by Cole Reid
“What are you studying at Qingshan?” asked Li Xing.
“Economics,” said Xiaofeng.
“You like it?” asked Li Xing.
“It makes sense,” said Xiaofeng.
“Not always,” said Li Xing.
“What do you mean?” asked Xiaofeng.
“Well, it depends on who you are,” said Li Xing.
“How so?” asked Xiaofeng.
“Well the economics for the boss is always different than economics for the guy on the ground,” said Li Xing.
“How would you know that?” said Baba, “You’ve never been the boss.”
“You always know when you work for the boss,” said Li Xing, “You see what he wears and what you wear and he wears the better clothes. That’s Hong Kong. You see what the boss drives and maybe you take the bus. That’s economics.”
“What do you do in Hong Kong?” asked Xiaofeng.
“I’m an assistant manager at a factory,” said Li Xing.
“What type of factory?” asked Xiaofeng.
“We process seafood and wholesale,” said Li Xing.
“You sell to restaurants?” asked Xiaofeng
“Very little, we mostly sell to hotels,” said Li Xing.
“So you’re really in the hotel business,” said Xiaofeng.
“Sort of,” said Li Xing.
“Well, the hotels buy from you, so your business depends on the hotels’ business,” said Xiaofeng.
“The hotel market in Hong Kong is solid, trust me,” said Li Xing.
“How was your day Xiaoyu?” asked Mama. Xiaoyu looked up from his bowl of food and looked around the table before speaking.
“It was ok,” said Xiaoyu. Mama knew better than to pry too much, but she wanted the boy to get used to speaking to people besides his sister. She worried about him becoming a social misfit.
“Tell me one thing interesting that you learned today,” said Mama.
“The Siberian high pressure system is responsible for the dry, cold winters in North-East China,” said Xiaoyu, without looking up from his bowl.
The table went silent. No one knew what to make of Xiaoyu’s behavior. He wasn’t being unresponsive. But he saw no reason to pretend he was included in the circle. He had to eat, so he ate. No one could force him to talk. The conversation at the table was boring. Baba tried to shed some wisdom onto the younger members of the family—he failed. An onlooker would have discovered the true depth of his failure. Li Xing and Xiaofeng gave him a passive ear because he provided for them both at one time or another. Xiaoyu saw him for what he really was, a man trying to live vicariously—a man who hid from his own frailty by focusing on the mistakes and misfortunes of others. When Xiaoyu finished his food, he took his empty bowl to the kitchen and washed it, along with his chopsticks. He replaced his porcelain bowl in the glass cabinet and returned to the bedroom. The table sat silent for a full two minutes after Xiaoyu left. It wasn’t for his sake that the table was silent, only no one knew how to break the silence. Xiaofeng decided she would speak for fear that Baba would take the opportunity to say something negative about Xiaoyu.
“You did a good job on the eggplant Laolao,” said Xiaofeng, “Thank you for teaching me how to make it.”
“One day you can make it for your family,” said Mama.
“This is my family,” said Xiaofeng.
“One day you may have a family of your own,” said Mama.
“Don’t worry Xiaofeng, Baba gave me the same suggestion when he picked me up,” said Li Xing.
“Well, one of you is going to have to add branches to the family,” said Baba.
“Let Xiaoyu do it,” said Li Xing, just to see what his father would say.
Baba made a noise that was hard to interpret. Realizing that Li Xing seemed to enjoy taking shots at him, Baba resigned himself to be careful about what he told his son.
“So how do you like Hong Kong?” asked Xiaofeng.
“It’s got what you need in a big city,” said Li Xing, “You’ve got the lights, the big buildings, restaurants, theatres, everything. You also have little places that are quite charming. Little bars where the pianist is just amazing but he’s a bit fat or old and they don’t want him in the more stylish places.”
“The city seems to have its share of joy and sadness,” said Xiaofeng, “Like Kuandian.”
“You’ll find that everywhere, you won’t escape it anywhere,” said Li Xing.
