by Lei Mi
Fang Mu nodded. "For sure."
"So, Yafan will be back shortly. Do you want to give them to her yourself?"
Fang Mu hastily waved his hands in refusal. "You go ahead."
"Me? I'm afraid that wouldn't be very appropriate." Teacher Zhou hefted the bags in his hands. "This girl's a smart one; she'd be able to tell at a glance that I wasn't the one who bought this stuff for her. Sister Zhao, Sister Zhao!"
Sister Zhao walked in, her hands held in front of her and dripping with soap suds. "What's the matter?"
"Give these to Liao Yafan. Tell her you bought them for her. But don't give them to her all at once; spread them out over a few times."
Sister Zhao moved closer and took a peek inside the paper bags, and then looked up at Fang Mu and laughed. "Little Fang, my hands are wet. Help me take them in to my room."
Fang Mu made a compliant sound, took the paper bags, and walked out.
Sister Zhao's room was not very big, and being on the shady side of the building it was quite dark. As soon as Fang Mu entered, the strong scent of smoke assaulted his nostrils. He looked around and placed the paper bags on top of the small single bed.
The room was simple and unadorned, containing only the bed, a chest of drawers, a small table, and two chairs. On top of the chest of drawers were two altar lamps and between them was an incense burner. Amid the heaped ash at its base flickered a few sticks of incense from which thick smoke curled lazily upward. Behind the incense burner, a boy's face was grinning at him from within a black picture frame.
Fang Mu moved closer to the chest of drawers and looked closely at the photograph of the boy. He looked to be no more than 10-year-old or so and in his eyes was a hint of shyness and a look of pretending to be more mature than he was. Traces of a slightly mischievous smile lingered in the corners of his mouth; whoever had taken the photo must have been a close relative, perhaps even Sister Zhao herself.
"That's Sister Zhao's son." At some point Teacher Zhou had walked in behind him. He came and stood next to Fang Mu, gazing at the photograph in front of them.
Fang Mu glanced at the doorway and asked in a low voice, "How…how old was this kid?"
"Eight."
"Illness?"
"No. Suicide."
Fang Mu was shocked. "Suicide?"
Teacher Zhou nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the photograph. After a long while, he sighed and picked up a few sticks of incense from on top of the chest of drawers. He used one of the alter lamps to light them, and then stuck them into the incense burner. The smoke, having grown weak, suddenly thickened.
At dusk, Teacher Zhou tried again to get Fang Mu to stay for dinner. This time he did not decline; he even volunteered to help Sister Zhao peel the potatoes. At first Sister Zhao felt bad and would not let Fang Mu help no matter what he said, but gave in to his repeated insistence. However, after he had peeled three potatoes, Sister Zhao refused to let him continue.
"You're peeling off too much potato with the skin. If you keep going, the amount you'll waste would be enough for a whole extra dish!"
Fang Mu had no choice but to switch to the least technical job she had for him—washing the potatoes.
"How come you're always eating potatoes here, anyways?" Fang Mu placed the washed potatoes one by one into the water basin, and soon had piled them two layers deep.
"We have no choice. They're cheap." Sister Zhao gathered her hair into a ponytail with her hands. "Old Zhou bought such a big plot of land for this orphanage, and now we're already just about broke. Plus, we don't get a lot of charity donations and regular financial assistance such as yours is even rarer. With so many children to feed, clothe, educate, and keep healthy, we have to save money where we can, you know?"
"Yes, of course." He nodded. "It must be hard for Teacher Zhou." He glanced around and whispered to Sister Zhao, "How come I've never met Teacher Zhou's wife?"
"Ah, I've asked him before. The old buzzard has never married; he's been flying solo his whole life."
"What?" He couldn't help but feel admiration. "I guess the old fellow's dedicated his life to these kids."
"Yes, he really is something." She gazed in the direction of the courtyard. Teacher Zhou was sitting in the middle of a flowerbed and in front of him was a little girl, crying with her knuckles held to her eyes. Teacher Zhou was patting her head and saying something soothing to her; the little girl kept nodding her head.
