China -- Fiction; Communism -- Fiction; Women peasants -- Fiction
But there came a day in that early summer, a day windless and full of
soft new heat. The cicadas called their sharp loves and when they had
called past the crisis their voices trailed slow and languorous into
silence again. Into the valley the sun poured down its heat like clear
warm wine and the smooth warm stones of the solitary street of the
little hamlet threw back the heat again so that the air shimmered and
danced above them, and through those waves the little naked children
ran and played, their smooth bodies shining with their sweat.
There was no little passing wind of any sort at all. Standing upon her
threshold the mother thought she had never felt such close and sudden
heat as this so soon in summer. The younger boy ran to the edge of the
pool and sat in the water there, laughing and shouting to his playmates
to come and join him, and the elder lad took off his coat and rolled
his trousers high and put on his head a wide old bamboo hat that had
been his father’s once and went out to the field of newly sprouted
corn. The girl sat in the house for darkness and her mother heard her
sighing there. Only the old woman loved this heat and she sat in the
sun and slipped the coat from her old withered frame and let the sun
soak down into her old bones and on her breasts that hung like bits
of dried skin on her bosom, and she piped when she saw her son’s wife
there, “I never fear to die in summer, daughter! The sun is good as new
blood and bones to an old dried thing like me!”
But the mother could not bear the outer heat. Heat there was enough
inside her and her blood seemed this day to thunder through her veins
with too much heat. She left the house then saying, “I must go and
water the rice a while. A very drying sun today, old mother,” and she
took her hoe and on her shoulder slung her empty water buckets and so
walked down the narrow path to where a further pond lay somewhat higher
than the seed beds of the rice, and she walked gratefully, because
the air though hot was not so shut and lifeless as it had been on the
street.
She walked on and met no one at all, because it was the hour after
noon when men take their rest. Here and there if a man had gone early
to his field he sought the shade, for, after all, the heat was too
great for labor, and he lay sleeping under some tree, his hat covering
his face against the flies, and beside him stood his beast, its head
drooping and all its body slack with heat and drowsiness. But the
mother could bear the heat because it came down out of the sky and was
not shut between walls or all in her own veins.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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