Chinese Stories in English
Opposite Shore (Page 8)
Stories printed in The Other Shore《彼岸花》作家网*选编|冰峰*主编
Page citation and link to Chinese text noted after each story.
1. Becoming a Dog 3. Chess Master Li 4. A Little Late
2. Snow Flurries Cover the Sky 5. Evidence
1. Becoming a Dog (变成一条狗)
Liu Wanli (刘万里)
All of a sudden, I felt tired of being human. I wanted to turn into a carefree and happy dog.
I like dogs. I wanted to be one, either by transition or reincarnation, even when I was a child. After I grew up and went out into the world, cruel reality messed up my life. My career didn’t go well, nor did my marriage. My wife and I slept in separate beds, our marriage dead in all but name. She hated dogs and wouldn't allow one in the bedroom, so the dog and I shared our lives in another room.
Thus my desire to become a dog got stronger and stronger. I needed an escape from reality, so I told my wife, "I want to be a dog."
She said, "You’re crazy." So cold.
I told my best friend, “I want to be a dog.” He called me insane. I told my other friends and relatives, and they all said I was nuts and should go to the hospital for a checkup. Something repeated too many times becomes the truth. One person told ten others, ten told a hundred, and soon everyone believed that I’d succumbed to a mental illness.
My friends gradually distanced themselves from me and my wife became indifferent. Then my dog up and died of some disease, and in my grief, my desire to become a dog became stronger. I started living in a doghouse, eating dog food and barking like a dog.
My wife called me a lunatic. She couldn't stand it anymore, so she filed for divorce and moved out of the house.
I saw on the Internet that a British man had appeared in the media dressed up as a Dalmatian. He’d spent ten thousand pounds to have a full-body costume made. He passed the days chasing and playing around with his buddies, eating dog food and sleeping in a doghouse. He claimed that he did it just to relax and relieve stress, though. I was greatly inspired and decided the first thing I needed to do was alter my appearance to look like a dog.
I found a clothing design company and asked them to make me a costume that looked exactly like my pet dog, which I could use to turn myself into a "dog". The company was a well-known brand that made costumes for TV commercials and movies. The business manager readily agreed and said, "As long as the money’s there, I guarantee you’ll be satisfied!"
"How much will it cost?" I asked.
"About five hundred thousand."
"So expensive?”
"We’ll have to use real dog skin and fur to create a realistic dog model, head, paws, tail, fur, and all. You know, a crew of our designers and workers will have to work overtime to create the model, and it’ll take at least two months to finish. You think we charge too much?”
I hesitated before answering, "It's not expensive."
"The most important thing,” he continued, “is that we can turn you into a real dog. If you’re having second thoughts, it's not too late to change your mind!"
"I hate being human. I want to be a dog and will never regret it!"
"Then sign the contract."
I signed, paid the deposit, and started waiting for my dog suit.
I finally put on the suit two months later. It was tailor-made and fit perfectly. I crawled and walked around in imitation of a dog and learned to wag my tail like a dog. I’m big and tall, so I looked much larger in the suit than an ordinary dog. People gave me strange looks when I walked down the street. They said they’d never seen such a fat mut, which made me so happy I forgot all about the troubles in my life.
I started live-streaming videos of myself in the dog costume to give myself something to do. The first telecast got over two million views. In the videos, I waved my feet at the camera and rolled over while grabbing a stuffed toy. I even had a woman throw a ball, which I chased down, picked up with my mouth and put back in her hand. I rolled around with abandon and flashed puppy-dog eyes at people.
I told people like me who wanted to be animals that they could make their dream come true. We were so lucky to be born in an era where we can choose to do anything to forget the troubles of being human. Girls were very curious about a talking dog and took photos with me.
When my parents found out I’d turned into a "dog", they said I was crazy and called me a lunatic. They disowned me.
I became a celebrity and my fanbase grew. As the saying goes, though, pigs have problems being fat and people have problems being famous.
I had fans coming to my house every day to ask for my autograph. I enjoyed that kind of thing at first, but as time went on, it disrupted the tempo of my life. I began to avoid fans. I stopped live-streaming and moved to a different home.
