AOI 7

Xu Minghai felt that the days now were just like the elastic band little girls jumped over—sometimes stretched long, sometimes shrunk short. Before Qiu Shi came, each day dragged on endlessly, boring out of his mind. But now, time suddenly shortened, shriveled to the size of a palm, and a whole day would slip by before anything even seemed to happen.

In an era of general material scarcity, there was no shortage of things to play with. Xu Minghai taught Qiu Shi how to flick glass marbles, how to flip paper pogs, passing on the tips and tricks for “Straight Flush” and “Grand Slam.” Qiu Shi reciprocated by teaching Xu Minghai how to play “grab the knucklebones.”

In Beijing, there was nowhere to find roe deer kneecaps, so Chen Lei got them pig knucklebones instead—four pieces to a set, polished small and square, like they were carved from jade. The two of them sat cross-legged facing each other on the bed. Qiu Shi would toss a little sandbag high into the air with one hand, quickly snatch up one of the knucklebones before the bag fell, then catch the descending sandbag, and repeat the process for the remaining pieces one by one.

Qiu Shi’s technique was swift and clean. The first time Xu Minghai watched, all he saw was a few white streaks flashing before his eyes, and he thought the kid must have mastered the Nine Yin White Bone Claw—he was thoroughly impressed.

Because Xu Minghai now had a companion in the courtyard, he became markedly more settled at a visible rate. He no longer clamored every day to run wild all over the place. So no matter how begrudging Li Yandong felt, she could only pretend not to notice.

And just like that, New Year’s Eve arrived in the blink of an eye. Before the New Year, Chen Lei had taken Zhou Yingying to the Chongwenmen Market to buy some holiday provisions. On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, he helped her fry the hairtail fish and stir-fry the rice flour. Finally, after hesitating and hemming and hawing for a long while, he ended up saying nothing at all. As soon as dusk fell, he got on his bike and headed to his eldest brother and sister-in-law’s place, planning to have the New Year’s Eve dinner with the family elders.

Li Yandong, following custom, also had to take her son and Xu Yong back to her in-laws’ for the holiday. But even as they were about to head out the door, Xu Minghai was still dragging Qiu Shi along, reading comic books. Li Yandong urged and prodded him three or four times, and seeing he still wouldn’t budge, she nearly blew her top again. So Xu Minghai had no choice but to reluctantly put on his coat and shuffle after the adults toward the courtyard gate, turning back to look every few steps.

“Guozi! I’ll be back early on the second day of the New Year!” Xu Minghai hollered at the half of Qiu Shi’s face peeking out from behind the door, before Li Yandong dragged him away without ceremony.

With that, the courtyard was left with only Old Zhang’s family, the childless Guan Jiuye, and Zhou Yingying and her son. Qiu Shi had grown used to Xu Minghai single-handedly creating the racket of three people by his side. Now that he was gone, everywhere felt terrifyingly quiet.

Seeing Zhou Yingying busy in the kitchen preparing the New Year’s Eve dinner, Qiu Shi picked up the comic book Xu Minghai had left behind and sat in a chair reading by himself. Suddenly, the big white cat that always came wandering around the courtyard leaped onto the cement ledge outside the window.

Qiu Shi recognized it. Among all the strays that frequented the yard, this one had the gentlest temperament and was least afraid of strangers. And because it had a patch of black fur on its forehead that looked exactly like a young bride’s bangs, Xu Minghai called it “Bangs.”

The two of them loved playing with Bangs best, though once, Xu Minghai had brought it inside, only to be spotted by Li Yandong, who promptly gave him a furious scolding.

Catching sight of it now, Qiu Shi put down his book and ran outside. He glanced around, then looked up just in time to see the cat squeeze through a gap in the door and slip into the neighboring house. Qiu Shi hurried after it to the door, but stopped short instinctively.

He remembered Xu Minghai saying that Guan Jiuye was “half-mad.” Among the adults in this courtyard, only Uncle Chen Lei would greet Guan Jiuye when he saw him and had helped him change his gas canister before the New Year. None of the others seemed to have anything to do with him.

Qiu Shi craned his neck, peering through the window. The white cat was eating, head lowered, from a small blue-and-white porcelain bowl. And Guan Jiuye sat nearby, seemingly talking to it, his face animated and expressive. Just as Qiu Shi was about to leave, the old man suddenly looked up and beckoned to him, smiling.