“That’s something I guessed at, but never wanted to admit,” said Xiaofeng.
“You’re not admitting it,” said Li Xing, “I’m admitting it for you.”
Xiaofeng smiled to herself. She saw pieces of her mother in her uncle. Li Xing was the second to leave the table and in the same fashion as Xiaoyu. He returned to his room and closed the door. Baba left the table shortly after Li Xing, which left Xiaofeng and Mama—the women. They were the slowest eaters. Their temperaments were the slowest burning, so they didn’t have to rush to feed the furnace. The men had made quick work of their meals; it wasn’t nourishment, only fuel to burn. But the women were indulgent. They paid attention. They knew the flavor of the food, for the men the flavor was absent, much like the moment. Xiaofeng savored the moment and its flavor, especially the taste of it with Mama’s presence. She held a special place for her brother always, but the moments with Mama brought a needed symmetry. Xiaofeng had never fully recovered from her mother’s death, nor would she. She saw herself and Mama as bookends. Mama had been there at the beginning of Qiu’s life. Xiaofeng had been the product of that life, accordingly, she was there at the end. They sat and fed themselves and understood how deserving the moment was, for Qiu—not them.
“Laolao,” said Xiaofeng.
“Yes, Xiaofeng,” said Mama.
“How are you?” asked Xiaofeng.
“I’m good, you?” said Mama.
“I don’t know really,” said Xiaofeng.
“What do you mean?” asked Mama.
“I’m not sure how I am,” said Xiaofeng.
“How can you not be sure?” asked Mama.
“Because I don’t know what I should do,” said Xiaofeng.
“Do about what?” asked Mama.
“I don’t know about winning and losing, about being honest and doing my duty,” said Xiaofeng.
“What duty?” asked Mama.
“I’ve tried Laolao. I’ve done the best I could. I swear I have,” said Xiaofeng, beginning to tear up.
“What are you talking about, Precious?” asked Mama.
“About a promise,” said Xiaofeng, “About my promise.”
“What promise?” asked Mama.
“To my mama, I promised…” said Xiaofeng, “She made me promise.”
“What did she make you promise?” asked Mama.
“To take care of my brother,” said Xiaofeng.
“You’ve done amazing things,” said Mama, “Raising Xiaoyu is a burden you never should have had to bear.”
“But I’ve borne it. I look back to those days with Mama, as being so carefree, but that was for me. For her it must have been so hard, being on her own. I look back because I was so happy, Laolao, I really was,” said Xiaofeng.
“And are you not happy now?” asked Mama. Xiaofeng shook her head and closed her eyes, embarrassed by her admission.
“I feel like a beast of burden. I carry whatever and I carry it here and there, where ever it needs to go. Whether or not I want to go,” said Xiaofeng.
“Is it all because of this promise?” asked Mama.
“I’ve sacrificed so much to keep it. I’m still here because I wanted to keep my promise. And I want to keep my promise,” said Xiaofeng.
“You’ve kept your promise, Xiaofeng,” said Mama, “If you’re wondering whether your mother would be proud of you, she’d be very proud of you. You don’t even know how much.”
“What if I broke my promise though?” asked Xiaofeng.
“How could you?” asked Mama.
“Wh
at if I left here?” asked Xiaofeng.
“Left for what?” asked Mama.
“To take advantage of an opportunity,” said Xiaofeng.
“You’re too hard on yourself,” said Mama.
“I just want what’s best for him,” said Xiaofeng.
“You’ve done what’s best, but what about what’s best for you?” asked Mama.
“Laolao, Mama once told me that being my mother was the joy of her life, I feel the same about being her daughter,” said Xiaofeng.
“You are her daughter, no matter what you do. You take a risk when you have children, Xiaofeng. It’s the biggest gamble in the world. It doesn’t seem like it because so many people do it. But it’s gambling. Qiu was my oldest and my only daughter. There are no words to describe that. Your grandfather wanted a boy to carry on the family name. He had a bit of anxiety when Qiu was born. But I reminded him of his gambit. He wanted a son, but there was never a guarantee. And there was never a guarantee that Li Qiu or Li Xing would be healthy. We could have given birth to them only to watch them suffer with some big illness. Li Xing has a problem with iron in his blood, but that’s really not so big,” said Mama.
