Chinese Literature

he occasionally would pack on his back and take to fairs in neighbouring villages. Tseng was a simple, honest fellow, weil over forty. He had high cheekbones; deep wrinkles, like tropical fish tails, fanned out from the corners of his eyes.

Hsiao-chang remembered that he’d often seen Tseng calling at Chun-mei’s house. The boy’s throat suddenly seemed choked with a wad of cotton; he couldn’t breathe. After a long pause, gasping slightly, he asked:

“What does your mother say about all this?”

“My Ma is very queer. She seems to approve, and yet she doesn’t. Hverytime he’s mentioned, she sighs. Maybe she’s in favour of it, but she’s never really pressed me. Maybe she’s against it, yet she’s always saying what a good man he is. Last night, I got angry and asked her why he keeps after me. She said, ‘Puppets don’t move unless somebody pulls the strings. You shouldn’t blame him!’. . .”

A torch appeared on the market grounds at the foot of the hill. Its flame waving in the dark, the torch drew closer. Hsiao-chang leapt to his feet.

“Listen! He’s calling you!”

Chun-mei paused. A long drawn-out cry floated up through the night. Three clear words—“Yang. .. Chun... mei... .” The cry stabbed her like a needle. Trembling all over, she looked at Hsiao-chang.

“The trouble is about to start! he said through clenched teeth.

Sharply alert, Chun-mei peered at the surrounding darkness. “You better go. From now on, whatever happens, I'll meet it first. Just so long as you back me UL) eee eae

Hsiao-chane’s eyes flashed and his upswept brows arched high. “Don’t worry about me, Chun-mei. Even if it were a millstone’s iron eye, I'd come through for you somehow! We'll take up our marriage with the Youth League, we’ll talk to the village administration office about it. If they can’t settle it, we'll go to the district government!”

Chun-mei skirted the left side of temple grove and descended the slope. There, on the road leading to the village, she met the torch bearer. A thousand catty stone dropped from her heart when she saw his face in the light of the torch. It was Yang Li-ho. He was distantly related to Chun-mei. Although rather old-fashioned, because of his wife’s affection for Chun-mei and her widowed mother, he took a creat interest in their affairs. Chun-mei called him and his wife “Uncle” and “Aunt.”

“Imp of a wench, wilful girl!” he shouted. “Where have you been running around in the cold so late at night!’

Holding his torch higher, he looked her over. Chun-mei was afraid he would notice that her clothes were wet with dew, and her heart beat fast. Instead, he seized her arm and began pulling her towards the village.

“Wilful girl, can’t you hurry! If it weren’t for your aunt’s habit

20)

— mt some NEN tse re Ep a hy Cp