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“Yes, but there may be people who will remember you for your name—Liu Hulan, martyr for the Revolution.”
“Maybe, maybe not. It was a popular name once, so I am only one of many my age. What’s important is that even if people do recognize my face for some reason…” She thought about the photographs from the newspapers, then strengthened herself and her voice. “No one can know I work for the ministry. No one. Do you understand?”
The two women stopped walking. Suchee contemplated Hulan. Would she have thought to write Hulan if she hadn’t seen that photograph of her dancing in that tight dress in the nightclub pasted to the news wall in the village? At that time Suchee had heard no gossip and didn’t mention that the decadent woman in the picture had once lived in the area. As Hulan said, that was a long time ago, and she had been only one soft city face among thousands of other soft city faces. Today, if someone saw Hulan in Miaoshan’s clothes they would not think Beijing woman, let alone Ministry of Public Security inspector. She would be just another peasant. To Hulan’s question, Suchee nodded solemnly. Hulan put a hand on her friend’s arm. “And you’re sure this is what you want? Because if you have any doubts, now is the time to stop me.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, then, how much farther is it?”
Suchee raised an arm and pointed out across a bean field. “Go one more li. You will see the house.”
Hulan took a couple of steps, then looked back at her friend. “I may be gone for some time. Go back to work and don’t worry about me.” Then she turned and walked along the pathway.
It was still early, maybe only eight, but the sun beat down unrelieved by any breeze. Hot air undulated up off the earth, heavy with humidity. Soon enough Hulan’s body would become acclimated, but for now she endured the heat as best she could. She felt sweat running down the backs of her legs, but she kept her pace steady. To go more slowly would prolong her time under the direct sun; to hurry would only hasten dehydration.
Eventually the rows of beans changed back again into corn. The air was moderately cooler here with banks of corn coming up above Hulan’s head on both sides of her, but in many ways she would have preferred the low-lying bean fields to the slashing leaves of the corn stalks that sometimes breached their orderly rows. Suddenly Hulan heard voices. She held still for a moment and decided that they were ahead of her. It was late enough now that the Tsais would already be out in the fields, but these were not the sounds of mother
, father, and son working side by side. These were low murmurs punctuated by a young woman’s giggle. With her homemade shoes, Hulan’s footsteps were virtually silent as she passed along the earth, so she brushed her hands against the corn, causing the leaves to rustle so that whoever was out here would hear her approach. Abruptly the corn opened up to reveal a small area of about six by six feet where the corners of four different plots met. Where the pathways created a cross sat a young couple, face to face, with their legs draped over each side of the berm.
“Ni hao.” The young man’s greeting came out more as a question: Who are you and what are you doing here?
“Zenmeyyang,” Hulan replied. This translated to something casual along the lines of “What’s happening?” Without waiting for a response, she continued, “I am looking for the farm of the Tsai family. Am I close?”
The girl giggled. The boy said, “I am Tsai Bing. This is our family’s land. Can I help you? Are you looking for my parents? They are in the field on the other side of the house.”
Instead of answering his questions, Hulan asked, “May I sit down?”
The two young people looked at each other, then back at Hulan. Finally the boy motioned for her to sit.
“I am Liu Hulan, a friend of Ling Suchee.”
“This is Tang Siang,” the boy said, motioning to the young woman seated across from him. “She is the one-child daughter of our neighbor. The Tang lands are over there.” He raised a dirty finger and pointed to his left. “They go for many li. For so many li that Tang Dan and his daughter are able to live in Da Shui Village.”
In another culture Hulan might have taken this thorough introduction for nervous jabbering, but here in China it was not only common but expected that an introduction would include identification of place, status, and, most important, family position.
Hulan did not respond with similar information on herself. Instead she said, “I have come to visit Suchee. She is sad to lose her daughter.” As she spoke, Hulan observed Tsai Bing. The boy’s face had not yet developed into manhood, and he had an open look to his features. His eyes were bright. His smile was friendly. He was countryside thin, meaning that he was just bones and skin. His shorts—several sizes too large for him—were held up by a tightly cinched belt. His black hair was long and stuck out in unruly chunks. Whether this was from home cutting or from his time alone with the girl at his side Hulan couldn’t say. “It must be hard for you too.”
“Oh, yes,” he said. He sounded sincere, but Hulan caught the quick look that passed between him and Siang.
Addressing the girl directly, she said, “You and Miaoshan must have been friends. Everyone knows everyone in the countryside.”
“I have known Miaoshan since we were both in first school.” The words sounded pleasant enough, but Siang wasn’t sophisticated enough to hide the scorn in her voice, which practically shouted, She was poor. My father is a landowner. She lived here in these fields. I live in the town.
“I’m sure that Miaoshan’s mother will be comforted to hear of your grief and that you have come to offer solace to her daughter’s fiancé.”
Siang’s cheeks reddened, but she said nothing.
Hulan let the silence stretch out. She was in no hurry, and the longer she kept quiet, the sooner these two would wish to fill the void. Siang noiselessly etched a groove into the dirt with the edge of her tennis shoe, while Tsai Bing looked around nervously. Finally he said, “I didn’t see Miaoshan so much anymore. She was always at work or in the dormitory. I am always here working in the fields. Different lives, different choices.”
“But it was to be same lives, same choices, no?” Hulan commented. “Marriage brings two people together. You must have talked about that on her last night, making plans for your wedding—”
“I didn’t see Miaoshan,” he interrupted, genuinely surprised. “I hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks before she killed herself.”
“But the baby and your wedding?”
Now it was Tsai Bing’s turn to blush. Again he glanced over at Siang, looking first embarrassed, then defiant. When he turned back to Hulan, he jutted his chin indifferently.
“Who’s to say that Tsai Bing was the father?” Siang said suddenly. “Miaoshan was living away from home. Who knows what she did or where she did it?”