“So what do you think I should do?” asked Xiaofeng.
“I think you should do what you want to do, that’s the beauty of being young. You can do what you want to do, without knowing error. You can regret it when you’re old, if you live long enough to regret it. Youth is a gift, Xiaofeng, age is a privilege,” said Mama.
“My youth has never felt like so much a gift,” said Xiaofeng, “Losing it won’t feel like a privilege.”
“That’s because you’re living in the shadow of someone who has passed,” said Mama, “Your mother was my only daughter, but I’ve done something you haven’t. I’ve let her go. Mothers are not in debt to their daughters nor daughters to their mothers.”
“What does that mean, Laolao?” said Xiaofeng.
“It means I’m doing what I need to do for what’s left of my life. I remember my daughter but I’m not living for her. You’re trying to live for her,” said Mama.
“I promised her that I would take care of Xiaoyu,” said Xiaofeng.
“Haven’t you?” asked Mama.
“I have done the best that I could, but..,” said Xiaofeng
“Can anyone ask you for more than that?” asked Mama.
“I don’t know,” said Xiaofeng.
“That’s because you’ve never asked yourself,” said Mama, “Even you won’t be capable of your best always. Be proud of yourself.”
“Why should I be proud of myself?” asked Xiaofeng.
“Because your mother would be,” said Mama.
Xiaofeng appeared stung by the realization that her promise was done. She had trouble wrapping her mind around the fact that she had already delivered what her mother had asked for. Her struggle was a clash of her duty to her mother and her duty to herself. She couldn’t help but wonder if her mother had asked for less than she had given. She would never know; it bothered her.
“Why are you worried about this now?” asked Mama.
“An opportunity,” said Xiaofeng.
“What opportunity?” asked Mama.
“I submitted my final draft of my thesis today,” said Xiaofeng.
“I know, you said so,” said Mama.
“It’s for my placement,” said Xiaofeng.
“What placement?” asked Mama.
“There’s a program in Beijing,” said Xiaofeng, “I didn’t think I would get accepted so I applied. If I got accepted, I would just say no, but now…”
“You want to go,” said Mama. Xiaofeng shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said.
“What kind of program is it?” asked Mama.
“First we will go to Beijing and they match us up with students with similar disciplines and they send those groups to America for research and study,” said Xiaofeng.
“So you’ll be doing economic research,” said Mama. Xiaofeng nodded.
“Isn’t that what you want to do?” asked Mama. Xiaofeng nodded again.
“Then you have to go,” said Mama.
“Xiaoyu?” said Xiaofeng.
“Here is no life for you, Precious. You owe it to yourself to go. Don’t worry about Xiaoyu, you’ve done that his whole life,” said Mama.
“Here is no place for me, but it’s no place for him either,” said Xiaofeng.
“You have been shown a way out, “said Mama, “This is not his place, so he will be shown a way as well. You have no need to worry about him. His way will come.”
“Will you look after him?” asked Xiaofeng.
“You are no more my grandchild than he is, haven’t I looked after you?” said Mama.
“Fully,” said Xiaofeng.
“You can tell yourself that I treated you best,” said Mama, “I tell myself I’ve treated all my children and grandchildren the same.”
Xiaofeng smiled like her mother once did. Smiling had been a rare practice for both of them. She knew her brother was waiting up for her, since he had left the table. She helped Mama clean the table and wash the dishes. Together they folded the table and chairs, then cleaned the floor. Xiaofeng said goodbye to Mama for the rest of the evening. She entered the bedroom to find Xiaoyu on the floor, writing in a notebook.
“Homework?” asked Xiaofeng. Xiaoyu shook his head without turning around.
“Diary?” asked Xiaofeng.