Strange to say, but after I moved, a lot of dogs started gathering downstairs from my condo. Dogs are known to have good noses, and they could find me by tracking my scent. They’d surround me whenever I went outside, especially the females, who’d flirt with me and tease me. The males stared at me with jealousy in their bloodshot eyes, wishing they could devour me. I often heard a bunch of males downstairs at night, howling so horribly I thought they were declaring war on me.
One night several males climbed in through a window and launched a crazed attack on me. These mad dogs wanted to bite me to pieces. And they would have, and would’ve eaten me, if I hadn't cowered in the bedroom and called the police in time.
I’d always thought that being a dog was worry-free. I didn't realize that a dog’s life comes with its own set of hassles. I ran into many inconveniences, like being driven off by security guards when I wanted to take the subway, and being chased away by the maître-d’ when I went to eat at a restaurant, and being forbidden entry to some public places.
Sometimes I got tired walking down the street and stood up. Before I knew what was happening, children would get scared of me and start to wail. The adults would freak out and hit me with whatever they had at hand -- the elderly would use their canes, pedestrians their umbrellas -- even bricks or other things they picked up off the ground. Anything could serve as a weapon. I was sure to be beaten every day when I went out.
I want to be a human being again. There’s nothing dignified about being a dog. I want to take off my dog suit but I can’t. It’s like a disguise you’ve worn for so long that you can’t change it. The dog skin and dog hairs have grown into my body. It seems that I really have become a dog.
I’ve started whining and howling. I want to change into a human!
Chinese text at 《彼岸花》 p. 072, also available here.
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2. Snow Flurries Cover the Sky (飞雪漫天)
Yan Xiuli (阎秀丽)
The night had been turned ash grey by light reflected off the snowy ground. Large flakes of snow flew across the sky, pulling a white curtain between the sky and the earth and making it impossible for anyone to tell where they were headed. This panicked Clapper even more. It seemed like countless pairs of eyes watched him from behind the curtain, so he staggered and then ran forward again.
The snow didn’t stop when daybreak came. Clapper hid behind a huge rock, gasping for breath. The thick weeds around him kept him well hidden. He knew a man was somewhere not far away, staring at him with wolf-like eyes, ready to pounce and knock him to the ground. The thought made him feel angry and desperate.
The falling snow covered his body, forming a natural shield. He leaned against the rock, his strength almost gone, and let his tired body rest for a while. The sky and earth were so dim that his vision was becoming blurred. He didn't know where the man was hiding, but he knew in his heart that the man would definitely appear if he tried to leave or even move.
Clapper had once joked that the man had a nose as sensitive as a dog’s. The man had put his arm around his shoulder and said, “My nose can only smell your scent.” The message burned in Clapper’s heart.
All the same, he was as familiar with that man as he was with himself. They’d grown up together. When they played cops and robbers, Clapper liked to play the righteous policeman, while the man could only play the bad guy. He’d give himself up whenever Clapper pretended to have a gun on him. Half-crouched, Clapper would put his hands together, extend his two index fingers, close one eye, point at the guy’s forehead and shout "pow, pow". The guy would always raise his hands high in the air, squat down on the ground and surrender, and Clapper would laugh in triumph. That’s when they were happiest.
They went their separate ways after they grew up. When they met again, the man's features hadn’t changed, but he had an indescribably imposing aura that oppressed Clapper. Clapper straightened his back and looked the man up and down with a playful smile on his face. "You’re still the same, bro’,” he teased, “not much different than when we were kids. But I always got the better of you back then.”
The man laughed, put his arm around Clapper's shoulder and just laughed. Clapper felt very discomfited.
They’d drunk a lot of liquor that day. Under the flickering lights, the man's eyes were remarkably deep, as bottomless as the sea, and Clapper struggled under that unfathomable gaze. He didn't dare look into the man's eyes because he knew why the man had tracked him down. Fortunately, he didn't find any reason to hold Clapper. If he had, they wouldn't be sitting there drinking.
They parted politely. Clapper didn’t look back as he left because he could feel man looking at him. The man just stood in the afterglow of the sunset and watched Clapper disappear from his sight. Out of the corner of his eye, Clapper caught a glimpse of the man's shadow as he turned the corner. It was a long shadow, so long that it was out of Clapper’s reach.
