Under the Red Flag by Ha Jin Page A

boy stared at Jia with tearful eyes and puckered up his lips. He closed his eyes, crinkled his nose, and was about to cry. “All right, all right,” Jia said and took him into his arms, “it’s Uncle’s fault. I didn’t tell you their names beforehand. Don’t cry. Lei’s a good boy. Let me buy you a popsicle.”
    Lei also saw the old woman pushing a popsicle cart over, so Jia’s words calmed him. Jia handed a five-fen coin to the woman and said, “One, please.”
    “Milk or red bean?”
    “Milk.”
    Lei was sucking the popsicle. With amusement Jia watched him moving the ice around his mouth clumsily. He didn’t try to help him, for fear Lei would be upset again. Let him enjoy himself that way. “Good?” he asked.
    “Yeah.” Lei stuck out his tongue, licking his lips.
    Carrying the boy in his arms, Jia was making his way through the crowd back to the entrance of the market. Piglets screamed and cocks crowed, while butchers were chopping pork noisily at meat stands. A group of children surrounded an old deafmute woman who was using her fingers to bargain with an egg vendor. Beside the stand of jellied bean curd some old men sat on benches drinking tea and playing chess. In the shade of elms and locusts a few youngsters were reading picture-stories they rented from a bookstand. It was getting hot, and Jia began to sweat.
    “Fresh jellyfish, ten fen a bowl,” an old woman cried.
    “Lei, let’s have some jellyfish, all right?” Jia said.
    The boy nodded. They went over and sat down at the stand. Jia bought a large bowl and a small bowl of sliced jellyfish spiced with parsley, leeks, and sesame oil. He started eating, while Lei would do nothing with the dish but stir it with a pair of chopsticks. Jia picked a piece of jellyfish from his own bowl and inserted it into Lei’s mouth. The boy spat it out immediately.
    “Don’t like it?” asked Jia.
    “Nah.” Lei went on drumming the table with the chopsticks.
    “Kids don’t like jellyfish in the beginning,” the woman said. “By and by they’ll get used to it.”
    “Ha, you two are here.” Ning emerged from behind, carrying a basket of eggplants and green beans. “I’ve looked everywhere and couldn’t find you. Why did you stay so long? Is he all right?” she asked, pointing at Lei.
    “He’s fine,” Jia said with a grin. “He likes looking around with me.”
    “Let’s go home. It’s getting too hot,” Ning said, and picked up the boy and kissed him on the milky lips.
    “Let me carry him.” Jia got up.
    His wife put the child on his back. She had bound feet, and the vegetables were heavy enough for her. Together they were walking back. On the way home they never stopped talking to the child, asking him questions and teaching him to name things. Ning remembered that her husband and she had not walked together on the street for at least nine or ten years. He always felt embarrassed walking with me, she thought. How happy he looks now, and even younger. This boy is a little deviland has caught his old heart. If only I could give him a child. He likes a house full of children and grandchildren. Too late. He should have married another woman.
    Lei’s mother came every other week and took him to their apartment in the army compound for a day, but his father couldn’t return from the island so often. Strange to say, the son didn’t miss his parents at all and was always happy when he was back with the Jias again. His mother was glad that he didn’t cry when she left.
    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