"He excels at giving people guidance. No matter how complex their troubles seem, after talking a while with Teacher Zhou they always come out feeling better." Sister Zhao turned back to Fang Mu, her voice softening. "To be able to meet a person like him in this lifetime, and to be blessed with a chance to work with him, I must have done something remarkable in a past life to deserve it."
He laughed and turned to look back at Teacher Zhou. More than half of the sun's disc had sunk below the horizon already. With his back to the sunset, Teacher Zhou's profile appeared plated with a thin layer of gold that seemed to glow in the deepening twilight. The little girl had stopped crying and a sweet smile had emerged between the tear stains that crisscrossed her oval face.
A girl suddenly jumped in through the kitchen doorway. Confronted with a stranger in the room, the naughty look in her eyes immediately vanished.
It was Liao Yafan, wearing a new pair of jeans. When she saw that the one washing potatoes was Fang Mu, she yelped in surprise, turned, and ran out.
Sister Zhao cursed and laughed. "That child is wound too tight."
A flustered Liao Yafan soon returned, her new jeans having been replaced with a pair of old track pants. Without a word, she grabbed a bowl full of potatoes and began to wash them, head down.
Fang Mu felt that awkwardness again. He walked over to the sink and washed his hands, and then returned to stand for a while in his original spot, after which he turned to walk outside into the courtyard. But before he left, he heard Liao Yafan whisper, "Thank you, Sister Zhao."
The number of children in the courtyard seemed to have abruptly multiplied. Most of them were skinny and wore plain, simple clothing, but the carefree expressions on their faces were no different from those worn by children who had grown up nestled in the arms of a mother and father. This was probably the liveliest time of day at the orphanage. Children who had just gotten out of school burned wholeheartedly through their last reserves of energy, and those children with disabilities, who had had to remain in the courtyard, did not hold back either; they sang out to their returning comrades with an enthusiasm that had accumulated inside them all day long. Everywhere there were children laughing, shouting, and chasing each other back and forth.
Fang Mu sat on a flower bed partition, smoking leisurely and feeling an unexplainable sense of relaxation. His gaze flitted over the children as they dashed past and smelled the fine dust they kicked up in their wake. He remembered that when he was little he, too, had found immense merriment in playing in the dirt like these children. It was pleasantly surprising to find that even in a time when internet cafes and gaming rooms were everywhere one looked, such a simple action as running could still bring such joy to the children.
He became aware that a small child was peering at him through the flowers and grass on the other side of the flower bed. Judging by the simple look and the pair of skewed eyes on his plump face, the child was mentally challenged in some way.
When the child discovered that Fang Mu was looking back at him, he laughed out loud, reached out a limp hand, and waved as hard as he could.
Fang Mu chuckled and waved back at him. Encouraged, the child waved again.
This went on a few more times before Fang Mu finally caught on that this child was actually trying to play a game of rock-paper-scissors with him, but at the same time he realized the kid only had two fingers on each hand. Fang Mu thought for a moment and then began to put out his hand with all five fingers spread in the "paper" formation.
This made the master of the "scissors" very happy, and with each
successive victory the boy's mouth widened in an overjoyed smile. He even ran a few steps into the flower bed and did a somersault, climbed hastily back to his feet, and continued playing with this fellow who kept putting out "paper" each time without fail.
The sky grew darker, and the child's hands became gradually more indistinct among the shadows from the flowers. Soon Fang Mu could no longer make them out; all he could hear were the excited giggles from his diminutive adversary.
Suddenly he sensed another person nearby. He turned to find Liao Yafan standing in the darkness a few yards away, silently watching him.
After a few seconds, she said softly, "Time to eat."
It was a very simple dinner: cabbage boiled tofu, hash browns, chili sauce, and steamed rice. Fang Mu was seated next to Teacher Zhou. Across from him sat Liao Yafan.
