Like Spilled Water

by Jennie Liu

  “Ah.” A sad ending and a loss of face. “What about you? Can you come?”

  “Oh, I’ll be there. Your ba approves.” His voice goes softer. “Since I’ll be family soon?”

  For the next moments, I can only hear my heart speeding in my chest. Already Gilbert has slipped into the role of son-in-law and solicitous husband. He’s handsome and kind and hasn’t pushed me to answer about getting married. With him beside me I can almost forget that rising dismay I’ve felt—the sense that work, marriage, babies were rushing up too fast. Marrying Gilbert is practical, but I can love him too. I already do. I duck my head in a nod, confirming our engagement.

  Gilbert’s grin grows wider, and he breathes out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m so glad that’s settled!”

  24

  In the afternoon Mama, Nainai, Gilbert and I, all clad in white shirts, set out for the hike to our family burial plot. Baba has gone ahead.

  He and Mama argued about the burial when we arrived at the house earlier. He didn’t want her to pour Bao-bao’s ashes into the box, didn’t want to bury him, but Mama took the urn from the windowsill and hissed that he was her son too, and she would have his soul rest. Baba spun on his heel and left the house, but not before he grabbed the bottle of baijiu.

  Now, the brown hills and green terraced fields are scorching hot, the sky big and open overhead. We pass fields of bright yellow rapeseed, castor bean, and tall sunflowers with their heads as large as ours that seem to rotate and watch us as we tread single file up the path. Ahead, at the top of a hill, I see the tablets marking our ancestors’ graves in the shade of three jujube trees. I’ve been there many times before on Tomb-Sweeping Days, and during the Spring Festival break when we always come to show our respect. But as we mount the hill, I don’t see any sign of Baba.

  I’m surprised when Gilbert leads us past the family graves, but when Mama and Nainai don’t even slow their steps, I’m almost sure that this must be the custom of a sad ending: Bao-bao must be separated from the rest of the family.

  We go down the other side of the hill and around another bend before I finally see Baba standing beneath a straggly pear tree. As we get closer, I see the neat square hole he and Gilbert have dug beneath it. The upturned dirt is piled up next to it. Baba sways on his feet, staring into the small pit, his face cloudy with emotions. He doesn’t acknowledge our arrival. The bottle of baijiu is slipped in his pants pocket, so I can’t see how much he’s drunk.

  I stand back a little with Gilbert while Mama places the biodegradable box into the hole. She backs away to stand next to Nainai, their heads bent down in their private pain. Baba glowers at the white box. His bitter expression makes my stomach contract. He seems to be on the verge of another breakdown or at least an outburst.

  I bite my lips, holding back my own feelings. I am sorry about Bao-bao’s death now. But we didn’t know each other as a brother and sister should, and I’ll never have the chance to know him like Min and Wei did, so I still find myself more moved by my family’s agony, by the trouble his death has caused, than by Bao-bao’s death itself.

  I have such an awful uneasiness rising in my chest, I can’t think about him here. I reach for Gilbert’s hand hanging beside mine. He grips it hard and gives me a comforting look. His kindness almost makes me cry, and I lightly lean my shoulder against his arm.

  I’m anxious for the burial to be finished. I have a tiny hope that maybe Mama and Baba can start to move on after it’s done. I’m glad when Gilbert lets go of my hand, takes up the shovel leaning against the tree, and edges around Mama and Nainai to fill in the hole.

  Baba moves like lightning, seizing the shovel, breaking the silence. “I’m his father! I’ll do it myself!”

  Gilbert releases the shovel and steps back beside me. We all watch as Baba spades the dirt. The only sounds are of the shovel cutting into the earth, the dirt showering the box, and Baba huffing. His movements are lurching, and the soil doesn’t always make it into the hole. Almost immediately he’s drenched in sweat, and I can smell the alcohol coming out of his pores.

  Mama closes her eyes. Her face is white as marble. I hold my breath against a dreadful sense of foreboding, but Baba manages to get it done. He throws the shovel down and buckles to his knees and pats the earth tight. Tracks of tears are now running down his face.