The man was sitting in a police car the next time Clapper saw him. The shrill sirens seemed to have scared Clapper away, but his accomplices were captured one by one. Clapper, with his years of experience, had escaped. Until this time. Now Clapper had met the man face to face.
He’d actually found Clapper’s hideout -- their old hometown. Clapper had nowhere else to go, so he went home. He was familiar with this forest and felt safe. By the same token, the man was familiar with the place as well. When they were young, they’d gone up the mountain together to catch rabbits and collect grass for pigs.
Clapper figured no one would be able to find him as long as the man didn't tell anyone. But the man had come to this place. He not only had a dog's nose -- he also knew Clapper well. He’d been joking at the time, but Clapper knew what he’d said was absolutely true, and knowing that made him even more desperate.
Clapper's throat burned with pain. Hunger and days of running had made him lightheaded. He could feel his stomach and intestines getting tied up in knots and tangled together.
The snow fell harder and harder. Clapper took a deep breath and picked up his gun from the ground. He stood up little by little, leaning on the boulder for support, and staggered out. He knew he couldn't waste time in that spot or he’d just be a speck of dust under the heavy snow.
He saw the man!
He wasn’t far away. He also stood up shakily, his condition not much better than Clapper's. His clothes were torn and dirty, and the original color was almost unrecognizable. His face was even thinner, but his eyes were still as deep as ever.
Clapper shouted at him at the top of his lungs. "Are you fucking looking to die? Were you born in the year of the dog? You track me down wherever I go!" Clapper raised his gun and pointed it at the man.
The man stood as firm as a mountain, even though he was quite thin and small, and even though he wobbled a bit. Clapper saw that the man was actually laughing! The laughter made the sea water in his eyes begin to swirl. Clapper also felt dizzy for a moment.
The snow had stopped falling at some point, and the sky and earth were covered in a vast expanse of white. Clapper's hands shook, and then his legs began to shake as well. Even his eyes were shaking. Clapper knew that even a snowflake could crush him to the ground.
He didn't dare look the man in the eye.
Before he knew it, the man had knelt down halfway. He put his hands together and extended his two index fingers. One eye closed, he stared at space between Clapper's eyebrows, opened his mouth and shouted "pow". His voice was so loud that it echoed throughout the valley and knocked some snow off the branches.
In a trance, Clapper saw a bullet leave the man’s gun, whizz towards him and hit him right between the eyes. His heart began to tremble violently, and he didn't have time to pull the trigger of his own weapon. It fell from his hand onto the snow with a thud.
Clapper fell down. At the last moment, his vision cleared enough to see that the "gun" he’d held in his hand was just a stick.
Chinese text at 《彼岸花》 p. 075. Also available here.
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3. Chess Master Li (李棋圣)
Duan Shengjun (段生军)
Barbarian County isn’t big, but a lot of strange people call it home. During the Republic of China [1912-1949], a chess player named Li lived there. He was so good at Chinese chess that people called him "Chess Master Li".
One unique thing, he always brought his own board and pieces no matter where he went to play. The shiny, glossy board was made from a kind of date wood peculiar to the area. The pieces, also made of that wood, had beautiful patterns and dark red tones. Even better, he’d nailed the general firmly in its position on the board and never moved it during play.
Even superb players couldn't beat him. No one in the county had bested him since he started playing. Players from other counties came to challenge him but were always defeated eventually.
He was a man of few words. He set up his board in an endgame position in front of a pharmacy at an intersection in the county town every day, then sat there waiting for people to come and play. He placed a card in front of him that read, “Two silver dollars per game”. The hope of a big reward stirred up courage in people, so many challengers rushed forward to take their chances, but always with the same result: they gave two silver dollars to the master and left in disgrace. If no one came to play, he sat in front of the board either reading a chess book or lost in thought with his eyes closed.
A troop of national army soldiers passed through the town one spring day in the thirty-first year of the Republic. They were headed to the anti-Japanese front line and rested in the town for the day. Their highest officer, a battalion commander, loved chess like he loved life and was highly ranked in the chess world. He got excited when he heard that someone named Chess Master lived in the town and challenged him to a game. The townsfolk all came to watch when they heard that the two would play a decisive match to determine the better player.
