Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [12]
Our dia and his fourth brother had grown up very close too, although my dia was nearly eight years younger. My fourth uncle and aunt could not have children; out of love and compassion my parents agreed to let them adopt their third son. So, before he was two years old, my third brother, Cunmao, was given to my uncle and auntie, a couple of houses away. We always thought we were cousins.
When Cunmao was a teenager, he found out the truth.
I was feeding our hens that day when Cunmao stormed into our house. “Where is my seventh niang?” he shouted—that was what he called my mother.
“She is sewing on the kang,” I told him. He looked so strange that I quietly followed him.
“Why did you give me away? Why not one of the others?” I overheard Cunmao demand angrily.
“This was decided even before you were born,” our niang replied gently. “You were not singled out. I love you just like my other sons.”
“I want to come back!” he said.
There was silence. “You cannot,” our niang said at last, her voice quivering.
“You’re my niang. I want to come back!” he said.
Our niang let out a long sigh. “I beg you to forget that I’m your real mother! Do you think it is easy for me to see you around every day? Go back and love your parents. They love you. You’re luckier than your brothers. At least you have enough food to eat.”
“I’d rather be starving with you than living apart from you!” Cunmao said.
“Your parents would be destroyed if I took you back now! I shall always love you as one of my sons whether you’re with us or not. But you must first love them and bear a son’s responsibilities toward them. You may then love us too if you desire.”
Silence again. After a moment she said, “Come here.” And through the window I saw them hug each other.
I ran away then, and hid in a cornfield. I couldn’t believe my third cousin was really one of my own brothers. My eyes filled with tears, and from that moment on I regarded Cunmao as one of my real brothers.
In the end Cunmao respected my parents’ position and remained a faithful son to my uncle and aunt.
My eldest brother, Cuncia, we called Big Brother. He was thirteen years older than me. I was only four when, in August 1965, he was sent to Tibet by Chairman Mao.
In the 1950s there was a popular uprising in Lhasa, which was suppressed by the Chinese military. Now, a decade later, Mao was sending hundreds of thousands of his young Red Guards there.
In his absence, my second brother, Cunyuan, took on the responsibilities of the eldest son. Cunyuan, however, wanted to be free. He too wanted to go to Tibet, but my parents would not allow it. They needed his earnings and were desperate for a daughter-in-law to help our niang with the domestic duties. So they arranged his marriage to a girl from our first auntie’s village. Our aunt told our parents that this girl was hardworking and would be a perfect match for Cunyuan.
But Cunyuan was in love with another girl. Her father was a district official. When she found out about the arranged marriage, she immediately came to our house. “Uncle, Aunt,” she said respectfully to my parents, “I have known Cunyuan for four years. I love him and he loves me! I beg you not to force him to marry someone he doesn’t love.”
“Young girl, you are too young to understand what love is,” my niang replied. “My son is not worthy of you. There is no future working in the commune.”
“Aunt, I do know what love is! I will follow Cunyuan to the end of the earth. I’m willing to eat grass as long as I can be with him. Please give us a chance!”
“You come from a different background,” my dia told her. “You would not like our poor commune life.”
“I promise you I will be a faithful wife and a good daughter-in-law!”
But my parents felt strongly that this girl came from a family that was too good for us.
Cunyuan resented the way our parents had arranged his marriage and his relationship with them suffered terribly.
My fourth brother, Cunsang, wasn’t the cleverest among us. Our niang blamed an accident he’d had as a baby, when a stack of chairs crashed down on his head, for his