Qiu Shi accidentally met the eyes of the “half-madman,” and his heart seized for a moment. He froze briefly, only to realize his mind was still perfectly clear—he knew one plus one equaled two, knew his mother was getting the New Year’s Eve dinner ready, and remembered that Xu Minghai had said before leaving he’d be back on the second day of the New Year. So when Guan Jiuye grinned and beckoned again, Qiu Shi found himself involuntarily pushing the door open and walking inside.

This was the first time Qiu Shi had seen the man up close. Guan Jiuye’s hair was completely white. He wore a black padded jacket, and his gaunt face was covered in dense wrinkles, his eyelids drooping on both sides. But his eyes were not cloudy—they looked rather alert and spirited. To Qiu Shi, he was far cleaner and tidier than those old men who gathered on the streets just to shoot the breeze.

“Your name is Guozi, right?” Jiuye’s voice was quite reedy, brimming with an energy unbefitting his age.

Qiu Shi nodded, wanting to open his mouth to address him properly, but not knowing what to call him.

“Just call me Jiuye,” the old man said, grabbing a couple of walnuts from nearby and rolling them back and forth in his hand. “What’s your full name?”

Qiu Shi told him which two characters they were.

“Spring Splendor, Autumn Fruits—no wonder they call you Guozi.” Jiuye nodded and asked about his age. Learning that Qiu Shi had come from Heilongjiang, he murmured to himself, “Black mountains, white waters—fine lands.”

Qiu Shi crouched on the ground, giving answers as he was asked questions, while his hand gently stroked the back of the white cat’s neck. The cat was meticulously devouring a bowl of small fish boiled in plain water, and Qiu Shi thought Bangs lived an even better life than he did.

Chirp… chirp… yo…

Qiu Shi cocked his ear, thought the sound was familiar, and looked up to search for its source.

“Do you know what’s making that sound?” Jiuye asked.

Qiu Shi answered, “A cricket. There are tons of them in the fields back in the village. I’ve caught them before, but they all disappear in the winter.”

“Smart.”

As he spoke, Guan Jiuye set down the two glossy-polished walnuts and drew out a small, narrow-bottomed, flat-mouthed jar from inside his coat. He shook it gently and said, proudly, “This is a sharp-winged gold-thread yellow-helmet cricket I caught just after the Start of Autumn. Got up early one morning and went to that little ditch behind the vegetable garden at Tucheng’er.”

The title sounded quite intimidating. Qiu Shi bit his lip and didn’t say anything, but his face was full of anticipation.

“Wanna have a look?” Guan Jiuye’s expression was no different from Xu Minghai’s when he was showing off his toys or comic books.

Qiu Shi gave the slightest nod, and Jiuye gripped the jar’s body, lifted the lid, and the living creature inside skittered into the shadow of his palm. Slowly and gently, Jiuye opened his hand, revealing this “sharp-winged gold-thread yellow-helmet cricket” in its full, intact glory.

Qiu Shi looked—it really was an imposing cricket! Bigger than any he had ever caught. Its two antennae were like steel wires, long and straight, sweeping up and down as if wielding a pair of Heaven-rending swords. Its body was sturdy and robust, majestically commanding, exuding from every pore a spirit of defiance, an air of yielding to nothing and no one, a hundred and twenty percent unyielding.

“Look at this head line—clear as water over bright sand, a fine thread running to the crown. And look at these wing casings—dense, fine veins, shimmering like gold…” The more Jiuye spoke, the more arcane his vocabulary became, his face glowing with delight.

Just then, the white cat, having finished digesting its fish, meowed at Jiuye. He quickly returned the cricket to its jar and tucked it back into his coat. Then he spread a hand toward the cat, and it leaped up, settling familiarly into a nest on his lap, its tail hanging down and swaying rhythmically, utterly content.

Qiu Shi looked at Guan Jiuye and said, “The grown-ups don’t let Bangs come inside. They say stray cats are dirty.”

“Dirty? They’re far cleaner than people…” Jiuye rubbed the cat’s head and said, cryptically, “If you’re lucky, in your next life you’ll be reborn as a cat, or a bird, a cricket, a katydid, a field cricket. If you’re unlucky, you’ll have to be a human again…”

Just then, Zhou Yingying’s voice rang out from the courtyard, calling for him. Not having seen her son for a while, the mother had come out looking.

“Go on back,” Jiuye said, smiling and giving a little nod of his chin toward Qiu Shi. “Come by often. I’ve got plenty of fine things in this room of mine.”

