Chinese Literature

meeting is held, it won’t be any joke, thought the widow. In the years before liberation, if a woman did what she had done and was tried at a full meeting of the clan, she would either end up in the river with a millstone around her neck, or she’d be beaten half to death with bamboo

switches. :

Chun-mei’s mother shivered. She had the same feeling that day she had seen a dozen People’s Liberation Army men fighting off two hundred Kuomintang soldiers. If they hadn’t been able to hold out, everything would have been finished. Her fears had been groundless that day. She only hoped they would prove groundless this time too!

Still no sign of Chun-mei. Would the district government authorities be willing to interfere in a small matter like this? And if so, how would they handle it? She had no way of guessing.

The past few days, Chun-mei seemed to have spent every spare minute urging the widow to stand firm. Several times, the proud untamable girl had encouraged her—‘“You certainly won’t kill yourself. Let them try to kill you—if they dare!’ These words to the widow were like a drink of piping hot broth to one shivering with cold. At once, they brought warmth and strength. Mulling them over, a flame of courage leaped within her. “So they want to kill, do they? Even a pig fights back at the slaughtering block. They won’t find it so easy!’

The fire in the stove went out. She had forgotten to add wood. But now the room didn’t seem so cold and fearful. Thinking back, she wondered why she had always been such a weak ball of fluff. ‘There was no disgrace in being a widow. She marvelled at the stubborn character Chun-mei had developed in the few years she had served as a slavey in the landlord’s household. That character had angered the widow at times, but she knew now that Chun-mei was an unusual child. “Even if the sky falls, it can only happen once!” That was Chun-mei’s attitude. She was afraid of neither storm nor waves.

There was a clatter as the cat upset the crockery teapot beside the stove. Chun-mei’s mother was reminded that she ought to have some hot tea ready for the girl when she got home.

Before the water boiled, Chun-mei returned. Aunt Li was with her. Chun-mei threw away her torch as she entered the room, picked up two big armfuls of twigs and leaves, and stuffed them into the grate. Fire tongs in hand, Aunt Li scolded her.

“Wench, why must you do things so crudely? You've jammed it too full!’

Chun-mei’s mother lit a resin-smeared stick and pushed it carefully into a crack in the earthen wall. Then she seated herself on a low stool off to one side. How odd. She had been anxiously waiting for this moment, but now that they had returned, she was afraid to question them. She tried to read their expressions, to see whether their trip resulted in good or ill.