Excerpt:  My Half of the Sky

Excerpt from uncorrected proof

Chapter Four
Echo of Blue Cotton

Despite my parasol, the sun bored a hole in my brains as I stood next to Madame Paper Cutter with my "tutor" sign.  I beat my lower back with my free hand, the action consuming all my energy.  Only a half hour more and I could pack up for the day.

We hadn't had rain for two weeks now, even though this was our rainy season.  Temperatures were high, humidity like a heavy cloak.  The Gods were preparing me well for Singapore, I decided.  That's what Mei Ling would have said.

I had already received a letter from Guo Qiang. He wrote of the different kinds of people living together in Singapore, his calligraphy strong and intelligent.  "Some believe in elephant gods."  I couldn't imagine that.  "Some go on a month-long fast."  Why would anyone starve voluntarily?  "Some are as dark as a moonless night."  Mother thought that sounded frightening.  But I was captivated by the poetry of his description. 

I chuckled.  Mother had worried that the rains had stopped the moment Madame Matchmaker had sent our introductory letter to Madame Liang.  Then Madame Matchmaker had accused Mother of sounding like our overzealous neighbors. 

"Have you offered a sacrifice to the Gods yet?"  Madame Matchmaker had asked.

Mother just worried.  She and Father had been united by a matchmaker.  And, while she wasn't one to question the wisdom of her parents' decision, she wanted to ensure that my match would be more successful.

"You seem awfully cheerful these days," Madame Paper Cutter said.  She looked up from her cutting.  She was showing me how to cut out a baby boy holding a peach.  Another auspicious symbol meaning fertility and long life.  

"Do I?"  I asked.

"Yes, you do."  She held her scissors in the air, waiting. 

"Have you ever--"  I'd learned over the weeks that despite my initial guess, Madame Paper Cutter was but a year older than I.  These days she often felt like a friend more than an elderly park acquaintance.  She could read me better than any of the characters I taught her.  "How did you know--"

"What?"  Madame Paper Cutter tapped the concrete with her scissors.  "You're making me nervous.  You're not tutoring that little Emperor, are you?"

"No, no," I said.  I'd never gotten through to Mr. Overindulgent and the Emperor.  The man's phone was either busy or it kept ringing.  I had noticed though that Mr. Ponytail-and-Earring hadn't come to the park recently.  "I think the man with the earring got that one."

"Good riddance to the both of them," she said.  "What is it, then?"

I opened my purse and glanced at the letter from Guo Qiang.  I wanted her to know the contents, his humor, his sense of poetry.  I couldn't read the letter out loud here in the park, though.  And while Madame Paper Cutter's ability to read had improved, she still would struggle with this.  I would only embarrass her.

"Li Hui?"  Madame Paper Cutter tapped me on the leg with her scissors.

"Tell me.  Your husband.  How did you know him?"  How had I blurted out such a personal question?

"Ah."  Madame Paper Cutter took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.  "He was the skinniest boy in the village.  Like a bamboo rod."  She looked out over the park, as if she could see him far away.  "But our local matchmaker insisted he was a good man."  She put her glasses back on.  "He was the best thing that ever happened to me."   

She looked up at me, smiling and nodding for emphasis.  I hugged my purse.  I hoped Guo Qiang would capture my heart the same way.

* * *

The bus pulled into the depot.  In front of me an old woman organized her plastic bags of produce--snap peas, garlic, cabbage.  An old farmer holding his chicken nudged me from behind.  I moved forward a bit.

The farmer looked defeated, as if he'd spent all day calling out the virtues of his chicken--tender, young, best price--and no one had bought.  I sympathized.  I had done the same with my "tutor" sign in the park for yet another day. 

The farmer's chicken thrust its neck out, nudging me forward.  Or was it picking at my blouse?  I pushed my way up onto the bus and found a seat way at the back, away from the defeated man.  I scrunched next to a woman in a thick jacket and her small child.  How could she suffer such heavy clothes in this heat? 

