Yiyun Li - The Vagrants

The train passed, and a conductor standing at the rear of the train waved at Teacher Gu. After a few seconds, Teacher Gu gathered some energy to wave back, but the man was a small dot already, too far away to see his gesture.

Teacher Gu walked across the track. Where the street became an unpaved dirt road that pointed to the rural areas in the mountains, Teacher Gu found the Huas’ cabin. Old Hua was squatting in front of the cabin and sorting glass bottles. Mrs. Hua was stirring a pot of porridge on the open fire of a small gas stove. Teacher Gu watched them, and only when Mrs. Hua looked up did he greet them.

The Huas stood up and greeted Teacher Gu. “Have you had your breakfast? Please join us if you haven't eaten,” Mrs. Hua said.

“I've eaten already,” said Teacher Gu. “Sorry to disturb your breakfast.”

“Don't apologize,” Mrs. Hua said, and she placed an extra bowl of porridge on the wooden table inside the cabin door. “Do join us. We don't have a lot to offer.”

Teacher Gu rubbed his hands and said, “You are so very kind, Mrs. Hua.”

Mrs. Hua shook her head. She placed a misshapen pan on the fire and dripped some cooking oil from a small bottle that had once been used to keep honey. “A fried egg, Teacher Gu?”

He tried to stop her, but a few minutes later, she put a fried egg onto a small plate for him. Old Hua stopped his sorting and again invited Teacher Gu to sit down for an extra bite. Finding no way to start the conversation without accepting their hospitality, Teacher Gu took Old Hua's chair, while Old Hua stacked two baskets for a makeshift seating for himself.

“Spring is late this year,” Old Hua said. “Quite unusual, wouldn't you say?”

“Indeed,” Teacher Gu said.

“You are doing well?” Old Hua asked.

“Yes, yes.”

“And Mrs. Gu, is she all right?” Mrs. Hua asked.

“She is a little unwell from the season, but nothing too much.”

“I hope she gets well soon,” Mrs. Hua said, and nudged the plate toward Teacher Gu. “Please help yourself.”

“This is too much,” Teacher Gu said, and passed the plate to Old Hua. “I'm rather full.”

After a minute of pushing to and fro, Old Hua, accepting that Teacher Gu would not touch the egg, divided it with his chopsticks and passed one half to his wife. Teacher Gu waited in silence until the couple finished their breakfast. “I've come to ask a favor from you,” Teacher Gu said. The couple sat quietly, both looking down at their empty bowls.

Teacher Gu brought out a package and pushed it toward Old Hua. “A big favor, in fact, and I hope this is enough compensation for your trouble.”

Old Hua exchanged a look with his wife. “Are you trying to find someone to take care of your daughter today?”

“Yes,” Teacher Gu said. “It's our shame not to have educated her well enough to be a useful human being …”

Mrs. Hua interrupted, almost with vehemence, saying that her husband and she had little use for such official talk in their place. Teacher Gu apologized and, for a moment, was unable to speak.

“We're sorry,” Mrs. Hua said in a softened voice. “For you and Mrs. Gu.”

Old Hua nodded in agreement.

“You are very kind,” said Teacher Gu.

“But you have to forgive us,” Mrs. Hua said, and pushed the package of cash across the table. “We can't help you.”

Teacher Gu felt a sharp pain in his chest and could not find the words to reply. Old Hua coughed with embarrassment and looked away. “We're sorry,” he said, echoing his wife.

Teacher Gu nodded and stood up. “No, I'm the one to apologize for having come and bothered you with this inappropriate request. Now if you will forgive my visit, I will leave.”

Mrs. Hua picked up the package and passed it to Old Hua. Old Hua put it into Teacher Gu's hands and said, “We thought you might come so I asked around to see if anyone would be willing to help. Do you know Old Kwen?”

Teacher Gu replied that he did not know Kwen, nor did he want to bother Old Hua further. It was irresponsible of him to think that the Huas would step in as undertakers for every unwanted child, Teacher Gu thought of adding, but he stopped himself.

“Not a trouble,” said Old Hua. “He's a bit unfriendly but an old bachelor can come to that. He does a good job with whatever he puts his hands on. If you don't mind, I'll walk with you to his place.”

“Too much trouble for you,” Teacher Gu repeated. He felt a weakening in his legs and had to support himself with both hands on the table.

“Are you feeling all right?” Mrs. Hua said.

Teacher Gu nodded, wishing, for a moment, that the couple would change their minds. He imagined walking to another house and waiting for a stranger to despise him or, even worse, to take pity on him. Fatigue overtook him.

“Old Kwen lives not far from here,” Old Hua said, and put on his sheepskin coat. “A five-minute walk.”

Mrs. Hua put an old woolen hat on her husband's head and flicked off some dust. “We wish we could help you, but we have our own difficulties,” she said.

“Yes, I understand.”

“We do wish to help,” Mrs. Hua repeated, as if she were afraid that Teacher Gu would not believe her. “Don't think we are holding a grudge against Shan.”

Teacher Gu nodded. He had nothing to say to defend his daughter—Old Hua and his wife had been among the ones Shan had whipped and kicked in a public gathering in 1966. All the condemned ones on that day had been old people, widows of ex-property owners, frail grandparents whose grandchildren screamed with fear in the audience and then were silenced by their parents. Teacher Gu and Mrs. Gu themselves were among the accused on the platform that day, but at least their daughter had the mercy to leave her parents to her companions for punishment. Teacher Gu did not know why the Huas were there—they were both from poor backgrounds, after all, but crazy as the young revolutionaries were, it seemed that being human was a sufficient reason for humiliation. On that day Teacher Gu lost any remaining hope for his daughter. She was not the only wild one there; one of her comrades, a girl a year younger than Shan, with baby fat still on her cheeks, beat an old woman's head with a nail-studded stick. The woman stumbled and fell down onto the stage with a thud. Teacher Gu remembered watching her thin silver hair become slowly stained red by the dark sticky blood; afterward Shan forced the audience to hail her comrade's feat.

“We know how you have felt all these years,” Mrs. Hua said.

Teacher Gu nodded. The Huas were among the few to accept Teacher Gu and his wife when, at the end of the Cultural Revolution, the Gus visited the people once beaten by Shan with presents and apologies on their daughter's behalf; many of the people, including Nini's parents, turned them away at the door.

“It wasn't your fault. She was still a child then.”

“A student's wrongdoing lies with the teacher's incapability,” quoted Teacher Gu from ancient teaching. “A child's fault is the father's fault.”

“Don't put this burden on yourself,” said Old Hua.

They were getting old, Mrs. Hua said, and they hoped to stay in Muddy River for the rest of their lives. They did not have legal residencies so they could not risk being called sympathizers, Mrs. Hua explained. “If we were younger, we would not hesitate to help you. We were always on the road then.”

“Yes.”

“And we were less afraid then.”

“Yes.”

“We will help you with anything else.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Do come back for a cup of tea whenever you feel like it,” Mrs. Hua said. Old Hua waited for his wife to finish the conversation, then pulled gently on Teacher Gu's arm. “Teacher Gu, this way, please.”