Chapter Nine: Progress and Lingering Traces
“Aren’t you waiting for Secretary Liu’s reply?”
In the earthen-brick house at the educated youth station, Zhao Gang was squatting in front of the stove, gnawing on a cornbread bun, crumbs of cornmeal scattered all over his lapel.
“He said there might be news from the Provincial Education Department today.”
“We’ll go handle the paperwork in the county town first, and stop by the post office on the way.”
Xu Chengjun pulled his straw hat down low on his head, the brim shadowing his face.
“The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can be at ease.”
It wasn’t about looking cool—if you didn’t keep your face covered in weather like this, you’d be sunburned raw!
“I’ve already asked the team leader for leave. I’ll go with you to the commune,” Zhao Gang mumbled, shoving the last bite of cornbread into his mouth.
“And I’ll stop by the supply and marketing cooperative to get my mother a piece of cloth. Her jacket has worn so thin her elbows are showing.”
——
On the way to the commune, they passed the old locust tree again.
It was late autumn of 1978, and the chill had set in.
The cadre stationed with the team had a voice like a cracked bell. “The collective plot only yielded three hundred jin, and you got four hundred and fifty from your mu?”
Xu Chengjun had been standing in the third row at the time.
He watched as Old Wang Kui was held by two militiamen, his head bowed so low that the veins on the back of his neck stood out, thick and blue.
...
The meeting lasted two hours.
As it ended, Xu Chengjun saw the old man’s little grandson squatting under the locust tree, tears falling onto the dirt, leaving tiny, darkened holes.
“It was only later we found out,” Zhao Gang said softly, “Old Wang Kui had secretly shared the extra wheat with the three poorest families in the brigade.”
Xu Chengjun said nothing.
He remembered yesterday, when he’d gone to inventory the warehouse, Old Wang Kui had been crouching in the corner, turning over and airing out wheat grains, his back more bent than last year, his cough like the wheeze of a bellows.
When he saw Xu Chengjun come in, the old man hurried to hide his little cloth sack behind his back.
——
Behind the counter at the post and telecommunications office, the old postman was tallying accounts on an abacus, the beads clacking crisply.
“Xu Chengjun?”
He looked up, pushing his reading glasses up his nose, and drew a thick, yellow envelope from the drawer. “This came from the county cultural center, arrived yesterday afternoon.”
The handwriting on the envelope was Secretary Liu’s, with a small check mark sketched in the upper right corner.
Xu Chengjun’s heart relaxed at once. He tore open the envelope; inside was only a brief note:
“Deputy Director Wang of the Higher Education Division at the Provincial Education Department has been informed. Just mention my name.”
Beneath that final line, Secretary Liu had drawn a thick, heavy line.
Xu Chengjun let out a long breath.
The first step is always the hardest! Once a good beginning is made, the rest will be easier!
Let’s hope so.
——
When they came out of the post office, the sun was already high overhead.
Section Chief Zhang of the Bureau of Culture and Education was a short, stout man. When he saw Xu Chengjun’s recommendation form, his brows knitted at once.
“The recommendation quota for 1978 has expired according to the rules.”
He scraped his fingernail over the date on the form. “In your case, this will need a special approval.”
All right! If I have to pull some strings, so be it!
“Secretary Liu said you know Deputy Director Wang.”
Xu Chengjun handed him the note. “He said you could help make an exception.”
Section Chief Zhang glanced at the note, then suddenly smiled. “For Old Liu, I have to give face.”
He pulled out an official seal from the drawer and stamped it down hard on the recommendation form. “I’ve already called Deputy Director Wang. Just go find him at the Provincial Education Department the day after tomorrow. It’ll be a long journey—don’t miss the early bus.”
Watching Section Chief Zhang’s oily smile, Xu Chengjun shook his head in silent resignation.
Everyone’s like this these days.
...
As they exited the Bureau of Culture and Education, Zhao Gang suddenly pointed at the slope across the road. “Isn’t that Old Wang Kui?”
Xu Chengjun looked where he pointed. Old Wang Kui was arguing with the storekeeper: “This wheat clearly weighs one hundred and twenty jin—why are you counting it as one hundred and ten?”
“Your scale isn’t accurate,” the storekeeper replied impatiently, waving him off. “Whatever I say it is, that’s what it is.”
——
“My scale was calibrated by Honest Xu from the team!” Old Wang Kui’s face flushed red with anxiety, his coughing fit returning, unable to straighten his back.
Xu Chengjun hurried over and steadied the old man’s arm. “Let’s weigh it again on the commune’s standard scale,” he said to the storekeeper, his voice quiet but firm. “If it’s short, you’ll make up the difference. If it’s over, we’ll return the surplus.”
The storekeeper recognized him as Xu Chengjun from the educated youth station, curled his lip, but still moved the wheat to the standard scale.
The pointer settled precisely at “120 jin.”
“The extra ten jin, I…” The storekeeper’s face turned beet red.
“It’ll go to the team’s grain quota,” Xu Chengjun interceded. “Uncle Wang, unload your wheat—I’ll write the receipt for you.”
——
“Heading to Hefei the day after tomorrow?” Zhao Gang asked suddenly.
“Mm.”
Xu Chengjun gazed at the distant wheat fields.
If I don’t go now, I’ll miss my chance for good.
“It’ll be best if it works out. If not, at least it’s a chance to see the world.”
When they returned to the educated youth station, Li Erwa was squatting by the stove, boiling corn. A gentle aroma drifted from the pot.
Seeing them come in, he quickly tossed another handful of firewood into the stove, his voice muffled. “I… I cooked two extra, just for you.”
“Brother Chengjun,” he said suddenly, “I heard from the people at the supply and marketing cooperative that city factories are hiring, but you have to be literate. If I learn to read from Brother Qian Ming, do you think I could get a factory job someday?”
This boy has an upward heart too!
Zhao Gang patted Li Erwa’s shoulder. “Wanting to learn is good. Qian Ming isn’t here, but I’ll teach you to write your own name tomorrow.”
The corn in the pot bubbled and steamed, filling the station with its fragrance.
Xu Chengjun looked out at the waves of wheat beyond the window. The people on this land have always, in their own ways, pressed onward toward sweeter days.
No matter how long it takes, the corn in the pot will always cook in the end.