A middle-aged man stood, holding onto the back of the seat in front of me.  His hands were so black with grease he must have spent the day fixing motorcycles.  I imagined Guo Qiang.  Would his fingernails be as ink-stained from reading and writing so much?

Across the way, Madame Barber squeezed her son's fat little cheek. Zi Mei, the small shop owner on our corner, sat next to her.  Zi Mei had been the one to tell us--or rather Mother--of that boy's birth.  The child had been born on an inauspicious day, according to the Lunar Calendar.  Zi Mei was certain Madame Barber would let Mother adopt the boy.  That was the last time Mother followed Zi Mei's advice.

I took Guo Qiang's letter from my purse.  He had such humor.  After talking about Singapore and his job as a computer science professor, he'd gone on to describe his good colleague.  "He married an outsider," he wrote.  "An American."  He had written how the strange woman collected items from the garbage--even a couch!  How she would stand in the heat for hours to take pictures of birds.  How once she'd even jumped out of a car to stand in a free parking spot so no one else would take it.  I smiled as I put the letter away.  His writing put a space around my heart, sheltering me from this crowded bus and my long, hot, unsuccessful day.  I was eager to get home.  Perhaps another letter awaited.

The bus hit a pothole.  My seatmate fell against me, her thick jacket emitting the oniony odor of sweat.  That thick jacket.  Perhaps she was ill.  Perhaps she had just given birth and wore the jacket to keep the wind from getting into her joints.  But, no.  The child in her lap looked to be at least two years old. 

She caught me looking at her and stared back defiantly.  

Her face softened.  "Aren't you?"  She snapped her fingers.  "Huang?  Huang, Li Hui?"

I looked at her warm round cheeks, her short perspiring forehead, her stringy short hair.  Should I know someone who paraded about in a winter jacket in the middle of summer? 

"Cheng Min," she said, before I could place her face.  "Fifth grade, you sat right in front of me."

"Cheng Min, of course."  I grabbed onto her arm.  I remembered her name.  Had we studied together?  Passed notes?  Played?  "I didn't recognize you."

"That's what children will do to you."  She laughed.  "Push you here, pull you there." 

"You have a beautiful little girl though," I said.  Ah, a wife who had borne a girl.  Another "eunuch" husband, as the villagers would call him.

"Two of them." She smiled and ran a hand through the girl's long hair.  "I have two little girls."

"Two?"  While Beijing didn't allow for more than one child, the government forgave our traditional rural areas.  We were allowed two children.  But two girls?  "That's so nice."  I squeezed her arm again. 

"You look the same."  She leaned over and took a pear and a knife from her bag.  She put the sharp edge to the skin of the pear to peel the treat.  "Children haven't taken away your good looks--"

"I don't have any children," I said.  I thought of Guo Qiang.  Perhaps by next year that would change.  "Yet."

"No time for anything but study, right?  You still have that long, silky hair."  She reached out and touched my hair.  "Remember that girl--what was her name?  She was appointed our class leader."

"Yes, yes," I said.  I could see the nasty little girl in my head.  Short, wrinkled uniform.  Dull, brittle hair.  "I forget her name."

"How could you?"  Cheng Min nudged me with the handle of her knife.  "She was always out to get you.  Remember how she made a new rule that everyone cut their hair like a boy, because she was jealous of your hair?  Perhaps she thought it wouldn't grow back."

I laughed.  I hadn't thought of that in so long.  It was as if Cheng Min held out a rope and pulled me back over the years I'd been gone--to high school, then university.  My mind whirled with thoughts of games we had played: stones, jumping rope, hide and find. 

The bus went into another pothole.  My old classmate's pear slimed up against my arm.  I took out a package of tissues and wiped pear juice from my arm.  She handed me a slice, although I put up my hand to protest. 

"Remember that time--" she started.

“You son of a whore,” a woman shouted from the front of the bus.  Her voice was slow like Father's when he had had too much drink.  "Stop it.”