So Qiu Shi said “Goodbye, Jiuye,” turned, opened the door, and ran out into the yard. Seeing her son emerge from the next-door room gave Zhou Yingying a start. Chen Lei had told her that this Guan Jiuye had only moved into the courtyard a few years back. He muttered to himself all day long, and nobody knew his background. But he’d also said the old man wasn’t a bad person, just a bit off in the head. He’d have spells where he couldn’t remember things; when it hit him, sometimes he’d say it was still the Republic of China era, other times that these several hutongs originally all belonged to his family.

“What were you doing over there, Guozi?” Zhou Yingying hurriedly pulled her son back inside.

“Just chatting with Jiuye,” Qiu Shi answered honestly.

“What did you talk about?”

“I couldn’t really understand everything he said, but he showed me his cricket.” Qiu Shi gestured with his hands, looking rather excited. “This big!”

Zhou Yingying relaxed at that. She told him to get ready for dinner, then turned and went back into the kitchen.

This was, after all, the first time mother and son had spent New Year’s Eve just the two of them. Qiu Shi saw that the table was laid with quite a lot of food, including a whole plate of his favorite paicha—fried dough twists, golden and crispy, fragrant with hot oil. Half were savory, half had been specially dipped in honey. Qiu Shi thought of Jiuye, who had fed fish to the cat, so he took a bowl, grabbed a generous handful of each kind, and ran back outside.

This time, already familiar with the place, he knocked and entered, setting the bowl directly on the table in front of Jiuye. “My mom just fried these. Try some.”

“When speaking of your own elders to an outsider, you should use the respectful term ‘Tan,'” Jiuye intoned, shaking his head rhythmically. “You should say, ‘My mother, Tan, just fried these.'”

Qiu Shi, not quite understanding, repeated the phrase after him anyway and then scampered off. Back in his own room, Zhou Yingying asked him again where he’d been. Qiu Shi told the truth. Zhou Yingying couldn’t help but give a wry smile. “The old man must be at least seventy. With those teeth, can he even chew paicha?” Saying this, she took a small bowl of soft, tender steamed rice-flour pork from the steamer. “Go take the old gentleman something soft to eat instead.”

This first New Year’s Eve dinner back in Beijing, Qiu Shi and Zhou Yingying ate with a deep sense of peace. Gone was the boisterous clamor of the village, and gone was the man who, once drunk, would fly into violent fits and turn the world upside down.

Outside, double-bang firecrackers roared as if about to blow the earth to smithereens. On TV, the hosts were all ruddy-faced and glowing, looking genuinely joyful. Program followed program, none straying beyond the usual crosstalk, comedy skits, and song-and-dance performances. After the closing song “Unforgettable Tonight” finished, Qiu Shi found he only remembered one song: “Clouds of the Hometown.”

On the first day of the New Year, no one was around to play with Qiu Shi. He read comic books on his own for a long while, then went over to Guan Jiuye’s and listened to a bunch of things he half-understood. Qiu Shi liked Jiuye. He thought the old man wasn’t crazy at all—he knew all sorts of strange and curious things, and he never treated Qiu Shi like a child. Before leaving, Qiu Shi even ended up with a large, hefty, gleaming coin.

“Don’t tell the grown-ups,” Guan Jiuye said, pressing it into his hand. “A trinket. Keep it safe.”

By the afternoon of the second day of the New Year, Qiu Shi was drifting in and out of a groggy nap when he suddenly heard Xu Minghai’s voice.

“Guozi! I, Hu Hansan, have returned!”

Qiu Shi jolted awake, immediately flipped over, and knelt on the bed to peer through the window. He saw Xu Minghai running over from the passageway. But before he’d made it a few steps, Li Yandong grabbed him by the scruff of his collar. Qiu Shi watched helplessly as Xu Minghai was hauled back home.

About five minutes later, a great commotion erupted outside. Qiu Shi looked again. This time, Xu Minghai was fleeing across the yard in utter panic, dodging left and right around the tree that was thicker than a man’s waist, shouting, “How am I supposed to know? Who am I supposed to ask?”

Facing him from the other side of the tree was a livid Li Yandong, straining her neck as she yelled, “If I don’t ask you, who do I ask? Such a young age and already you’ve learned to embezzle? Forget school—this afternoon I’m sending you to juvenile detention!”

Beside them, Xu Yong hastened to smooth things over. “It’s the middle of the New Year holiday—juvenile detention’s not even open! Ah, no, that’s not what I meant. What I mean is, Xiaohai might’ve just accidentally dropped the money somewhere. Hey, no need for violence—isn’t it only ten yuan? What’s the big deal?”