“No,” said Xiaoyu.
Xiaofeng knew her brother would not say what he was writing without being asked. She gave in.
“What are you writing?” asked Xiaofeng
“My plan,” said Xiaoyu.
“What plan?” asked Xiaofeng.
“My plan B,” said Xiaoyu.
“Plan B for what?” asked Xiaofeng.
“Everyone needs a Plan B,” said Xiaoyu, “I’m doing mine.”
“Why would you need a Plan B?” asked Xiaofeng.
“In case I don’t succeed at Plan A,” said Xiaoyu, turning toward his sister with a serious stare.
“What’s Plan A?” asked Xiaofeng.
“To be like the others,” said Xiaoyu.
“What others?” asked Xiaofeng.
“The happy ones,” said Xiaoyu.
“Why aren’t you one of the happy ones?” asked Xiaofeng
“I’m like Hamlet,” said Xiaoyu.
“How are you like Hamlet?” asked Xiaofeng.
“Looking over my shoulder,” said Xiaoyu. His statement was delivered with a twist. Xiaofeng thought the eight year-old was incapable of double entendre, but he was lying on the floor with his head turned toward her, looking over his shoulder.
The boy knew more about Shakespearian drama than a boy growing up in Kuandian would. Xiaofeng had repeated the same habit with her brother that her mother had done with her, she did her best to retell the English classics to her brother. Her mother had a soft spot for the English language and its puppet masters—Shakespeare was her favorite. Xiaofeng did not share the same fascination with English, but she retold Shakespearian plays from memory as best she could. It was her way to connect the boy to his mother. Qiu would have raised him on the same stories, so he had to be raised on the same stories. It was the single idea that Xiaofeng had on how to raise her brother. The rest was a reaction. The boy had required a lot of reaction. His character evolved rapidly along with the trouble he caused. Xiaofeng had long looked at her brother as the bearer of bad news. His life had cause problems for her that seemed to mount and spread. But it was these moments, when they were alone, that she felt a burning need to rub his bald head. She never slept the same without rubbing his head. It was a compulsive, obsessive thing she did. She seemed to be fascinated by his head. When he was five years-old he ran through the house to burn off the energy he couldn’t burn off outside. Xiaofeng would catch him by the head and kiss him on the forehead before letting him run wild again. It was only around the early evening, when Baba returned home, that he had to
stop. It never bothered him because it was late enough for him to play outside in the wizened sunlight. His skin wouldn’t get dark. Xiaofeng would watch her brother run around in the yard posing, pretending to be a feizei. It never seemed that the late evening sun was too hollowed out to darken his skin. His skin couldn’t be bothered by the pretentious light. He would play in a dimly lit yard, as happy as other children, who played in the sun. The impending darkness made no difference for him, his surroundings ceased to matter. The boy had a surrounding that was all his, as long as nothing bothered it, nothing bothered him. And his sister could watch him play by himself for hours on end, not joining, just watching. Sometimes she did join him, but she could watch him play and never tire. Her desire to touch his head and the spectacle of watching him play were deep-rooted. These desires housed themselves in the caverns of her heart and flowed through her entire body like pumped blood. She would never say it, and she had never told him but she loved him, as far as distance. She knew that she could never love anyone else like she loved her brother—the last living piece of her mother.
Xiaofeng’s love of her brother grew in her, not like a fire, like a cancer. The more time she spent raising him the more she felt vested in his survival—adhering to her promise. But her love for him steadily consumed her life and she felt stuck. Loving him made her life unbearably hard. Some decisions she had to keep to herself, not for fear of misunderstanding, but for fear of upsetting. At eight years old, Xiaofeng was sure her brother could understand as much as she could. But she was unable to give him credit for something she had never seen him do, forgive. She had never seen him forgive anyone, but the question of whether he could forgive was drawn out in her imagination. There were some people she knew he hadn’t and wouldn’t forgive. There was also one person, whom he’d never had to forgive—Xiaofeng herself.
