The Diary of Ma Yan Page 9

  I finish my essay in a few minutes. All the comrades are surprised. “We take two or three days to think over an essay, and you…you just dash one off.”

  The teacher points out that even this isn’t quick enough. “You have to be like Ye Shengtao,* and practice speed and skill.”

  The comrades make fun of me. “Ye Shengtao is the cleverest man under the sun. Ma Yan comes in second.”

  Ma Yan between classes at school

  Everyone laughs.

  To tell the truth, there’s nothing I’d like better than to be the second-cleverest person in the world. If I had the chance, I’d like to compete with grandfather Ye Shengtao. Who knows if my wish might come true?

  Friday, October 19

  Fine, but then gray

  Today my father has come to town for the market. He waits for me by the door while I’m still busy in class. I’m happy because that means he probably has some money for me. Otherwise he wouldn’t wait.

  As soon as classes are over, I rush out to meet him. He gives me five yuan, which I’ll have to give to the teacher for books. My father asks me if I’ve run out of bread.

  I explain to him that the steamed bread is long finished. He buys two rolls, one for my brother and one for me. I hold on to mine. It’s precious. I’ll eat it tomorrow on the long road home.

  When I get to the vegetable part of the market, I meet comrade Ma Yongmei. I borrowed a roll from her not long ago. She asks me to return what I owe her. I give her the bread rolls I’m holding. But she doesn’t want that. She wants money. Where am I going to find money?

  Friday, October 26

  A fine day

  My father gave us four yuan and told my brother and me to get a ride home on a tractor today. My parents are going off to pick fa cai again and they were worrying about our safety.

  But how in good conscience can I squander money on a tractor ride? My parents are working so hard, breaking their backs, bent over all the time, their faces fixed on the yellow earth. How can we possibly allow ourselves the extravagance of a tractor ride that is paid for with our parents’ sweat? My brother and I prefer to walk home.

  We set out at eleven in the morning, and it is almost five when we finally reach home. We push open the door. Everything is quiet. The yard is empty. There’s no one. No one here to say, “Oh, at last. Here are my exhausted children. Quick. You must rest. Mother is going to prepare a meal for you….”

  How I would love to hear Mother’s voice. But Mother isn’t here.

  When it got dark, my brother went off to ask our paternal grandmother if she would keep us company. She didn’t come and there’s only us, my two brothers and me. We go to sleep silently on the kang. Outside everything is quiet, and we’re very frightened. If Mother were here, I don’t know what she would be talking about. It would probably be one of her funny stories. But she isn’t here.

  Even cuddled up in bed, we feel the cold. I don’t know how Mother manages to sleep on the damp earth—especially since she’s ill. What a terrible life she has. How much longer will she have to live this way? I so very much hope she’ll soon be happy.

  Saturday, October 27

  It’s windy

  This morning I help my brother Ma Yichao do his English homework. He doesn’t even know how to write the simplest words. I get angry and I can’t prevent myself from giving him a slap. He starts to cry and doesn’t want to go on. Suddenly I start to cry too….

  Mother is always lecturing me: “You have to take care of your little brother. You’re bigger than he is and have a duty to help him. I send you to school and pay no attention to the costs. If you don’t work well, not only do you not deserve the trouble I take for you, but you don’t even deserve a week’s bread.”

  Her words play over and over in my mind. But my little brother doesn’t work hard. I don’t want to have to hear that he’s been put into the slow class.

  While the two of us are crying, my second uncle comes to the house. He says that an official is busy inspecting one of our pieces of land. “You should prepare this land for planting trees on,” he says to us. “Aren’t your parents here? Go and see your paternal grandmother then, and ask your fifth uncle to come and dig some holes for the trees.” Then he goes away.

  What are we to do? Should I be going back to school or staying at home to attend to all this? I’m so confused, I can’t even describe it.

  And my mother isn’t here…. Every time I think of her, I want to cry.

  Monday, October 29

  A fine day

  Good news today. On Wednesday we’re going to have our midterm exam. I’m very happy about it. I fully intend to demonstrate my abilities. I’m no worse than anyone else, apart from the fact that I eat and dress less well than they do. Some girls change their school clothes often. But I’ve only got one outfit, a pair of trousers and a white shirt, which I have to wash on Saturdays so that they’re clean by Monday.

  But what does it matter! I only want to study and pay tribute to my parents’ hands.* Despite the cold, they’re working far away from home for us. Why? For our future. And I mustn’t disappoint them.

  Tuesday, October 30

  A somber day

  It’s freezing today. My brother and I have no more bread. At lunchtime the comrades are all eating, and we have to stand by and grit our teeth.

  Seeing my tears, my brother says, as if his heart were light, “Wait, sister, I’m going to borrow some lunch tickets.” But I know he feels no better than I do. He simply wants to console me and stop me from worrying about him. I go back to my dorm and sit on my bed and wait for him to return.

  I’m dreaming of this bowl of yellow rice.

  He takes a very long time to come back. Then he says, “Sister, there’s no more rice.”

  He turns to leave. I watch my brother’s receding back, and I can’t help letting the tears flow.