  Mama kneels down. She fishes inside the bag she brought, pulling out Bao-bao’s glasses, his math book, and some of his old certificates rolled up and tied with a ribbon. She lays them out on the grave with a defiant set to her jaw.

  It’s all very peculiar, not like the days-long funeral we had for Yeye when I was very small with the coffin and the wake, the crowded meal in the courtyard for all the villagers, the long funeral procession and the noise of wailing echoing in the hills. Even our yearly visits to Yeye’s grave are almost festive, with food laid out, fireworks, and the burning of paper money and goods.

  I look at Baba and Mama, their wet faces swollen and blotchy. Before this summer, I never saw them fight, other than minor squabbles about Baba getting too rowdy during the holidays, Mama being too bossy, or some other small complaint, always followed by good-natured headshakes and suppressed laughs. Now, they don’t even acknowledge each other, much less try to comfort each other. All their affection seems to be gone.

  The sun is blazing down on my black hair. I have no tears for Bao-bao, or for Baba and Mama. I’m so tired of the heaviness that I just want all this be over. I want to go back to the house, back to the city, back to college, which starts in just another week. I can’t help thinking of the days when I had time to read, play with makeup, and huddle at Xioawen’s laptop watching shows. But those times are already like an old memory, and I know I can’t go back there. My heart pounds, longing to be away from all this, to be gone.

  Gilbert takes my hand once more. His grip is firm and reassuring. I clutch tightly as if he’s the only thing preventing me from hurtling off into oblivion. Nainai glances back at us. I see her look down at my white-knuckled hand intertwined with Gilbert’s before her sad eyes run up to my face. She studies me with what looks like pity, and after a long moment she gestures with her head for Gilbert and me to go back.

  I don’t hesitate. Gratefully, I tug on his hand, and we leave. Mama and Baba don’t pay any attention to us.

  We’re up the hill, past the family plots and heading back down the other side before I can breathe.

  “That was rough. Are you okay?” Gilbert says softly.

  I nod curtly and keep my head down. I sense Gilbert is casting about for more sympathetic remarks.

  “When do you have to leave?” I say to head off any more talk about the burial. Gilbert already explained that he has a work conference tomorrow in Changyu Township about an hour away. There’s no early morning bus on Sunday, so he has to stay in a hotel there tonight.

  “I should go get my things together now. The bus leaves at 4:30. I’m so sorry that this meeting is tomorrow of all weekends.”

  “It’s okay, you can’t help it.” I try to keep the heaviness out of my voice.

  He eyes me with a mix of sorrow and guilt. “Maybe I should stay. Skip the meeting.”

  “You can’t miss the meeting. You just started your job a few weeks ago. I’ll be all right.”

  “I’ll be back after lunch tomorrow. And we’ll also have Monday evening to see each other when I get home from work.”

  He’s trying to make me feel better, and I smile to let him know that I understand. It touches me that he’s sorry about leaving me alone here, missing our time together.

  We walk silently for a few moments before he says, “Oh, did you ask your English language boss about changing teaching times?” He suggested this a few days ago after I asked him to check when the village internet café was open.

  “Yes. She said she’ll give me students and eight and nine at night for the next three days, though it means I’m back to teaching the younger kids.”

  “Good! The café is open unt
il eleven. The other thing is that they only have six computers so you’d better get there early. Will your parents mind you being out so late?”

  I shrug. I’m not sure if they’ll fret over me or if they won’t even notice that I’m gone. Both scenarios depress me. “Do you mind if I tell them that I’m with you?”

  “Of course not.” He’s quick to answer, and with such understanding as to why I have to lie that the tears that I’ve been suppressing all day come to my eyes. I turn away, surprised and embarrassed by them.

  “Oh no. Come here!” Gilbert pulls me close and wraps me in his arms. I lean against him and for the next moments, there’s only his solid warmth as everything else falls away.

  25

  After a late breakfast on Sunday, Mama goes out to Bao-bao’s grave. Baba doesn’t get up until after she leaves in the late morning. He staggers out of his room, still wearing the clothes he wore yesterday, and guzzles a jar of cooled tea that Nainai hands him. His eyes rove the room, wavering as they go from me—cross-legged on the kang reading Jane Eyre—to the empty urn on the windowsill, to the folded blankets and pillow on the other end of the kang where Mama slept last night.

