Ha Jin - Under the Red Flag

For two days Lei had a fever. Jia took him to Dr. Liu on Bath Street and brought back two packets of herbs. The doctor said there was too much fire in the boy—the Yang was too strong—so the medicine was to reduce the fire and build up the Yin. Ning decocted the herbs, but the boy disliked the bitter liquid. It took a lot of white sugar and sweet words to coax him into taking the medicine. Even so, the fever continued and Lei began to have a cough.

“Close up the mosquito curtain,” Jia told his wife when she laid the sleeping boy on the bed. Behind Lei’s ear they had found a red blotch, probably a mosquito bite.

“Don’t you see I’m doing it?” She placed a pillow to hold down the opening of the curtain, then bent down and kissed the boy’s cheek. “Little devil, you get better tomorrow,” she said.

Jia turned off the light. It was sultry, so he took off his undershirt and underpants and lay down and closed his eyes. Lei’s stuffy nose was whistling away softly in the dark. Soon Jia went to sleep.

At about one o’clock Ning’s voice woke him up. “My old man, turn on the light. Lei’s burning hot.”

Jia pulled the lamp cord and sat up to have a look at the boy. He was terrified to find Lei’s face covered with red spots. “My God, he has a rash!”

Ning climbed out of bed and went to the desk. She found an old thermometer in a drawer and brought it over. After shaking it down, she inserted it into the boy’s armpit. “Lei, tell me where it hurts,” she begged, tears coming to her eyes.

The boy moaned without answering. His lips were so parched they looked chafed. His jaw moved slightly as if chewing something. “Get some water for him,” Ning told her husband.

Jia went into the kitchen and brought back a bowl of water, a spoon, and a wet towel. “Here, here you are,” he said, and sat down by the child. “Lei, open your eyes. Can you see your uncle?” he asked.

The boy didn’t respond. Ning took out the thermometer and raised it to the bulb. “Heavens! It reached the end!”

Jia grabbed the thermometer and read it. The mercury column passed 41 Centigrade. He jumped to his feet and took his undershirt, telling his wife, “You take care of him. I’m going to the clinic to get a doctor.” He rushed out into the night.

He was running to the Commune Clinic, which was not far, just at the corner of Safe Street. A dog in a yard was roused by Jia’s footsteps and started barking at him. He didn’t bother to give it a look, and kept running and murmuring to himself, “Must save him. Must save him.” The road of white gravel spread under his feet like a band of cloud in the moonlight. He didn’t feel anything, as though flying to the street corner.

Within five minutes he arrived at the clinic and set about pounding the boards that covered the door and the windows, shouting, “Doctor, wake up and save life!”

He pounded and yelled for a while, but no response came from inside. He was wondering whether there was anyone on duty at all. Then it dawned on him to try the army’s clinic. He turned around and dashed down Main Street.

The lights in the clinic were still on. Jia went directly to a screened window and saw a doctor and two nurses inside sterilizing something in a large boiling pot on an electric stove. He knocked at the windowsill. One of the women raised her head with a start. “What do you want in the middle of the night?” she asked. They all turned to gaze at the old man, who looked very pale and distracted.

“Help, doctor,” Jia moaned. “My boy’s dying.”

“Why don’t you go to the Commune Clinic?” the other nurse asked.

“Nobody’s there. The boy is not mine. His father is an officer in your army. We look after the boy for him. Come and save his life, please!” Jia was choked with emotion, his deep-set eyes tearful. He wiped the sweat off his gray brows.

“All right, we’re coming,” the doctor said. He turned to one of the nurses, saying, “You stay here. Liang Fen and I are going with him.”

They put on white robes, picked up a medical box and two flashlights, and went out. Jia rushed to the entrance to meet them.

The moment their shadows appeared at the front door, Jia ran up to them and with both hands he held the doctor’s arm. “Thank you, young man. You’ve saved my old life. You’re a good man. My wife and I—”

He stopped because Nurse Liang turned around, tittering.

“Look at yourself,” the doctor said, laughing heartily. “You have nothing on below your waist, old man.”

Jia looked down and saw himself without his underwear. “I—I—, too scared. Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, using his hands to cover himself.

The nurse took off her robe and handed it to Jia. “Put this on, Uncle,” she said.

“Thanks, thanks.” He wrapped himself up immediately.

They moved into the street and hurried east. Jia walked and ran continually while the doctor and the nurse were striding behind him. It was damp and foggy. Jia was fluttering along like a ghost in white on the street of the sleeping town.

Lei had measles. On hearing the diagnosis, both Jia and Ning felt relieved; they had thought it must have been something like smallpox. The nurse gave Lei an injection of penicillin, and the doctor, whose surname was Cui, told them not to worry about the rash, which would continue to spread over the boy’s body but would disappear in a few days. The fever would go down every day, and a nurse would be assigned to come to give Lei the injection four times a day. In the meantime, they must let the boy rest well, drink more water, and eat liquid food.

When Dr. Cui and Nurse Liang were about to leave, Jia handed back the white robe and said with an awkward smile, “Thanks. I was so scared.” He scratched his sparse hair.

“Next time, remember to wear your pants,” the young man said and laughed. The nurse took back the robe, tittering.

After they left, Jia and Ning didn’t go to bed. Instead they spent the small hours talking about the boy and watching his blotchy cheeks bulging out and sagging down, and they also rubbed him with a wet towel time and again. They smiled at each other, remembering how Lei had called the Moon Goddess on the wall his bride, how he had nodded his head when they asked him whether he would give them money when he grew up, how he had promised to give his mother a hundred yuan, his father a hundred, Ning a hundred, Jia a hundred, his Moon Bride a hundred, and himself a hundred, how he had wanted his picture-story books to be placed by his pillow when he went to bed, how he had passed water on the floor and cried heartbroken when Ning swept the mess away because he thought a small river of his was gone, how he had stepped on the feet of the baby boy of the Mings, then given him a candy when the boy was about to cry …

Beyond the windows roosters crowed, one after another. Dawn was approaching. How short was the night. They could have talked and talked for many more hours.

Three days later Lei’s mother came to see him. He had almost recovered but still had brownish scales on the skin. She thanked the Jias for looking after Lei so well and then took him with her to spend the Sunday in their apartment. Though the Jias knew Lei would be back by the evening, they felt restless, as if they had not known where to put their own bodies. Jia didn’t speak much, sitting in the backyard and pulling away on his pipe.

The day before, he had received a short letter from his mistress, who asked him to see her that Sunday. She said: “If you don’t come this weekend, you mustn’t see me again.” Without much thinking, Jia wrote her a note which ended with these words: “I’m too busy on Sundays. Sorry, I cannot come. I really have no time. Too tired.”

Aunt Zhang stopped by and chatted with Ning. She laughed when she heard Jia’s night expedition to the army’s clinic. “I have an idea,” she said to the Jias. “Since you like the boy so much, why not take him as your nominal son? That will tie him to you forever, at least in name. I’m sure his parents won’t mind. I can talk to them. That may make them feel more secure about leaving the boy with you.”