  Do you know what hunger is? It’s an unbearable pain.

  I wonder when I’ll stop experiencing hunger at school….

  Friday, November 2

  Wind

  All these last days we’ve been doing our midterm exams. I think of nothing else, not even my sick mother, who’s working so far away.

  For the exams some of the comrades have torn out pages of their books and hidden them in their pockets. They’ll be punished. Others write answers to difficult questions down the length of their arms. Do you think that’s fair?

  I haven’t even opened my book. I remember that in elementary school a teacher explained to us that before an exam there’s no point rereading all your notes. It’s better to relax, have fun. “That’s the best way to get good results,” he said.

  I haven’t altogether followed his advice. Instead, I sat on the edge of my bed and thought of my parents’ suffering.

  I can’t disappoint them. I will do well.

  Saturday, November 3

  A gray day

  The weekend starts today, and I’m full of joy. I hope that my parents have come home. I’ll tell them all about the midterm exams.

  I’m busy planning all kinds of projects when a comrade whispers, “The politics teacher knows our exam results.”

  But another comrade is furious. “He doesn’t. He only knows how the best students did, not the results of the dunces like us who aren’t ranked among the top students.”

  I hurry over to the teacher’s house. It’s already full of students. I’ve only just come in when I hear the teacher’s voice. “Ma Yan got one hundred fourteen points in math. She’s come in at the top of all six classes. She got ninety points in Chinese…. The English results haven’t come in yet.”

  I’m so overjoyed, I burst into tears. I don’t know where so many tears can come from. My vision is blurred, but I go outside again.

  I’m so moved, I still can’t even find words to describe how I feel. Never have I had a moment like this one. Never will I forget it.

  Monday, November 5

  A fine day

  At the clas
s meeting the teacher pinned up our exam results. He explained working methods to us.

  “When you’re asked to put the answer to a question between parentheses, you don’t need to show us the working out of the whole problem.”

  I know that that’s directed at me. He goes on.

  “For multiple-choice questions, just choose one answer. There’s no point checking two or more answers. Some students often do this. I hope you won’t make these same mistakes next time around. For calculations, use the shortest method. To do an analysis, you must read the question carefully and think….”

  When he’s finished with these explanations, he asks the students to give him the results of each exam, as well as the total, since he needs to fill out a form.

  At the end of the day, I have a total of 299 points. I come in second. Someone who is repeating the year comes in first. Tears of joy pour from my eyes. The teacher congratulates me and says everyone should take me as a model.

  But the more he talks, the sadder I become, because Mother has had to go far off to work. Everything the teacher said today will stay etched on my mind. If I follow his advice, I think I’ll be able to overcome my difficulties.

  Next time I will try to come in first.

  Tuesday, November 6

  A dull day

  During class today the politics teacher compliments me once more. He admits that up until now he had paid no attention to me, noticing neither my qualities nor my faults.

  “In her midterm exams, comrade Ma Yan has shown lots of potential—potential I hadn’t suspected she had. I judged her wrongly. I have already told her what I think of her work. If you don’t believe me, ask her. You should know that a comrade of ours wrote in a composition, ‘When we hadn’t done well on a test, the teacher insulted us, complaining that he had taught a class of idiots and all in vain.’ This same girl went on to say, ‘Teacher, you shouldn’t underestimate us: failure is the mother of success.’ This is both a piece of advice she offers to your teacher and the expression of her own feelings. This girl is in our class.”

  Ma Yan in class

  Everyone is staring at me. It’s true, I wrote those words. If I did well in these exams, it’s largely because of what this teacher said. If he hadn’t called us idiots, I would certainly not have gone on to get the results I did.

  Wednesday, November 7

  A fine day

  I’m so hungry, I could eat anything. Anything at all.

  When I talk about hunger, I instantly think of my mother. I don’t know if she’s gotten home safely. Me, I’m happy enough coming to school every day and being hungry. But Mother has to run up mountain slopes every day. And I don’t know how she’s faring. On top of it all, she’s ill.

  It’s three weeks since I’ve seen her. I think of her all the time.

  I’m terribly hungry. There’s been no bread or vegetables since Tuesday. When I eat my rice now, there’s nothing to go with it.

  I even took some food from a comrade’s bowl without asking her. When she came back to the dormitory, she called me all kinds of names.

  What can I say to her? When I hear her sounding off, I think of my father, who left my brother and me four yuan. We’ve been living on that for three weeks, and I still have one left over in my pocket. My stomach is all twisted up with hunger, but I don’t want to spend that yuan on anything so frivolous as food. Because it’s money my parents earned with their sweat and blood.

  I have to study well so that I won’t ever again be tortured by hunger and lack of money. When I have a job, I’ll guarantee some happy times for my parents. I’ll never let them go far away to work for us again.

  Thursday, November 8

  A fine day

  It’s market day. In the English class I’m sitting next to the window. Suddenly I see a shadow from the corner of my eyes. I lift my head. I see Mother behind the window. I’m staggered. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. Even through the window I can see that her face is all black and swollen.

  The class comes to an end without my noticing. In any case, I’ve taken nothing in. It’s not important. I’ll ask the teacher what I’ve missed at the next lesson. First I have to find Mother.