The game was scheduled for the front of the drugstore at the crossroads. Chess Master Li, relaxed and unhurried, set up the board and waited for the commander to arrive. His challenger got there in high spirits, calm and confident of victory.
A virtual war broke out on the chessboard when the game started. The red and black sides' chariots, horses, cannons and pawns wrestled with each other, but no clear winner appeared. The spectators all held their breath and sweated it out for one side or the other.
Well into the game, no winner had yet come to the fore. The spectators could no longer control their emotions as they looked at the two players. Chess Master Li seemed calm and composed, while the commander, Competent Decedents An, looked calm and arrogant. Each played many clever moves, making it hard to tell who’d win.
The battle continued in full swing as the sun set in the west. Against all expectations, Chess Master Li hesitated and made a bad move. The commander saw the mistake and immediately seized the opportunity to defeat his opponent.
Chess Master stood up and clasped his fists before his chest in the traditional gesture of respect. He bowed deeply to the commander and said, "I concede." The commander felt proud, smiling lightly but saying nothing before a smug smile flashed across his face.
The commander led his troops toward the front lines the next day. Chess Master Li stopped setting up his board at the pharmacy and disappeared. People in the county assumed that, because of his loss to the commander, he felt embarrassed and unworthy of the title "chess master" they’d bestowed on him. He was so embarrassed he stopped playing chess and slipped away… as if the soles of his shoes were smeared with grease.
Two years had passed in the blink of an eye when the troop returned. It was rumored they’d be stationed in the county. The battalion commander had been promoted to regimental commander by then, and was said to have contributed to many successes in the anti-Japanese war.
The day before the troop arrived, to everyone’s surprise, Chess Master Li appeared on the streets of the town after a two-year absence. Even more surprising, he set up his chessboard in front of the pharmacy at the intersection.
The day the team set up camp, the commander became interested in playing another game of chess. He sent someone to inquire about the whereabouts of the man he’d played against back then, Chess Master Li. He wanted to invite him to play another match to see if the man's skills had improved. Chess Master accepted the invitation and again chose the drugstore as the venue. The commander went there happily.
The commander began the fierce battle full of energy. He thought carefully and acted cautiously. Chess Master Li adopted a different strategy from the previous time, making moves that seemed random and erratic. Inexplicably, however, the commander lost the first game and was defeated again in the next battle.
In three consecutive games, the commander lost every one. Furious, he stood up and stormed off in high dudgeon. The onlookers were stunned and none of them dared say anything. The next day, the commander received a letter from Chess Master. It read:
“This commoner, whose family name is Li, has been stupid and foolish since childhood. I have no hobbies other than playing chess and reading.
“Please forgive me for winning the games yesterday. I should’ve been able to win the game with the commander two years ago, but the Japanese invaders were attacking our great nation and the commander was going to the front to spill the bandits’ blood. I feared that a loss would affect the commander's spirit of service to our country and his desire to kill the enemy. I had no fine wine with which to toast the commander, so all I could do to boost his morale was lose the game.
“The battalion commander has now been promoted to regimental commander and returned from the Anti-Japanese War. I hear that you are to be stationed in the county for a long time to defend against "Communist bandits". The thought that my countrymen will be fighting against each other fills me with anxiety and apprehension, so I won those three games. Thank you for your understanding.
“Today I’m leaving without bidding you farewell. I leave you this letter in the hope that you’ll understand what’s happening to the country. I yearn for you to choose to be a hero rather than a cannibal, so that the people of our town can live and work in peace.”
People were mystified when Chess Master Li disappeared again on the third day after the match. The townspeople found a smashed jujube wood chessboard and dark red chess pieces scattered on the ground at the intersection in front of the pharmacy.
The People's Liberation Army attacked the county seat towards the end of 1948. The regimental commander led his troops in an uprising against the Nationalist government, and the Barbarian County seat was peacefully liberated.
Afterwards the commander hired someone to make a jujube wood chess set. Whenever he had some spare time, he sat in front of the pharmacy at the intersection with the board set up in an endgame position and waited for Chess Master Li to come and play.