Everyone stopped talking, stopped making noises.  Cheng Min sat forward, craning her neck high to see up front.  But the bus was so crowded we could only hear the woman's angry words.  Everyone was grumpy in this weather.  Was this another fight caused by too much heat? 

"Husband's second uncle was robbed on this very route," Cheng Min whispered.

Now I remembered more.  Cheng Min could relate thousands and ten thousands of disasters, all in a whisper.

"Someone sliced a hole into his shirt pocket."  She made a slicing motion with her knife.  "Just like that."

She took my purse from my lap and wedged it safely between us.  If only she knew.  The only things of value inside were the letter from Guo Qiang, a book, a pair of scissors, and today's paper cutting.  Still, I appreciated her concern.

"Has your family ever been targeted?"  Cheng Min asked.  Perhaps she imagined our family had been an easy mark for thieves and swindlers with me so far away at school.

"No, no," I assured her.  Thieves and swindlers knew Father had no money.

"Have you heard the latest?"  Cheng Min whispered more urgently, handing me another slice of pear and not waiting for an answer.  "The mob has a special liquid drug.  Touch you with it.  You're under their control."

"I've heard about that," I nodded. 

Father'd told me as soon as I arrived home to be careful and not let anyone touch me.  Maybe when he was a child helping Yeye sell vegetables in the market, that was a possibility.  But the town had changed during the time he'd stopped making trips here.  Every move you made, someone touched you with a bag, a chicken, a pear.

"That drug stuff scares me," Cheng Min said, her eyes wide.

"Is that why you wear the heavy coat," I asked.

"Stop it," the woman up front called again.

The man with the grease-stained hands in front of us made a long sound in his throat, then spat on the floor.  "Stay away" that spit warned.  I hoped the thief up front heeded that disgusting warning.

I looked across the aisle.  Madame Barber had switched places with Zi Mei so the shop owner was closest to the aisle now.  Was Madame Barber fearful for her son's safety?  But no. She held her son’s bottom out the window to do xi-xi.  Still, she turned her head  every few seconds to watch the front though, for more signs of an evil dog among us.  Some of the boy's xi-xi sprayed on her face.

“Xia che.  Xia che.”  The woman up front yelled to the driver to let her off.

The bus pulled over.  The loud woman may as well have been an opera star who came to the village each year, and for whom we all carried our chairs from home to watch, crowding as close to the stage as the legs of our chairs would allow. People from the other side of the bus pushed against me to see out the window.  Two old men in front of me stood up to get a better view.

That woman.  I seen that woman.  I'd stood behind her while waiting to board the bus. 

She stood alone by the side of the road.  No attacker nearby.  No slit in her pocket.  No missing purse.  But she did have a hole in one of her plastic shopping bags.  Fresh snap peas spilled to the ground. 

"The poor woman," Cheng Min said.  "How did she get such a big hole in her bag?"

The snap peas season had come to an abrupt halt with the lack of rains.  She had probably spent a long time choosing them at the market, arguing with the seller until she got the best price.

"What a shame," I said.

Each time the old woman tried to grab the bag with the hole in it, or bent over to pick some of the snap peas up off the ground, the hole grew bigger.  More snap peas fell out.  Where were her children?  Her grandchildren?  Did she have no one to help her?

I fussed with the leather strap of my purse.  I knew now who the “son of a whore” was with his unsold feathery bundle.  I was glad I had decided to sit in back, far from his pecking chicken.  

The bus shifted into gear.  But, before we moved far, a tall man jumped off.  He had broad shoulders and muscular arms, which stretched his white T-shirt.  He wore dark blue cotton trousers.  He grabbed the old lady’s bag of peas.

I held my breath.  She beat him with words, calling him worse things than she had Mr. Chicken Farmer.  She tried to beat him with her other bags.  But her thin grocery-laden arms could only sway back and forth, like branches in the wind.  How could this healthy man take an old woman's food?

