She shook her head.

  Sen came over and made a deal with her. He gave her a hundred yuan; the woman was nodding and bowing to him as she left, almost singing.

  “That’s sick, Sen.”

  “Hey, we won the money. You know, like we promised that day?”

  “How much?”

  “Thousands.” There was a gleam of devio
us delight in their eyes. My friends were getting dangerous.

  Jin’s mood waxed and waned in a daily cycle. Some days he thought he had scored well, other days he thought he had drilled holes in the boat and was sinking. For the moment, he threw himself into farm work. On a good day, he would hum and whistle, digging the field in readiness for the autumn bean season. He was the amicable old Jin everyone liked. On a bad day, he would stay in bed really late, the quilt over his head, thinking of all the questions he had missed. He used the abacus in his head and crunched the total score of his tests. But the more he crunched, the lower his scores got. He made himself miserable. We called it the Cousin Tan factor.

  In the evening, I sat with him in our backyard and chatted. Mom and Dad had given me the job of encouraging him. They didn’t want to see him turn into a nut. I would pull out our bamboo abacus and play with my estimate of his scores as he remembered them. When he said 70 percent, I threw in a modest 5 percent markup. In the end, the total looked fine. He was surprised by my estimate, and wondered how I did it. I told him he was too hard on himself, then I’d go to our kitchen and pour some locally brewed liquor for him. Resistant at first, he would drink it nonetheless. It would loosen him up, and we and the rest of the family would sit talking in the moonlight, late into the night.

  I was the opposite. My own estimate of my scores kept going up. Everyone in the family laughed at me. It was a pure gut feeling, but they believed me and were glad for me. No one stopped me from climbing my ladder of dreams.

  On the farm, Jin was given a nickname of Fang Jin. It came from a well-known historical satire. Fang Jin lived hundreds of years ago. He was a poor farmer who dreamed of one day passing the government civil service test held every four years to elect officials. The top scorers sometimes ended up marrying the emperor’s daughter. Lesser ones became governors of provinces and counties. Fang Jin starved himself and studied all day in his humble shack. He had taken the test five times and failed every time. By the time he took the sixth test, he was in his forties, bony, frail, and sick-looking. To everyone’s surprise, he scored so high the emperor picked him to be the governor of the county. The job promised wealth and fame. But when the messengers from the emperor arrived at his humble residence with trumpets and drums and firecrackers, Fang Jin did not appear to receive the honor.