Chinese text at 《彼岸花》 p. 078, also available here.
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4. A Little Late (晚点)
Tang Guagua (唐呱呱)
I had a watch repair stand next to a busy street, Rose Avenue. It was just a small square table, like a tiny patch on a piece of clothing. It gave my life meaning to take time that had gone astray or abruptly stopped and pull it back onto the universally acknowledged track.
The business was a kind of human performance art, similar to police officers pulling out guns and handcuffs. When I was young, it was fashionable to walk with a watch swinging back and forth on one’s wrist. Now, though, people would rather shove time to the side, as if they won’t grow older because today is still yesterday.
My fingers have gradually become sluggish, reminding me that my body has reached the time of stiffness. The next day was my sixtieth birthday, and I’d decided to start enjoying the sunshine of retirement from that day forward. I knew it wouldn’t differ from any other day, with all kinds of events, big and small, sure to take place in the world. As always though, the hour hand needs only go around twice, at a constant speed.
My only hope, albeit an immoderate one, was that my two forgetful daughters would remember to give their dad a call. I didn’t expect them to.
Tick-tock! It was seven in the evening Beijing time. Those in the habit of going out at night appeared in groups of three or four, while the hurried footsteps of rush-hour workers gradually slowed down and became friendlier. I stood up and stretched, getting ready to close up shop, when a boy and girl came along arm in arm. To be more precise, the girl was pinching the boy’s arm between her thumb and forefinger as she led him over. The purple and blue neon lights of the city's winter night flashed over their faces, showing them to be in their early twenties.
The boy, a shy, basically nontalkative type, kept his head lowered, like a ripe cherry hiding in the shadows behind the branches and leaves. The streetlights exaggerated his features and made his face blurry. The girl was pitifully thin but her face showed the innocence and clear happiness of a young miss enthralled by her first love.
"Please help me fix this, sir! It's always slow and he makes me wait for him every time."
Maybe it was because of my line of work, but over the years I’d come to dislike surprises, brusqueness and other unnecessary disturbances. It amazes me that I did take the unanticipated last order this time, even though it meant I’d have to set up the stand another day.
Perhaps it was the sturdy arm the boy extended to show me his watch. He had a long scar at the base of his thumb that looked like a small green snake lurking there. Only an old father with a daughter waiting at home to get married could recognize that kind of wildness -- dangerous yet restrained. Or maybe it was because of the girl, who seemed like a crystal ball that would shatter if touched.
They left the watch with me. It was an unusual timepiece, low-key but high-end, with the image of a butterfly on the face. An obvious short crack on the surface suggested a violent drop. I put on a loupe and gingerly inspected it at length under a desk lamp but found no mechanical failure, which I thought was strange. The minute and second hands were running slow. Eventually, just as a test, I adjusted them back to Beijing time. The beautiful butterfly began to flutter normally again.
The girl came alone a week later, on a Wednesday. When I handed the dancing butterfly to her, she stared at the hands on the watch face as if she didn't recognize it.
"It doesn’t matter if the watch is fast or slow, sir,” she blurted out. “He’s always just ten minutes late. But isn't that the way love is? Either you wait for me, or I wait for you." She’d obviously thought seriously about finding someone new, even a blockhead or a stoneface, but now she was just letting it all hang out.
"He’s kept a lot from me,” she continued, “but I don't mind at all. I’m pretty low on his list of priorities, but as long as he’s sincere while he’s with me, it’s OK.“
She burst into tears. "Tell me, sir, do you think time can be like the hands on a clock? Why don't you turn back the hands of time, sir. Being a little late is better than not coming at all."
I was a little surprised and a little upset. I’d had good intentions, but it seemed like I’d accidentally touched her buttons and turned a good thing wrong. I made an effort to soften my tone, so it seemed like I was just speaking casually. “Have you watched the news recently?”
"I don't believe that stuff!" She regretted it as soon as she said it. Looking dazed, she tried to make amends but ended up not saying a word. She hadn't had time to recalibrate the butterfly watch and held as if it were a relic.