"What a cockroach," Cheng Min whispered.  She pulled me closer to her, as if he were right near us, ready to attack.

I stared back at the man.  How could anyone be so desperate?  Wouldn't the old lady's children or neighbors come help her?  

He ran after our moving bus, still holding the peas, fiddling with the bag.  Was he making the hole bigger?  Was he so hungry he couldn't wait to taste the crunchy texture against his tongue?  The lonely old woman hobbled after him.  She'd never catch him.

Our driver slowed for a pothole in the road.  The man caught onto the handle of the bus and pulled himself up.  My mouth went dry.  He hung onto the handle with one arm.  He leaned out toward the road, as if he were in a parade and waving to the masses.  Except the bag was in his hand.

"Look," I said.  Something flew through the air and landed at the old woman's feet.  "The bag of peas.  He's thrown the lady her bag of peas."

"Maybe it's coated with that drug," Cheng Min said, pushing her nose against the window.

The old woman stared at the bag, as if she thought the same as Cheng Min.  Then, she picked up the bag. The peas no longer fell from the bottom.  He had tied a knot where once there had been a hole. The old woman put her hands together and shook them at the man, in a gesture of thanks. 

"Xie xie," she called as our bus pulled further away.

Mr. Motorcycle Fixer made another long noise in his throat.  This time he didn't spit directly beneath him, but  in the direction of the man with the blue cotton pants. 

"He's got a point," Cheng Min said.  "Who does Mr. Helper think he is, sticking his nose in business that isn't his?  Making us all wait while he finishes his foolishness?" 

Father certainly would have agreed with Cheng Min.  Mother would have been more concerned that Mr. Chicken Farmer found offense with the old woman's swearing.  That Mr. Chicken Farmer would take revenge on the old lady.  And anyone who helped her.  

"It was kind," I said, surprised by my defense of the man.  Where was my head?

I opened my purse to show Cheng Min my letter from Guo Qiang.  Perhaps her marriage had been arranged.  Perhaps she knew of the Liang family.

"What are you reading?"  Cheng Min pointed to the paperback in my purse.

"It's a book about discipline."  It was a Chinese translation of an American discipline handbook  I had bought it at a used book store hoping Mr. Overindulgent would hire me to teach his Emperor.  What a waste.   

"I could use that."  Cheng Min laughed.  "These little girls don't do anything I say.  It's always, 'Nainai said I could.'  Or, 'Baba said I could.'"

"Sounds difficult," I said.  I hoped she wouldn't be chasing after her child in the park someday. 

"That's so sweet of you to read up on child-rearing before you even have them," she said without malice.  "I'll have to come to you next time I have a problem."

"I haven't read much of it at all," I said.

"Yes, but I remember you," Cheng Min said.  "You never had to read the entire sutra to understand."

The woman spoke so kindly of me and without the daggers I'd felt from everyone since my return.  She wasn't educated.  She didn't appear that rich.  But she seemed comfortable, happy with herself.  And could be so with me.  I moved my head around in a circle to make sense of this, to loosen my muscles.  That's when I saw that strange man in blue.

He stared out the window at rows and rows of silver eel skin put out to dry, as if they were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.  The heat had cooked up such a strong odor, the smell made my eyes water.  Cheng Min put her hand over her daughter's nose to protect the child.

The man smiled.  I knew.  Because he stood in the aisle right next to me.

"The eel smell signals it's time to move to the front," Cheng Min said, patting me on the shoulder.  "It always takes us a long time to get off.  And our stop is coming--"

She stood with her daughter.  Then, she spotted the strange man standing in the aisle next to me.  She leaned and put her mouth right up against my ear.

"How did he get back here," she whispered.  "You want me to stay?"

"No, no," I patted her arm.  "I'm fine.  Don't worry."

She stood and re-adjusted her bag over her shoulder.  She looked at the man in blue as if she might spot him pulling out a drug with which to attack me.  Then she looked back at me.  I nodded that I was fine.  Really.

