China -- Fiction; Communism -- Fiction; Women peasants -- Fiction
The girl child, too, the mother pressed into small simple tasks, for
the old woman grew more idle as she grew older, and forgetful so that
all she remembered was to know if she were hungry or athirst. Only did
she stir if the younger boy cried and wanted something in his lusty
way, for the grandmother loved this youngest one. So the mother taught
the girl to wash the noon’s rice at the pond, but she let her do it
first before she set forth to the fields, lest the child with her
half-seeing eyes fall into the pool and drown, and she taught her how
to cook the rice, too, against their coming, though she was so small
she scarce could reach the cauldron lid. She taught this little thing
even to light the fire and keep it blazing, and this the little girl
did very well, too, and she was patient when the smoke came out and
flew into her eyes and smarted on the lids, and she did not complain
at anything, for she understood that now the house was without the
father, and the mother must do for them all. Nevertheless when the task
was done she went into the house where it was dark even at noonday and
there she sat and wiped her streaming eyes with a bit of old cloth she
kept for this and she bore the pain as best she could.
The babe could walk, too, now that spring was come, for in the winter
he had not tried, being burdened with his padded clothes so heavily
that even though he fell he could not rise until someone passed by his
way and set him right again. Now he ate what he would and thrived. But
the mother let him suckle still because it gave her some vague comfort,
although her breasts were well-nigh dry by now. Still it was a comfort
to her in some dumb sweet way that the child clung to her breast and
that he ran to meet her when he saw her coming home at night and cried
to drink what little was there for him.
Thus the early spring came into full mild spring, and the mother
labored hard with the boy beside her all day long, and the fields were
ploughed somehow, if not so straight or deep as the man had ploughed
them, for it had been what he had always done in springs past, while
she sowed the seed. But beans were put in and young cabbage and the
radishes to be sold at market, and soon the rape budded again and sent
up its early heads and bloomed yellow and gold. So did she labor that
well-nigh she forgot the man, she was so weary every night, and so dead
in sleep she scarcely could rise again at dawn.
But there came a day when she remembered him.
Now the hour was come when the cousin’s wife was due to give birth and
she sent a child to go and call the mother, who was her friend and
nearest neighbor, and the child came to the field where the mother was
working, the sweet spring wind blowing her loose coat as she worked and
cooling her sweat as soon as it came.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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