China -- Fiction; Communism -- Fiction; Women peasants -- Fiction
But the elder son spoke up at this talk of his land and he said, “And
how then will we live? We can scarcely live even as it is and if we
rent more and at these new and ruinous rates we have now we shall be
beggars. All we own is this small parcel of land and I will not sell
it, mother. No, the land is mine--I will not sell it.”
And when he said this his wife spoke up, to say the only thing she had
said all the time, for she had sat there quietly listening, her pale
face grave and showing nothing and she said, “There is the son I have
in me to think of now.”
And the man said heavily, “Aye, it is he I think of.”
Then was the old mother silent. Yes, she was silent and she wept a
while and thereafter all that night whenever fresh words broke forth
there was but this one answer to them all.
* * * * *
When the dim dawn came near, for they had sat the night through, the
mother gathered some strange strength she had and said, “I will go
myself. Once more I will go into the town and wait to see my little son
if he must go out to die.” And they laid their hands upon her arm and
begged her not to go, and the son said earnestly, “Mother, I will go
and fetch him--afterwards--for if you see the sight you yourself will
die.” But she said, “What if I die?”
She washed her face and combed the bit of gray hair left on her head
and put a clean coat on herself as ever she was used to do when she
went townwards, and she said simply, “Go and fetch my cousin’s ass. You
will let me have it, cousin?”
“Oh, aye,” the cousin said helplessly and sadly.
So the son and cousin’s son went and fetched the ass and set the old
mother on its back and they walked to the town beside it, a lantern in
the son’s hand, for dawn was still too faint to walk by.
Now was the mother weak and quiet and washed by her tears, and she went
almost not knowing what she did, but clinging to the ass’s back. Her
head hung down and she did not look once to see the dawn. She stared
down into the pale dusty road that scarcely showed yet through the
darkness. The men were silent, too, at that grave hour, and so they
went winding with the road to the south and entered in toward the
southern gate that was not opened yet as they came because the day was
still so early.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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