  “Where’s your ma?” Baba sounds hoarse, garbled.

  “She went to Bao-bao,” I answer.

  Baba looks out the window and blinks, slow as a turtle, before he squats onto a stool. Nainai sets down a bowl of millet porridge in front of him. Baba takes up the spoon and begins to eat, staring dully at the middle distance in front of him.

  Nainai and I glance at each other before she starts to clean up. She works without her usual brisk clatter, doing her best to be unobtrusive. I hide behind my book, trying to travel back to the Moor House with Jane, but the air in the room is tense, strained, and although I can read the words in English, I can’t get my mind to decode their meaning.

  I wonder if the funeral was a good idea. Over the past several weeks, Baba was sounding better each time I talked to him on the phone, but now, although he’s not crying and sloppy drunk as he was at the start of the summer, his brooding is like a brewing storm. He slurps down his porridge noisily, pushes the bowl aside and lurches to the window. His fingers run over Bao-bao’s urn, his thumb stopping to rub the gray oval where Bao-bao’s photo had never been affixed. With his back to me I can’t see his expression, but I hold my breath.

  His head rises, and I know he’s looking out the window again. He lists to one side as he stands there, and I can see that he’s lost weight from the way his pants sag low on his hips. I grip my book, expecting him to lose his balance, or to blow up, but he only turns, stumbles back to his room and slams the door.

  Nainai sighs and I put my book down. It’s useless trying to read. I wish that Gilbert was here.

  Nainai looks at my book, splayed open and facedown on my bed. “You always like to study, I know. But you’ll see, soon you’ll have a family and you’ll be so busy raising a little one.” She pulls a one-sided smile.

  I can’t help but wince. She’s trying to make me feel better about not going back to college, but weirdly, her sympathy makes me feel worse. I really am excited about marrying Gilbert.

  “It’s terrible that your Gilbert had to work today! Overtime on Sunday!”

  “It was just for the morning. He’ll be home after lunch.”

  “These companies, they expect too much!” She clicks her tongue. “But he has to go. It’s the only way to climb up. At least he’s not labor. He’s done well with his college, eh?”

  I grin, proud for him.

  “Yes, we’re lucky with Gilbert! He’s already doing better than his parents, or yours. It’s a shame your mama picked this weekend, when he has to work, for you two to come home.” She glances at the clock over the stove. “The bus going west leaves at 10:30. Changyu Township’s only about an hour away. You should take the bus over and meet him in town. Then you can ride home together. You two need to spend time together. Have to get to know each other better! That’s more important now than reading that book.”

  It’s a great idea. I’m ready to leap for the extra hour with Gilbert, but my eyes slide uneasily to Baba’s door.

  Nainai lowers her voice. “Don’t worry. You go. He and your mama would want you to.”

  Gratefully, I gather up my book and purse, and slip on my shoes. I hurry to leave before Mama returns or Baba comes out of his room. They may be pleased for me to spend time with Gilbert, but it’s nice to go without having to report my movements.

  I feel as if I’ve been set free, and I’m eager to meet up with Gilbert. Although I intended to pick up with Jane Eyre on the bus, I find it hard to keep my mind on the words. My rural middle school education makes reading in English slow going, despite my independent study. I have to hold back from flipping to the Chinese like Min did.

  I finally give up and gaze out the window. The low brown mountains seem to roll on and on endlessly except where they’ve been terraced into fields or where the hillsides have crumbled away, as if a giant hand grabbed a ridge and dragged its fingers down the hillside. I remember the violent dust storms of winter and the occasional downpours that would shift a stream or damage the fields, but from the long view, the hills were always still there, ceaselessly undulating, so much the same.

  Changyu Township is much like Willow Tree Village, though it sprawls out with more streets. At first I consider waiting for Gilbert at the bus station, but when the ticket seller asks me what I’m doing, I explain about the conference. He tells me the Friendship Hotel, two streets over, is the only place large enough to hold that kind of meeting.

