Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin [41]
He was shocked by this. “Cunxin, just look at the color of my skin and then look at yours. Within a year your skin has become whiter and mine darker. You don’t want my destiny. A peasant’s job is the lowest one can have. This is my first year in the fields and I hate it. My whole body is always covered with mud and sweat and what is my reward? Not enough money to feed myself for a single day! Is this the kind of life you want? Please, don’t tell our parents about your homesickness. Especially our niang—this last week, she hasn’t stopped smiling and laughing. Please, only tell her the good things about Beijing.”
By this time I could just see our village in the distance.
“Niang started cooking early this morning,” Cunyuan continued, “so you could have a bowl of dumplings waiting when you arrived home!”
I knew Cunyuan was right about what I should say to my parents. I would keep my sadness to myself.
As we turned into our street, we passed some neighbors. “Welcome home!” they called. Down the street I could see my fifth brother, Cunfar, and my little brother, Jing Tring, waving and jumping up and down by our house. They rushed in to tell our niang I was back. As we came closer, I saw my niang come out. My heart pounded with excitement. She wore the same dark blue cotton jacket with patches on the elbows, an apron, and the same patched trousers as always, but she looked older than I remembered.
I jumped off the bike, and tears filled my eyes as we rushed to each other and she hugged me tightly in her arms. “How I missed you! How I missed you! I nearly died missing you!” she kept repeating.
I was in ninth heaven again. This was what I had been dreaming of ever since I left her a year ago.
My fourth aunt rushed out of her house, hobbling on her tiny feet. “Where is my sixth son? Oh, you are whiter and a little fatter than when you left us!” she said proudly.
We all went into our house then. Nothing had changed. I could smell the ginger, garlic, and green onion dumplings. I was so happy. All my brothers sat around and everyone talked and talked. It was as though we were all trying to tell our stories of the past year at once.
Niang didn’t say much, but from the way she looked at me I knew she had missed me terribly. Throughout the day I simply hung around her. I felt safe. I felt loved.
“Don’t you want to see your friends?” she asked.
“I’ll go later,” I replied.
“Did you miss home?”
I hesitated, remembering what my second brother had said. “No, not too much, only a little!”
“That’s good,” she sighed. “There isn’t much to miss back here. Only a hard life!”
Just then a couple of my niang’s friends walked in. “Aya! Look at him, he has grown!” one said.
Dutifully I answered their questions about Beijing and life at the academy and then escaped to pay my respects to my relatives, neighbors, and friends, and to spend the rest of the morning playing some of the old games with my brothers and friends. I felt so relieved to be back.
I attracted attention wherever I went in my village. I was a celebrity.
“Did you really see Madame Mao?” one peasant man asked me.
I nodded.
He grabbed my hands and shook them violently. “It’s a privilege!” he shouted ecstatically.
Later that afternoon, Cunyuan rode on the bike again to collect our dia from work. Jing Tring and I ran to the intersection at the edge of our village. I was excited to see my dia again, but I was anxious about my grades too and worried about his reaction. I saw them ride up and my dia hopped off in front of us. “You’re back!” He gave one of his rare smiles.
I nodded. That was all he said to me and all I needed to reply. I loved my dia dearly and I knew he loved me as well.
My niang had already prepared a special dinner by the time we arrived home. We all sat around the kang and again I explained what my life was like in Beijing and tried hard to mention only the positive elements.
“We can’t match the food you had in Beijing but I hope you still like my dumplings,” my niang said as she set a bowl