To be honest, I never watch the news. I’d set up my watch repair stand on the busiest street in the city and you couldn’t imagine a better place to catch the news. About five days before, a plainclothes policeman had come out of the blue, shouting, “Grab that thief.” I looked up and saw a boy slithering through the crowd like a big snake. The plainclothes cop -- I call him Old Zhang -- lives in the same community as me. His wife, a bank president, gave him this same style watch. His job involves running and jumping, so the watch is bound to take a beating. He visited me a few times to get it repaired and we got to know each other.
I slowly straightened up my back as I watched the girl walk across the street in a daze. That part of my body had been hit hard by a motorbike. I’d had something urgent to do that day and hadn’t got the train tickets, so my family didn’t get to go to Gouqi Island for vacation.
I had one daughter in each hand and my wife had gone to buy soft drinks when a black motorbike knocked me into the air. My face was covered in blood. My eldest daughter's knee was bruised, not a serious injury. My youngest daughter's head hit the ground, which greatly affected her intelligence.
My wife said I was toxic and moved up north with my two daughters. She left me only the watch that my youngest daughter had smashed. It never worked again, stopped forever at the time of the accident. That’s when I changed my line of work to watch repair. I’d opened and closed my stand on time every day for many years, as if that would keep accidents out of my life.
The boy hadn't shown up by the time I was getting ready to leave. Old Zhang, the plainclothes cop, came over and told me, "Hey! That guy knows what he’s doing. He only picks on fair-skinned, wealthy and beautiful girls. His attitude of fair play astounds me."
For my part, I took a deep breath and kept seeing that little snake in my mind. Of course, the cop didn't know the guy’s biggest talent was in the game of stealing hearts. When he went to jail, he left a bunch of hollowed out people behind, waiting in their own world for the time he’d show up a little late.
Old Zhang patted me on the shoulder and said, "It's been twenty years, but you recognized him right away. The father and son really do look a bit alike, especially the eyes. People say he was wearing a helmet back then."
I suddenly felt a little sad. I took the watch off my wrist and squeezed it hard with my thumb. It was like squeezing a handful of broken glass, and the events of the past flowed out like blood.
Old Zhang exclaimed, “You’re still wearing the watch!”
My phone rang just then. It was a text from my eldest daughter. "Happy birthday, Dad. Mom said you’re retired now and not so toxic anymore. We’re arriving at South Station at 7:39 this evening. Meet us there, and don't be late this time."
I was about to close the screen when another message popped up, this one from my youngest daughter. "Pops, mom and us two girls are coming back to our family home. We’ll be together from now on."
I took the watch’s crown knob between my thumb and forefinger. I turned it to jerk the minute hand forward two large increments.
Chinese text at 《彼岸花》 p. 081, also available here.
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5. Evidence (证据)
Gao Jun (高军)
I got wind of two young toughs fighting in a classroom, and I took out my phone and turned on the camera as I ran there. I hadn’t been on the job for long, but I’d heard some older teachers say that you should always protect yourself by keeping evidence when you run into messy situations. They’d cited recent examples of teachers being penalized because they couldn’t prove what happened, which convinced me that keeping evidence was indeed necessary.
I saw two male students rolling around on the floor and tearing at each other in front of the teacher’s desk when I entered the classroom. I took photos as I shouted, "Stop, stop right now!" They stood up slowly, panting, their faces flushed.
One was bleeding from a small wound on his face, and the other had a red scratch on his neck. I took them to the school clinic to treat their wounds after I’d gotten a few more photos. The doctor applied some iodine and said it was nothing serious, so they could go back to class.
I led them to the office and asked them what had happened. They just stared at each other without saying anything, which made me start laughing. They couldn't hold it back, either -- their faces softened and they started to laugh, too. When I reprimanded them, they looked sheepish and smiled at each other. Of course, I didn't forget to record the process on my phone and save it. To my relief, they shook hands and made up, then went back to the classroom.
I was startled when my phone rang late Friday afternoon just as I was heading out for the weekend. I saw it was a parent of one of the students, and I could smell a strong odor of gunpowder as soon as I answered the phone. The voice was sharp and thin. "You’re my child’s home room supervisor, Teacher. Why didn't you keep a close eye on him? You let someone beat him up."
The students lived on campus but went home on Friday afternoons. This student’s parents had discovered the small scar on his face when he got home.