"Good seeing you," she said and pushed her way down the aisle.

"Wait," I called, standing up.

She rushed back, her arms tight around her daughter, her purse tucked between them, her legs kicking in front of her.  Perhaps she thought I'd changed my mind.  Perhaps she thought Man in Blue had attacked already.

"Here," I offered up the discipline book.  "You might enjoy reading this."

"Oh," she said, relaxing her hold on her daughter and putting her leg down.  "No, no.  I never have time to read."

"There are some good parts in there on how to tell your child no," I said, sticking the book in her bag.

"Okay, okay.  Thanks.  I'll make sure to get it back to you.  You're still over by Zi Mei's shop, right?"

"Right."  I grabbed onto her hand, ruffled the baby girl's hair.  "Come by anytime."

As soon as she disappeared up front, blood rushed through my body.  The seat next to me was now vacant.  Would the Man in Blue take this empty seat?  My heart pounded like the big war drums actors brought to the village when someone sponsored a show. 

A woman with a large red department store bag pushed past the strange man.  Then she wiggled around me to the empty seat next to the window, her jean material skirt brushing against my nose.  She settled the bag in between us.  The top of the bag felt sharp against my leg.

I moved my head around in circles again, all the time aware of Man in Blue standing next to me.  He stared out the window at the eel skins.  His dirty blue cotton pants seemed closer to my cheek than necessary.  His mud-covered boots jolted next to my feet when the bus stopped for another pothole.  There were so many potholes.  This man was so strange.  What a nuisance.

I took out Guo Qiang's letter.  Perhaps studying his strong, confident characters would quiet my fluttering heart.  Would I get a new note today?  That would be good.

In the distance, dynamite exploded at one of the rock quarries.  I glanced up.  Man in Blue stared right at me.  Right into my eyes.  How forward.  I looked away, out the window. 

The bus stopped.  I spotted Zi Mei's plump figure shuffling toward the front.  Was this my stop?  Already? 

Zi Mei.  The woman with the phone.  With all the information.  She knew who had marriage trouble, who was in debt--Father wasn't the only one--and who planned to follow the Snakehead overseas.

Certainly, with all the commotion, she had looked around and seen me.  And this strange man.  And I didn’t want to become her next article of conversation.  My university failure had finally fallen in conversational priority behind the lack of rain and drooping crops.  Now she'd wonder delectable scenarios for the ears of all, if I didn't get off the bus.

I stood.  The strange Man in Blue was taller than me--by a head.  His hands were thick and calloused. 

The bus shifted into first gear.

“Xia che,” I said, but my voice got stuck somewhere deep inside.  What was wrong with me?

The bus passed Millionaire Huang's pink castle on the corner.  Six stories with a turret.  Cheng Min walked past the castle, fanning her baby with my book.  She must live near.

The driver shifted into second. 

“Xia che,” I tried again. 

My request came out deep and loud.  So deep that I realized it wasn’t me.

“Xia che,” the strange Man in Blue called again.  He spoke our dialect without an accent.  "Xia che!"

The bus stopped so suddenly I fell into his shoulder, dropping my purse.  He held my forearm to balance me while he leaned down to retrieve my purse.  He had been kind with the old lady, in a most untraditional fashion.  Where did his grace and manners come from? 

“Xie xie,” I said, my voice a whisper.  I held my hand out for him to return my purse.  He didn't.  This man was a fool after all. 

"You---you--"  I looked up, not sure what to call him. 

He stared at me with his single-lidded dark brown eyes.  His face broke into a smile, making dents in his cheeks.  He slid the purse on my arm. 

“Xie xie," I said, swallowing my unkind thoughts.
"No problem," he said.

My cheeks flushed with heat as I hurried down the aisle and off the bus.  This strange man didn't walk the line of our culture.  Yet, he appeared to be just a simple laborer--one who could never support a family like mine.  So, why did my limbs tingle? My heart beat so?

© 2006 Jana McBurney-Lin, All Rights Reserved

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