Liao Yafan herself did not eat quickly; she was holding a one-year-old disabled baby in her arms and feeding him one spoonful at a time. She let him lean against her chest, holding the spoon in her right hand and a handkerchief in her left, ready to catch any soup that might dribble out of the baby's mouth. Each time he swallowed, Liao Yafan took the opportunity to ladle a few bites of rice or soup and stuff them into her own mouth.
Apparently Fang Mu's willingness to stay for dinner had made Teacher Zhou quite happy. Perhaps because he felt apologetic that the meal was so simple, the old teacher went out of his way to pour a couple of shots of white liquor as recompense.
It was a fine liquor; even Fang Mu, who knew virtually nothing about quality drinking, felt each sip go down soft and mellow. Upon seeing Fang Mu smack his lips in appreciation, Teacher Zhou laughed and said, "It's Wuliangye."
"Ah. I've seriously never drank liquor this good before."
"Well, let me pour you a bit more then!"
"Oh, no thank you," Fang Mu said, quickly declining with a wave of his hand. "I still have to drive in a bit. Plus, you should save such fine alcohol as this for when you're entertaining important guests. Letting a layman like myself drink it up is just a waste."
Teacher Zhou held his shot glass level with both hands and took a delicate sip, holding it in his mouth a while before swallowing.
"Ah," he said slowly, savoring. "Back in the day, I drank Wuliangye like it was water; I had absolutely no appreciation for its flavor." He turned the tiny cup in his hands. "Now there aren't as many opportunities to drink, so when I do have a quality liquor, I can taste its mellowness. It seems to me that the best thing about an aftertaste is the instant it disappears."
A low chuckle came from Sister Zhao, a muffled sound around a mouthful of rice. "Old man, I'm guessing you didn't think so much of that stuff back when you had all that money, eh?"
"True," Teacher Zhou said with a laugh. He put his shot glass down and stared at the ceiling. "Now that I think of it, I really was wasteful back then."
"Grandpa Zhou?" A little boy picked a fat piece of meat from his soup bowl and crammed it into his mouth. "Did you used to be rich?"
"Yes, I did."
"How much money did you have?"
Teacher Zhou gave a small chuckle and smiled, spreading his hands wide. "A lot of money."
"So have you ever been on an airplane then?" a little girl asked.
"I sure have."
"Was it fun?"
"It was fun. But the first time Grandpa flew on an airplane, it about scared me to death. Such a huge object made of steel; and after a rock and a sway, it was suddenly in the air! I thought to myself, If this thing falls, I'm a goner."
The children laughed.
"So, have you been overseas?" another little girl asked.
"Yes, I have."
"Have you been to America?"
"Yes."
"What's America like? Our teacher says America's nice."
"It's very nice. But I prefer our country."
"Why?"
"Because you little darlings of mine aren't in America!" Teacher Zhou reached out and mock-pinched one of the little girls on the nose. She scrunched her nose and giggled.
"Tell us about being overseas, Grandpa Zhou."
"What's there to tell? Overseas is just overseas."
"Tell us… Tell us..." The children began to chant in unison.
Faced with a dozen or so eager pairs of eyes, Teacher Zhou's mood perked up. "All right, okay. Well, then I'll tell you about the university at which I once studied. It was called Harvard University; one of the best universities in the world. Back in those days, every day I went to class in a huge white building; the tallest building around..."
The children listened with relish. Of them, Liao Yafan listened the most earnestly, to the point that she even forgot to feed the baby she was holding. Her face was slightly flushed, and in her eyes there was a dreamlike look that seemed a mixture of longing and envy.
She was already completely equipped with an adult's cognitive faculties, Fang Mu realized.
Liao Yafan could not possibly avoid comparing her current living situation with the apparent paradise described by Teacher Zhou, and she just happened to be at an age most susceptible to fantasizing. But that was the cruelty of reality. Fang Mu's gaze fell on Liao to the girl's shabby, cheap track pants and his heart ached.
The baby in her arms, now long neglected, began to wail. As if awakened from a dream, Liao Yafan hurriedly shoved a spoonful of soup into his mouth, accidentally causing him to choke in the process. The explosion of sputtering and coughing caused Teacher Zhou to stop talking and hastily motion for Sister Zhao to tend to the baby. When Liao Yafan handed the child over to Sister Zhao, her eyes were still glued to Teacher Zhou as if hoping that he would continue telling his story.
