China -- Fiction; Communism -- Fiction; Women peasants -- Fiction
“He cannot read,” the mother said astonished. “He never told me that he
lived by books, a very strange odd thing, I swear! I must ask him of
it.”
The next day when she was on the ass and they went winding through the
valleys she took the chance of being alone with him and she did ask her
son, “What are those books and papers that my cousin’s son says you
have in that room where you all live? You never told me you could read
or that you live by books. I never saw you read a word, my son.”
Then the young man stopped the little song he had been singing as they
went for he had a good voice to sing and loved to sing, and he said,
“Aye, I have learned a little.” And when she pressed him further he
said, evading her, “Mother, do not ask me now, for some day you will
know everything and when the hour comes. A great day, mother, and I was
singing of it just now, a song we sing together where I work, and on
that day we shall all be eased, and there shall be no more rich and no
more poor and all of us shall have the same.”
Now this was the wildest talk the mother had ever heard, for well she
knew heaven wills who shall be rich and who shall be poor, and men have
naught to say but take their destiny and bear it, and she cried out
afraid, “I hope you are not in some wicked company, my son, not with
thieves or some such company! It sounds the way robbers talk, my son!
There is no other way for poor to be rich than that, and it is ill to
be rich and lose your life if you be caught at it!”
But the young man grew angry at this and said, “Mother, you do not
understand at all! I am sworn to silence now, but some day you shall
know. Yes, I shall not forget you on that day. But only you. I will
not share with any who have not shared with me.” This last he said so
loudly that she knew he felt against his brother and so she was silent
for a while, fearing to rouse his wrath.
But she could not let him be. She sat as bid upon the ass and clung
to the beast’s hairy skin and thought about this son and looked at
him secretly. There he walked ahead of her, the beast’s halter in his
hand, and now he was singing again, some song she had never heard, some
beating fiery song whose words she could not catch, and she thought to
herself that she must know more of his life. Yes, and she must bind
him somehow more closely to his home and to them all. She would wed
him and have his wife there in the house. Then would he often come and
even live there, perhaps, for the wife’s sake. She would seek and find
a pretty, touching maid whom he could love, for the elder son’s wife
could do the work, and she would find another sort for this son. And as
she thought of this her heart was eased because it seemed a good way
and she could not keep it back and so she said, “Son, you are more than
twenty now, and near to twenty-one, and I think to wed you soon. How is
that for a merry thing?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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