  When I get there, I see that the hotel is an old building, only two floors and shabby. There is no one in the small lobby, not even a clerk. An old-fashioned bell sits on the wooden counter and I mash it with my finger. Eventually a woman comes out, dragging a bucket with her, and moves to stand behind the counter. I ask her where the coal conference is being held.

  She frowns. “No conference here.”

  I thought Gilbert called it a conference, but maybe I misunderstood the size of the gathering. “Well, maybe it’s just a meeting. Don’t you have a big room where a meeting might take place?”

  “The banquet hall, through those doors.” She points to the double doors, slightly ajar, that face the counter. I step over and peer in. The room has garish red carpeting and vinyl black dining chairs at the half dozen round tables. Only one man, eating alone, is seated at a table in the back.

  “No meeting, but you can get lunch now,” the housekeeper-clerk says behind me.

  I’m puzzled, wondering if there’s another meeting space in town, but the ticket seller at the bus station said this was the only hotel. “Do you have a Liang Huan staying here?”

  “Room 8.” She doesn’t have to look it up, just jabs a finger toward the open door leading to the stairs. “Second floor.”

  I go up, noting how odd it was that she knew Gilbert’s room right off, but with the almost empty dining room and lobby the hotel has an unoccupied atmosphere, so I suppose there are only so many guests. I wonder if the meeting ended early. Although the housekeeper-clerk surely would have mentioned it.

  Room 8 is at the end of the hall. The walls are thin enough that I hear voices and low laughter just before I rap on the door.

  The voices stop. No one answers, so I knock again.

  I hear noises inside, the creak of a bed, footsteps muffled by carpet, a door shut within. My skin prickles over.

  “Who is it?”

  “Gilbert? It’s Na!”

  “Na!”

  He doesn’t come to the door right away, and I hear more flurried noise inside, fast footsteps padding around the room. More than just two feet. A thrumming starts inside my head. Minutes seem to pass as my eyes lock on the doorknob, but I don’t allow a clear thought to form in my mind. By the time the knob turns, my neck and face are mottled with hot splotches.

  Gilbert, pushing up his glasses, swings the door open. “Na, what are you doing here?”
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  I look past him. Guo-Rong sits hunched on the end of one of the two beds, his hand raking back his thick hair. I almost laugh with relief. Gilbert hadn’t mentioned that Guo-Rong was going to be at the conference as well.

  “You remember Guo-Rong from school?” Gilbert gestures toward him.

  “Of course.” I’m smiling, mostly to myself as the heat in my face begins to dissipate.

  Guo-Rong stands and inclines his head at me. “Well, I better get back to the conference.” He puts a hand up in a curt wave.

  Gilbert and I start to move out of the doorway to let him pass, but Guo-Rong abruptly stops and turns back to the room. He’s wearing slippers, and as he shucks them off, I see they’re the cheap hotel issue.

  A funny feeling comes over me as he slips his bare feet into his shoes, acting as if he always puts his shoes on without socks. I notice then that he’s wearing black jeans, a T-shirt. He pats his pockets as if searching for something, while his eyes dart around until he locates his phone on the bedside table.

  Blood roars in my ears again, and I watch him, as if in slow motion, go around the bed, pick up his phone from the bedside table, and pocket it.

  “I’ll see you,” Guo-Rong mutters to Gilbert as he leaves.

  My mouth is dry, and Gilbert is talking to me, but I don’t hear his words. One bed is rumpled, with sheets and a blanket tossed on the floor. Two overnight bags with clothes spilling out of them sit on the other bed, which is otherwise neatly made with its tan bedspread. Unused.

  “Na!” Gilbert puts his hands on my shoulders and spins me to him. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” He leans toward me, concern overtaking the guilt and nervousness on his face. “What is it? Why didn’t you call me to tell me you were coming?”

  I step back, pulling out of his grasp, and take in his wrinkled shirt and loose workout shorts, knowing they were hastily thrown on. My stomach is turning sour, acid pooling. I swallow. “The hotel seems awfully empty for a conference.”