But at that moment Teacher Zhou was more concerned with the baby. By the time the baby spat out a piece of tofu and finally stopped coughing, he had lost his train of thought, so he simply waved for everyone to hurry up and finish eating. With a disappointed look, Liao Yafan slowly raked the few remaining spoonfuls of rice and vegetables from her bowl into her mouth.
After the meal, Teacher Zhou brewed another pot of tea and asked Fang Mu to sit and chat for a while in the courtyard. The children all dispersed, finding places to do homework or play games. Carrying a large basin full of dirty dishes, Liao Yafan followed Sister Zhao into the kitchen.
It was quality tea, too. While savoring it, Fang Mu tried to fathom what Teacher Zhou's past identity and career had been. Perhaps because of having had liquor with the meal, Teacher Zhou was more talkative than usual.
"If things get better in the future, I'd like to build a library here... and build a girls' dormitory over there..." Teacher Zhou swept his hand in an arc in the direction of the courtyard as he spoke, as if he could already see a bright, orderly building where indicated.
Fang Mu smiled as he listened and did not interrupt.
Teacher Zhou talked on and on until he suddenly chuckled. "But I'm just thinking out loud here." He shook his head. "I'll be grateful just for these children to get educated and healthy enough to set foot into society."
Fang Mu mulled this over. "I imagine you'd have spent quite a chunk of money building this orphanage, yeah?"
"Uh-huh." Teacher Zhou nodded. "My whole life's savings are in this place"
Fang Mu did a quick mental calculation. A courtyard of a bit under 1000-square-yards, plus the little two-story building, would have cost a lot just on their own. Plus all the living expenses for everyone living there, such as food and clothing and so on—even if Teacher Zhou had been extremely wealthy, he probably would not have much left.
"Why not seek some social contributions?"
"Lots of people wanted to invest with me in the form of donations for these kids." Teacher Zhou laughed. "I haven't responded, because without exception, they all require that we allow them to use us for advertising. They tend to hold money in the one hand and a video camera in the other."
"If..." Fang Mu chose his words carefully. "...they could solve some practical difficulties, then putting on
a little show for them might not be such a big deal."
"No." Teacher Zhou's tone was quiet but firm. "They want the children to put on a look of politeness and modesty to curry favor with people. Indeed, they have money to give, but I cannot allow my children to grow up feeling like they are inferior to other people." He turned to face Fang Mu. "You ought to know that a person's childhood circumstances have an enormous effect on the rest of his life."
His gaze shifted to the small, brightly lit windows where the children were. "They've already been abandoned once. I want to do my very best to alleviate the harm that experience did to them. I hope that once they have entered society, they will be able to forget the suffering they endured when they were little."
Fang Mu understood. Teacher Zhou had founded the orphanage not only as a place where these children could live; his goal was to nurture them so that they could reintegrate into society with their dignity healthy and intact. He had to admire this seemingly ordinary old man sitting next to him.
"Can I…do anything to help you?"
Teacher Zhou guffawed, clapping Fang Mu solidly on the shoulder a few times. "You've already helped me heaps."
"I haven't done much," Fang Mu mumbled, blushing a little.
"No. You are the only person who has given be financial assistance without asking for anything in return." He looked into Fang Mu's eyes and said very earnestly, "I once lost my faith in humanity. But you have helped me find it again."
Fang Mu's face flushed a deeper red. In fact, he had already gotten something in return, years ago: one person's life. His financial assistance paled in comparison to that.
He glanced over the little two-story building. It was completely enveloped by the night already, and the faint light glowing outward from its tiny windows shone like pair after pair of warm eyes gazing mischievously at Fang Mu and Teacher Zhou.
His heart leapt. "Teacher Zhou, I have an idea."
"Oh? What's that?"
"You should consider giving this orphanage a name."
"A name? Why? I'm not planning on drumming up hype for this place or anything."
