Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [39]
If she only knew.
“What about you?” I ask. “You’re a Pig, aren’t you? Maybe you and Tao should marry.” I don’t mean a word I say, but perhaps my questions will get her going in another direction.
“Yes,” she agrees, considering. “It could work. But I’m a widow and I have a child. No one will marry me now.”
“But it’s the New China and there’s the new Marriage Law. Widows …”
As we near Tao’s house, he steps out into the sunlight. It’s as if he’s been waiting in the shadows for us to come near. I’m not the only one to observe this.
Kumei lowers her voice. “Forget about me and let’s think about kisses for you. A Tiger needs a practical and good Dog. Such a good match.” She sighs theatrically, which only emphasizes that she’s teasing me. “Or, since this is the New Society, you could try free love.” Then, “Good morning, Tao. Are you going to the fields? Would you like to walk with us? Comrade Joy has been very quiet this morning. She must still be living on city time. Maybe you can wake her up.”
I blush. It happens every time I see Tao, but I notice color rising in his cheeks too.
He ruffles his spiky hair and grins. “I might be able to help our city comrade.”
Just then Tao’s mother joins her son on the hard-packed earth outside the door of the house. The sleeves of her patched shirt are rolled up to the elbow as if she’s about to wash more clothes or salt vegetables. She carries a child strapped to her back, and another three children cluster around her legs like little chicks. (Chairman Mao has encouraged the masses to have lots of offspring, so China will have many survivors to replenish the population at great speed in case America drops atomic bombs on the country. Also, as he has said, “With every stomach comes another pair of hands.” China needs those hands to build the New Society, and Tao’s parents have helped provide them.) Tao’s mother gives me a resentful look and says to her son, “Come home as soon as you’re done. I’ll have a simple meal prepared for you. Simple, because we’re simple in our tastes.”
Somehow Tao’s mother has come to the conclusion that I’m not simple in my tastes. Maybe it’s because of the shift I wore my first night here. Or maybe she’s afraid I’m going to steal Tao and take him to Shanghai. We may be living in the New China, but Shanghai has the aura to these people of someplace mysterious, decadent, and sinful.
Tao jumps down from the terrace and strides ahead of us. I’ve found that men in the village always walk out front with the women behind. I don’t mind, because it allows me to watch Tao glide up the hill, the sinews in his arms and legs sliding gracefully over his bones.
It’s a good thing Kumei isn’t in my head to hear my thoughts.
We reach the crest of the hill. From here we can see five other villages—each comprising its own collective—nestled between or against rolling hills. Neat rows of tea bushes grow in terraces on the slopes. In the valley, rice paddies and fields of corn, millet, sorghum, sweet potatoes, and hay create a checkerboard of food and wealth. We swing down the path and join others in our work team who are also on their way to the fields.
Some days we work on the tea terraces, picking leaves and tending Green Dragon’s most precious crop. Or we’ll gather sweet potatoes to dry, store, and feed to livestock. We’ve also labored in water, building irrigation ditches, wells, and ponds. We women are luckier than the men. The government has issued a proclamation that women can’t work in water up to their waists. No one, and this is kind of creepy if you think about it, wants any infections to enter a woman through her private parts. Today, though, we’ll just be working in a cornfield. Since all tools have been given to the collective, we check out hoes and other implements we’ll need from the work team leader.
Now that we’re with other people, I’m careful how I interact with Tao. When he marches straight into our assigned field, I linger on the edge to put a straw hat over my kerchief to shield me from the sun before stepping out into the ripening rows of corn. Kumei