  Father and Mother are waiting for me in the street. I’m so happy! It’s so long since we’ve all been together. Father, Mother, my brother, and me. We walk down the street, all together. We talk about all kinds of things and forget about our stomachs. Suddenly Mother taps her forehead. “But you two, you haven’t eaten yet?”

  We shake our heads.

  She takes us to the market. She buys us vegetable soup for fifty fen and we also get bread to dunk in the bowl.

  After we’ve eaten, we go off to buy winter clothes. With good padded clothes, we won’t be cold. We each get a jacket and shoes and socks. In no time at all we’ve spent over a hundred yuan. What a pity! I feel both happy and sad. Money is so hard to earn and so easy to spend. You don’t even notice it going.

  I don’t know how Mother and Father have earned these hundred yuan, how many days it took, how many tens of hours, hundreds of minutes, thousands and thousands of seconds. And I spent all this hard-earned wealth as if it were nothing at all.

  When I grow up, what won’t I do for my parents!

  Friday, November 9

  A nice day

  Tomorrow we go home, and I’m so happy.

  Tonight during the study hour there was a blackout. All the comrades were thrilled. They were happy not to have electricity to see by: a whole hour in which to have fun.

  But I’m happy just to go home, to sit down with my mother and talk things over.

  Several weeks have passed since we were all together at home. This time when we get there, I’m going to ask my parents how they spent every single day, and especially how Mother’s health is. I think her pains started again when she was up in the mountains.

  Sunday, November 11

  A fine day

  This morning at about five o’clock, Mother got up to prepare our food, worried that we would be hungry. Then she woke us. We got dressed, washed, and sat down to breakfast.

  While I ate, I noticed that my mother’s eyes, face, feet, and hands were all swollen. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, “Nothing, nothing. Maybe I got up too quickly….”

  I know that’s not the reason. Her attacks are bad again.

  I ask her if the swelling is caused by her illness.

  “What illness?” She stares at me. “I must have woken you up too early. You’re still all mixed up. Eat. Quickly…”

  A vehicle pulls up, and my mother makes it an excuse to put an end to my questions. I know she’s running away from them, just so that I don’t worry about her.

  I will study well. Otherwise I won’t deserve Mother’s hardworking hands that have prepared our breakfast this morning.

  Monday, November 12

  A fine day

  What I really want is to go home, straightaway, without waiting for the weekend. I want to see Mother’s face and her hands again. Because I know that she’s going away to work again. Far away…I don’t want her to go away, but I don’t know how to prevent it.

  Last week when we got home, Mother wanted to see my report card. I showed her my test results. After she had looked at them, she smiled.

  “I haven’t spent all this money for nothing,” she concluded. “You haven’t disappointed my expectations in the least.”

  She looked at my brother’s results too and she exploded. “How can you possibly think you deserve the bread you take away with you every week? How do you think I managed to get through the exhaustion of the mountains? My hope in you, that’s how. And now look at the results! How can I help but be disappointed. And sad.”

  When I think of my mother, I really want to go home. I feel like asking for permission to leave. But even if I go home, I fear I may already have missed her. She’s probably left already to harvest fa cai. I can only wish her good health. Because if her illness starts again, there’
s no one there to look after her. This time Father isn’t going with her. He’s staying at home to take care of the house and the fields.

  How I hope that her attacks don’t start again. She only had a two-or three-day break at home before setting off again to try and earn some more money. How I love it when we’re all together as a family, eating and talking. I really want to have a warm and happy family! But the heavens don’t seem to want it, and they force me to live in melancholy and pain.

  But the unhappiest person of all is Mother. All year long she has to leave home to work far away. That’s where her illness came from. From going off to earn money to support the three of us children. And my brother hasn’t brought honors home from school. So of course she’s sad.

  I have to carry on working hard so that I don’t disappoint her. The biggest wishes in my life are that she gets better and that our family is at last together for good.

  If ever I succeed in life, my success will equally be Mother’s. I’ll always remember her.

  Why am I always so unhappy; why do my tears never dry? Tell me why? Will I only succeed when I have no tears left? And if they don’t dry up, is that a sign that I won’t ever succeed?

  I must persist on this difficult path.

  Tuesday, November 13

  A fine day

  I don’t know where Mother spent last night, whether she slept on the damp ground or on a rocky promontory at the edge of a road. I’m only certain of one thing. I know she didn’t sleep well. The temperature has gone right down to below zero. On top of that, there are her stomach problems.

  I know how hard it is to pick fa cai. I did it once with my father. It was still summer. At one in the morning, the tractor we were on ran out of fuel. We had to get off and sleep in a field on the bare ground. In no time at all, I was covered with dust. It crawled up my nostrils. I breathed it. I couldn’t get to sleep. I sat up and counted the stars in the sky.

  I thought of a story we’d once had to read called “The Child Who Counts the Stars.” Once upon a time there was a boy who leaned against his grandmother at night and counted the stars. His grandmother told him the stars were beyond number, uncountable. But the boy answered that, provided he believed he could, he would somehow manage to count them.