They slept in the same bed for a week before Siang got enough money to buy a ticket to go to Fuzhou to his grandaunt, who was the president of the women’s federation in the province of Fujian.
That left Yi, a short fifteen-year-old, who had become a carpenter at the age of twelve. He had goldfish eyes and bow legs. His parents had died young, and his grandpa had sent him away to be an apprentice at the age of ten. Yi said the first thing he learned from his carpenter master was how to slice his tobacco leaves and roll them into perfect rolls. His master urged him to smoke, saying it would give him the only excuse besides peeing to relax when working long hours.
Another early carpentry lesson taught him how to chat nonstop while working, because it made one forget about the boredom and entertained others at the same time. Among his many tedious monologues was the story of how one day he had been chopping at newly felled lumber but was doing it very unevenly. His master had looked him up and down, then asked, “Do you feel those things swing down there when you chop?”
“What things?”
“Your balls.”
Yi said that it was as if he’d been struck by lightning; everything suddenly made sense. His balls. From then on whenever he chopped things he was always aware of his balls. If they swung evenly with each movement, good results were guaranteed. However unbelievable, this was an interesting story. He said his master’s daughter started hanging around, and the master began dropping hints about him staying on after his apprenticeship ended. He hadn’t objected to the idea. The rigid master was like the father he had never had, and the girl was blooming like a flower before his eager eyes. Day in and day out, he made sure his balls swung in good rhythm, and looked forward to seeing the swing of the girl’s shapely behind.
Then Yi’s master died suddenly, and Yi was forced to leave his apprenticeship two years ahead of time. His grandpa brought him home, set up a shop for him at the back of the street; he had been in business ever since.
He smoked bitter tobacco, drank strong tea constantly, and could go on chatting for hours without boring himself. He made all sorts of furniture for neighbors. But he was, after all, still a young boy, and his heart was out there on the street. Sen and Mo Gong often went there to swipe tobacco leaves when cash was low and the urge to smoke was clawing at them. In return, they had to accompany the lonely carpenter while he worked, and endure listening to the same topics Yi had covered a hundred times before. But it wasn’t a bad deal, really. When they were on the run from their parents or the law, Yi’s humble workshop offered all they needed. It was out of the way, in a back alley, tobacco leaves hung drying from the ceiling, liquor was kept nearby in Yi’s toolbox, and food came from Grandpa’s kitchen. They could even sleep on a worn blanket on the soft sawdust. On occasion, the shop wasused as a gambling den. Yi spent more and more time being with the gang and became a part-time carpenter and a full-time street kid. Friendship endured.
Before I went back to school, I became an inseparable part of the now five-member gang. When school began, the group hung around the marketplace, harassed a few merchants, and bought candy and cigarettes. Then they climbed over the low wall at the back of my school and whistled to signal their arrival. As soon as the bell rang, I ran to the designated spot, where they lifted me up and threatened to toss me in the pond. Jumping back over the low wall, we lit cigarettes and made our plans for the day.
“Where are we going?” I asked, after sucking hard on my cigarette.
“To the middle school,” Siang said.
“What’s the deal?”
They all smiled mysteriously at Sen. For the first time, I saw Sen’s face turn red, and he giggled nervously.
“He likes a girl there. We gotta check it out,” Mo Gong said eagerly.
“Who is she?” I
That left Yi, a short fifteen-year-old, who had become a carpenter at the age of twelve. He had goldfish eyes and bow legs. His parents had died young, and his grandpa had sent him away to be an apprentice at the age of ten. Yi said the first thing he learned from his carpenter master was how to slice his tobacco leaves and roll them into perfect rolls. His master urged him to smoke, saying it would give him the only excuse besides peeing to relax when working long hours.
Another early carpentry lesson taught him how to chat nonstop while working, because it made one forget about the boredom and entertained others at the same time. Among his many tedious monologues was the story of how one day he had been chopping at newly felled lumber but was doing it very unevenly. His master had looked him up and down, then asked, “Do you feel those things swing down there when you chop?”
“What things?”
“Your balls.”
Yi said that it was as if he’d been struck by lightning; everything suddenly made sense. His balls. From then on whenever he chopped things he was always aware of his balls. If they swung evenly with each movement, good results were guaranteed. However unbelievable, this was an interesting story. He said his master’s daughter started hanging around, and the master began dropping hints about him staying on after his apprenticeship ended. He hadn’t objected to the idea. The rigid master was like the father he had never had, and the girl was blooming like a flower before his eager eyes. Day in and day out, he made sure his balls swung in good rhythm, and looked forward to seeing the swing of the girl’s shapely behind.
Then Yi’s master died suddenly, and Yi was forced to leave his apprenticeship two years ahead of time. His grandpa brought him home, set up a shop for him at the back of the street; he had been in business ever since.
He smoked bitter tobacco, drank strong tea constantly, and could go on chatting for hours without boring himself. He made all sorts of furniture for neighbors. But he was, after all, still a young boy, and his heart was out there on the street. Sen and Mo Gong often went there to swipe tobacco leaves when cash was low and the urge to smoke was clawing at them. In return, they had to accompany the lonely carpenter while he worked, and endure listening to the same topics Yi had covered a hundred times before. But it wasn’t a bad deal, really. When they were on the run from their parents or the law, Yi’s humble workshop offered all they needed. It was out of the way, in a back alley, tobacco leaves hung drying from the ceiling, liquor was kept nearby in Yi’s toolbox, and food came from Grandpa’s kitchen. They could even sleep on a worn blanket on the soft sawdust. On occasion, the shop wasused as a gambling den. Yi spent more and more time being with the gang and became a part-time carpenter and a full-time street kid. Friendship endured.
Before I went back to school, I became an inseparable part of the now five-member gang. When school began, the group hung around the marketplace, harassed a few merchants, and bought candy and cigarettes. Then they climbed over the low wall at the back of my school and whistled to signal their arrival. As soon as the bell rang, I ran to the designated spot, where they lifted me up and threatened to toss me in the pond. Jumping back over the low wall, we lit cigarettes and made our plans for the day.
“Where are we going?” I asked, after sucking hard on my cigarette.
“To the middle school,” Siang said.
“What’s the deal?”
They all smiled mysteriously at Sen. For the first time, I saw Sen’s face turn red, and he giggled nervously.
“He likes a girl there. We gotta check it out,” Mo Gong said eagerly.
“Who is she?” I
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