it reminded them of laborers, but Sun said
Gun was different. He had great, sharp eyes, and he worked in the dancing and singing propaganda unit of a big factory.
When I saw him the first time, I couldn't help but understand why Sun praised him.
Sun was happy and dreamed of a future shared with her
boyfriend. When she became a teacher in an elementary
school, she loved talking about her students. She devoted
all her energy to then and recorded each student's characteristics in a notebook.
"You know what? I heard such a funny thing from my
students today," she said, sitting in my apartment one afternoon. "They said they like middle-aged female teachers the
best. You know why? Because young single female teachers
like me don't have to cook and take care of their own children and husbands. And we don't wash our clothes, because
our mothers do it. In the morning we have only to do our
makeup and eat the breakfast prepared by our mothers. So
we have a lot of energy left when we come to school. But
middle-aged female teachers have to do these chores every
day for their families; their hands are never dry of water.
When they beat the students, it doesn't hurt, because they
don't have any energy left. But we have a lot of energy, so
our palms are the harshest. You can't imagine how cute
they were when they said that."
Sun's family was not untouched by the famine of 1995:
her students started to skip school to go beg for food at the
market. She and the other teachers searched the markets
after class, trying to persuade their students to return to
school. She came home every night bone tired. I loved her.
I watched her tenderly, as my sister had watched over me.
In the summer of 1997, I didn't see Sun for several weeks.
I missed her, but I decided not to begrudge her time with others. Then, one night, I heard her call my name, and when I
opened my window, she was standing outside, like a ghost.
"What happened, Sun?"
"He's gone. He disappeared without saying anything to me"
She wore a thin shirt, though the night was cool, and
her face was practically blue. I took her hand and led her
into my room. I watched her as she cried quietly with her
legs folded under her and her hands on her knees. I thought
it must be the worst time in her life. I didn't say anything;
I just let her cry.
At length, she told me that Gun and his family were gone
in one night, and no one knew where. No!-everybody
knew, but no one would say. The steps Gun's family took one
day might be what other neighbors were driven to the next.
Sun said that the shoe factory where Gun's parents worked
had closed several months before, and Gun was trying to
sell their household goods in the street market. Gun's older
brother had died at age 21 in an accident while performing
military duties, and his death had driven Gun's parents to despair. Since then, his parents' health had been Gun's priority.
Sun couldn't understand why Gun hadn't mentioned
leaving. A couple of days earlier, he had asked for a picture
of them together. She was devastated that he hadn't shared
his plans with her.
I didn't see Sun much after that night. I couldn't offer
consolation, and I couldn't blame Gun: such was our situation and our lives. Time for despair could be better used
looking for a way to survive. All I hoped for Sun was that
she would forget about Gun as soon as possible. As time
went by, Sun would learn what I already knew too well: the
more you miss people who have already left you, the more
pain you feel.
Several weeks later, I ran into Sun in the hall of the
building, and she smiled at me. I asked her to come by my
apartment whenever she had some free time. She didn't
seem to have changed too much-she was still cheerfulbut as we chatted she sometimes lost her train of thought
and grew silent. I thought time would solve her problems.
Late one night, she came over, and I noticed that she had
become emaciated.
"Can I stay with
Gun was different. He had great, sharp eyes, and he worked in the dancing and singing propaganda unit of a big factory.
When I saw him the first time, I couldn't help but understand why Sun praised him.
Sun was happy and dreamed of a future shared with her
boyfriend. When she became a teacher in an elementary
school, she loved talking about her students. She devoted
all her energy to then and recorded each student's characteristics in a notebook.
"You know what? I heard such a funny thing from my
students today," she said, sitting in my apartment one afternoon. "They said they like middle-aged female teachers the
best. You know why? Because young single female teachers
like me don't have to cook and take care of their own children and husbands. And we don't wash our clothes, because
our mothers do it. In the morning we have only to do our
makeup and eat the breakfast prepared by our mothers. So
we have a lot of energy left when we come to school. But
middle-aged female teachers have to do these chores every
day for their families; their hands are never dry of water.
When they beat the students, it doesn't hurt, because they
don't have any energy left. But we have a lot of energy, so
our palms are the harshest. You can't imagine how cute
they were when they said that."
Sun's family was not untouched by the famine of 1995:
her students started to skip school to go beg for food at the
market. She and the other teachers searched the markets
after class, trying to persuade their students to return to
school. She came home every night bone tired. I loved her.
I watched her tenderly, as my sister had watched over me.
In the summer of 1997, I didn't see Sun for several weeks.
I missed her, but I decided not to begrudge her time with others. Then, one night, I heard her call my name, and when I
opened my window, she was standing outside, like a ghost.
"What happened, Sun?"
"He's gone. He disappeared without saying anything to me"
She wore a thin shirt, though the night was cool, and
her face was practically blue. I took her hand and led her
into my room. I watched her as she cried quietly with her
legs folded under her and her hands on her knees. I thought
it must be the worst time in her life. I didn't say anything;
I just let her cry.
At length, she told me that Gun and his family were gone
in one night, and no one knew where. No!-everybody
knew, but no one would say. The steps Gun's family took one
day might be what other neighbors were driven to the next.
Sun said that the shoe factory where Gun's parents worked
had closed several months before, and Gun was trying to
sell their household goods in the street market. Gun's older
brother had died at age 21 in an accident while performing
military duties, and his death had driven Gun's parents to despair. Since then, his parents' health had been Gun's priority.
Sun couldn't understand why Gun hadn't mentioned
leaving. A couple of days earlier, he had asked for a picture
of them together. She was devastated that he hadn't shared
his plans with her.
I didn't see Sun much after that night. I couldn't offer
consolation, and I couldn't blame Gun: such was our situation and our lives. Time for despair could be better used
looking for a way to survive. All I hoped for Sun was that
she would forget about Gun as soon as possible. As time
went by, Sun would learn what I already knew too well: the
more you miss people who have already left you, the more
pain you feel.
Several weeks later, I ran into Sun in the hall of the
building, and she smiled at me. I asked her to come by my
apartment whenever she had some free time. She didn't
seem to have changed too much-she was still cheerfulbut as we chatted she sometimes lost her train of thought
and grew silent. I thought time would solve her problems.
Late one night, she came over, and I noticed that she had
become emaciated.
"Can I stay with
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