Yiyun Li - The Vagrants

She went for the basin first and checked the enamel bottom carefully before she said in a disapproving tone, “Tong, you're old enough to know what you shouldn't do.”

He felt the sting of tears but it would be wrong to cry. He hugged the water kettle and waited for harsher words from his mother, but she grabbed it from him. Tong watched her test the water temperature with the back of her hand first and then splash water onto his father's big feet. He moved a little in the chair and snored on.

Tong asked her why she did everything for his father.

“What a question!” Tong's mother said. She looked up and when she saw Tong's serious face, she smiled and rubbed his hair. “When you become a man, you'll have a good wife and a good son who will serve you on their knees too.”

Tong did not answer. He carried the water out to the yard and poured it into a corner by the fence. When he came back to the room, his mother was half dragging and half supporting his father to the bedroom; Tong's father complained and flailed his arms but when she tucked him in, he fell into a drunken sleep. She watched him for a moment and turned to Tong. “Did you finish your homework?”

“There's no homework today,” Tong said.

“How come?”

Tong glanced at his mother but she seemed not to notice it. “There were emergency meetings all day at school,” he said.

“Oh yes, now I remember,” she said. “The thing about the rally.”

“What happened on Ching Ming?” Tong asked, not knowing if she could tell he was hiding a secret from her.

“It's too complicated to explain to you. It's all grown-ups’ business.”

“Our principal said horrible things happened.”

“Not as bad as you think,” Tong's mother said. “Some people think one way and some think the other way. People are always like this. They seldom agree on anything.”

“Which side is right?”

“The side where your teachers and principal stand. Always follow what's been taught and you won't make a mistake.”

Tong thought about a few teachers he had seen the day before at the rally, the teacher who had sat behind the petition, and a couple of others standing in silence in the line, with their white flowers. “Don't think too much about these meaningless things,” Tong's mother said. “If you stay in line you'll never be in the wrong place. And if you do nothing wrong, you will never fear anything, even when the ghosts come to knock on your door at midnight.”

Tong thought of asking more questions, but before he could speak, someone pounded on their gate. His mother laughed. “The moment you talk about someone, here he is tapping on your door. Who would come at this late hour?”

Tong followed her to the yard and all of a sudden, his throat was gripped by fear. There was nowhere to hide in the yard except in the tipped-over cardboard box that had once served as a home for Ear. When his mother opened the gate to two bright beams of flashlights, Tong climbed into the box, holding his breath.

Tong's mother asked the visitors what they wanted, and someone answered in a low voice. Could there be a mistake? Tong's mother said, and Tong recognized fear in her voice. There must be a misunderstanding, she argued in a pleading tone, but the visitors seemed not to hear her, and one of them must have pushed her, because she stepped back with a small cry of surprise. Tong looked out and tried to recognize his mother's cotton shoes among the four leather boots of the visitors. Two men were walking toward the house now, his mother trailing behind; her husband was sick and he was in bed now, she lied, but the visitors ignored her entreaties. They went into the room and soon Tong heard his father, being awakened, question the intruders. They spoke in low and undisturbed voices, and hard as Tong tried, he could not hear what they were saying. “Let me be clear with you,” Tong's father said. “I didn't leave this house one step that morning.”

The visitors replied in indiscernible voices.

“There must be a mistake,” Tong's mother insisted. “I swear we're both law-abiding citizens.”

Tong climbed out of the box and crawled closer to the house. Through the open door, he heard one of the visitors speak in a calm voice: “We're not going to argue with you now. Our job is to get you to the station. You can talk all you want at the station, but here's the arrest order that you've seen. If you're not going to move, don't think we can't use force to get you out of here.”

“But, sir, can you wait till tomorrow morning? Why do you need him tonight, when you can let him sleep at home?” Tong's mother said. “We promise first thing in the morning we'll come in and clarify the misunderstanding.”

The visitors didn't reply, and Tong imagined the way they were looking at his father without acknowledging her voice. Tong had seen many men behave this way, ignoring women and, for that matter, all children, as if they didn't exist. He wished his mother could understand this and leave things for his father to deal with. “A woman's insight,” his father sneered. “As short as an ant's legs. Haven't you heard of the saying that if the ghosts want to invite you for a talk, you can't stay longer than a minute ?”

“There you go,” one man said, with a short chuckle.

“But what did he do, really?” Tong's mother mumbled.

“Black words on white paper,” another man said. “You can't argue with the police order.”

“Don't fuss, woman,” Tong's father said. “It seems that I have to condescend to a journey tonight. Why are we still standing and wasting our lives, brothers?”

“Here you go. A smart man you are,” one of the visitors said, and then clanked something metal.

“Do you need to do that?” Tong's father asked. “It's not like I'm causing a riot.”

“Sorry.” The handcuffs clicked. “Can't exempt you from that.”

“Can he bring some snacks?” Tong's mother asked. “It might be a long night.”

The visitors did not say anything. “What silly talk about snacks,” Tong's father said. “Cook a good breakfast and I'll be back tomorrow morning, when the misunderstanding is cleared up.”

“Some hot tea before you go? Is the coat warm enough? Do you want me to get the sheepskin out for you?”

“A good wife you've got for yourself,” one man said.

“You know how it goes with women,” Tong's father said. “The more you treat them like crap, the more they want to crawl to you on their knees. Now stop fussing like an old duck. Sleep tight and I'll be back soon.”

Tong retreated to the box and watched his father, still tipsy, leave with the two men in black uniforms. His father's hands were cuffed behind him but that did not stop him from talking intimately with the visitors, as if they were his long-lost brothers. His father's ease and confidence frightened Tong. He imagined his father's shock when he was shown his own name signed on the white cloth. Would his mind be lucid enough for him to point out that the handwriting was not his? But would the police then come with another pair of handcuffs for him? Tong wondered, and the thought frightened him. They would never give him the red scarf of a Young Pioneer.

When the two men left with his father and slammed the gate in his mother's face, she stood in a trance and then called Tong's name, and when he did not answer, she raised her voice and called to him again.

He did not reply, holding his breath, his blood pumping in his ears in heavy thumps. He watched her listen for a minute and then go into the house, still calling his name. If he tiptoed to the gate, he might have enough time to run before she caught him; if he jumped onto a passing night train, he might be able to get back to his grandparents’ village by the next day. Back at the village, nobody would blame him for anything; they knew him to be a boy destined to make a big and important name for himself.