Chinese Literature

instance. Once, before she was as old as you are now—she still couldn’t work in the fields or do any heavy labour—a man came to repair her house. By the time he finished eating dinner after the day’s work, it was fairly late. Yang Li-chai, the landlord, heard about it, and, as clan leader, raised hell with your mother.”

After liberation, Yang Li-chai had been executed for his many brutal crimes. The mere mention of his name brought fire to Chun-mei’s eyes.

“That pack of curs! There wasn’t a good one-in his whole damn family! You know what happened to me, Aunt. I ask you, are they human or are they wild beasts?”

When Chun-mei had been working for them, Yang Li-chai’s second son had gotten fresh with her and she slapped his face. Yang Li-chai not only didn’t reprove his “precious,” he gave Chun-mei a beating.

Aunt Li laughed coldly. “Sure, they were full of ‘Family Rules’ and ‘Clan Laws’ for others, but they broke them all themselves. Dogs in human skin, that’s what they were! Nobody dared touch a hair on their heads then!... Wasn’t Glib Lips a widow too? But when she opened that wine and grocery shop, didn’t Yang Ken-hua go in and out as he pleased, pretending it was part of his job as Kuomintang boss of the township? And didn’t he beat Yang the Elder with his pistol butt the minute the old man said one word about it?”

This last remark was as refreshing to Chun-mei as a cool drink of water. But immediately she felt there was something wrong in her joy at the Elder’s misfortune. Even though she disliked him, it was nothing compared with her hatred for Yang Li-chai, Yang Ken-hua and that whole gang of landlords and crooked Kuomintang officials. How could she lump the old man in with them? Her mind was a jumble of confusion.

Chun-mei heaved a little sigh. Aunt Li raised her head and saw a dark shadow flit across the girl’s round face. She had often seen that expression on the face of Chun-mei’s mother, but her niece seldom looked like that. Aunt Li had always sympathized with the widow, and she was even fonder of Chun-mei. This twenty-year-old girl was usually bright and gay as a clear sky. At times she was noisy and boisterous, explosive, like a clap of thunder. At times she was a complete child. Yet comparing Chun-mei’s youth with her own, Aunt Li felt that the girl had matured too early, too quickly. Especially in the few years since liberation, she was like a tender shoot that suddenly, in a couple of days, sprouted up into a big tree. <

“Chun-mei,’ the aunt said earnestly, “don’t look so worried. I’m always telling your Ma—erying is no good unless it solves something!”

The girl quickly straightened up, her eyes shining like stars. “I’m not worried. It’s just that I don’t know what’s troubling my Ma. When I find out—whether it’s a copper burden or an iron load—I’ll bear it for her. Today we have the Communist Party and the People’s Government. If we’ve committed any erime, we'll go alone to jail

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