The voice on the phone got louder as I was explaining that the two students had reconciled. "Wha’ d’ya mean, reconciled? Someone beat up my boy, but you didn't lay down the law on him and are just trying to brush over it! I’ve gotta settle things by beating up that student and leaving a scar on his face. I’ve got evidence of what he did, so I’m not worried about him complaining, no matter what!"
"Before you do anything, calm down a bit," I urged, rolling my eyes.
"I'm going to have a talk with that other student’s parents." Her anger vented, I heard no more from her end of the call.
There went my Friday evening. I took out the photos and videos I’d kept as evidence and watched them one more time.
It wasn’t long before my phone rang again. It was the other student's parent, the male parent, the one who contacted me the most from that family. He was fairly calm at first but soon became angry.
"Teacher, you’re saying a bunch of things that miss the point. I’ve always thought it was normal for two kids to get some little scrapes and bruises from rough housing. I wasn't gonna make a fuss about it, but that other family’s bringin’ it on. They wanna pick a fight with my family. I'll break that kid's neck first. My boy's got such a deep scar on his neck. I've taken a picture of it for evidence. I’m not done with them!"
"Before you do anything, calm down a bit," I told him. I rolled my eyes again while I listened to him vent.
I hardly had any rest on my two days off. I communicated repeatedly with the parents from both sides, making a concerted effort to keep things cool. They eventually agreed to meet in my office on Monday.
I got to the office early, boiled water for tea and washed the cups. Of course, I didn’t forget to turn on my phone’s recording function to document the meeting.
The female parent got there first and I noted that her expression was relatively calm. She greeted me as soon as she came in the door. "You’re in early, Teacher."
I poured some hot water and brought it to her. She stood up from her chair and said, "I got my dander up when I saw the wound on my boy's face. My wild child didn't take it seriously. Isn't that infuriating?" Students do have their own ways of looking at things. I felt rather relieved because it seemed like the problem wouldn’t be difficult to resolve.
"Is your boy here? Has he gone to the classroom?" I acted like we were just having a casual chat, but I was actually treading lightly. I asked her to consider her child’s education and his future interactions with classmates.
Finally, she sighed and murmured, "I'm sorry. My boy feels it’s OK, so I won't get involved anymore."
The other student and his male parent arrived. This guy seemed rather good natured. He rubbed his hands together and said, "Hi, hi," then simply announced, "We’re here, Teacher."
I was more relaxed this time because I knew what the other parent thought. "These kids are going to be classmates for three years. It’s their fate. That’s just the way it is in junior high. If they get along, they’ll form lifelong relationships and will still feel close whenever they meet in the future."
The student who came with his male parent spoke up. "Yeah, we were just horsing around. Those little scrapes and bumps stopped hurting a long time ago." He touched his neck as he spoke and smiled. “Ain’t it so? It's OK now!
"Hey, now." I put a stop to that right away. "That was just horsing around? You were both bleeding and you call it little scrapes and bumps? Absolutely do not do that kind of thing again. Look how worried your parents are!"
The student’s expression suggested that he was seriously considering this new idea, and the two parents looked ashamed. I took the opportunity to tell the student to leave right away. "Go and tell your classmate to come in, and you come back, too."
The two boys came back with their arms around each other. I smiled and said to their parents, "They’ve already made up. Why don't you two shake hands, too?"
I grabbed my phone to snap a photo of them shaking hands. Also, the two students walked over to stand in front of their parents. "The two of us are OK now, Teacher,” one of them said. “Please take our photo to keep as evidence.”
My face flushed, but I controlled myself and tried not to show my embarrassment: "Stand still and smile. Cheese!"
While the two parents were leaving, one of the students muttered, "They were the ones who made a big deal out of this!"
I could tell, looking at the parents’ tired backs, how hard they worked to support their families. I told the boys, “It’s normal for parents to love their children. Their coming to see the teacher is also proof of their love for you.”
The two boys’ eyes were as unsullied and radiant as the waters of a clear spring. All of a sudden I felt ashamed. I picked up my phone to delete the photos I’d saved as evidence to protect myself.
Chinese text at 《彼岸花》 p. 084, also available here.