Three Sisters Read online

  Yuyang was the seventh and youngest girl, which normally would have made her the baby of the family, but no such luck. Her father had refused to give up and mustered a bit more strength before returning to bed to give it another go, which had led to the birth of a son, Little Eight. That had rendered the youngest daughter inconsequential. At best she'd been a necessary preparation for her parents' project of producing a baby boy, a rehearsal, a trial run. In a word, she was an extra, born to be disliked and shunned by her parents. In fact, she wasn't even brought up by them. At first Yumi took care of her and after Yumi was married, Yuyang had no choice but to move in with her grandparents.

  She was clumsy—verbally and physically—and antisocial. That actually saved the parents and grandparents trouble and worry. She did, however, possess one unique quality, which the teacher discovered as soon as she entered school—she loved to study. Stubbornly burying her head in books, she was willing to put in all the necessary effort and expend the required energy. She might not have been at the top of her class, but she was solid and pragmatic, and could commit page after page of her textbooks to memory. Her admission into a school in town gave the old principal a lot of face. He insisted that she share some of her learning experience so, standing with her back to the wall in the teachers' office, Yuyang rubbed the sole of her shoe against the wall nervously until she managed to force out a sort of golden rule: memorize. How simple the plain truth can be. The old principal grabbed her hand and said excitedly, "Practice is the way to verify truth. We must spread Yuyang's wisdom around. Starting next semester, we'll rally the students to learn from Yuyang—memorize." His excitement prompted him to retroactively award her a Three-Good Student certificate, while counseling her to keep all three things foremost in her mind when she went to town. He raised his middle and ring fingers, as well as his pinkie, to indicate good health, good grades, and good work.

  Yuyang spent that summer fully vindicated in Wang Family Village. She was lonely every day, but it was a special kind of loneliness, different from what she'd felt before. In the past, loneliness had been the result of being neglected by others, being forgotten and ignored. In the summer of 1982, she was still alone, but it was the solitude of someone who stood out like a crane among chickens. She was standing on one foot as she silently tucked her head under a wing on which snowy white light glinted off of every feather. It was a cheerless solitude that drew together a unique beauty and pride, the restful moment before she spread her wings and soared into the sky. At any moment she could turn into a cloud and glide toward the horizon. What made her proudest was that it even prompted her big sister to make a trip home from Broken Bridge. Yumi told people that she had come home to see "our little Yang." Though they were sisters, the two of them had nothing much to do with each other. In Yumi's eyes, Yuyang had always been just a child. On her infrequent visits home, Yumi would send her sister off with some hard candy telling her to go out and play.

  But this time Yumi came home as the wife of an official, her hair wound into a bun at the back of her head. She had put on weight and had a new tooth that gave off a golden glint even though it was copper veneer. Highlighted by this golden sparkle, her smile signaled affection and magnanimity. And it exuded happiness. In order to show off her gold tooth as much as possible, Yumi smiled a lot, the broader the better. Although she was now the wife of a commune cadre and could play the exalted role of an official's wife, Yumi spent her own money on a two-table banquet to which the village leaders and Yuyang's teachers all came. Yuyang was allowed to sit at the table, which marked her status at the first formal banquet she had ever attended. Feeling shy and proud at the same time, she smiled with her lips pressed tightly together. In reality, of course, Yuyang's presence at the table was symbolic because Yumi was busily in charge, taking over and tossing down one cup of liquor after another. Having developed a remarkable capacity for alcohol, she appeared brash and aggressive, even drinking a cup "on behalf of Yuyang." She drank so much that everyone assumed she was drunk. But no, she kept up the pace, one cup after another, and by the time the banquet was over, the people in Wang Family Village knew that Yumi could hold her own around a table. She managed to put away more than twenty ounces of strong liquor and still played two hours of poker with the village cadres. She threw down her cards one at a time with a loud snap, always on the attack and showing no mercy.

  After three rounds of poker, Yumi crawled under Yuyang's mosquito net, where the younger girl was fast asleep. Nudging her awake, Yumi began counting out money under the oil lamp so Yuyang could see—five-yuan bills with consecutive numbers, so new they could slice cakes of tofu or slap someone in the face. It was not money she'd won at poker, but bills she'd brought back especially for Yuyang. She counted out ten of them, plus coupons for twenty-five jin of grain, which could be used anywhere in the country. It was a large sum of money, possibly enough to kill for. Thrusting the fifty yuan and grain coupons at her sister, Yumi ordered Yuyang in a gruff, but somehow tender manner, "Take this, little girl."

  "Just put it there," Yuyang said sleepily.

  "Open your eyes, sleepyhead, and tell me what you see."

  Still half asleep, Yuyang did not seem impressed.

  "Let me sleep."

  She shut her eyes, and Yumi stared at the back of her sister's head. She was surprised by the girl's reaction. Not only had her foolish baby sister dismissed Yumi's generosity, but she had already begun to talk like a city girl who knows the value of understatement in important matters. Without another word, Yumi stuffed the money and grain coupons under her sister's pillow, blew out the light, and lay down next to Yuyang, whose back was to her. But she'd had too much to drink to fall asleep right away. Her thoughts were on her sister's accomplishments. Relying only on the pen in her hand, Yuyang had made all the strokes necessary to get into town. That was no small feat; it was actually quite remarkable, something no one would have dared predict a few years earlier. A foolish girl can enjoy foolish good fortune, Yumi thought to herself. The timing was perfect for a little girl who was destined to make a name for herself.

  The day after the track meet was a Sunday, when most girls stayed in bed late, even if they were fully awake. They wanted to lie there and think their own thoughts. Better to be lazy than to get up, even for breakfast. They lay in bed for the sake of lying in bed; not to do so would be wasting an opportunity. Imagine their shock that Sunday when they learned that a thief had taken things out of Pang Fenghua's case. No one knew when it had happened, but sixteen yuan in cash and four yuan's worth of meal coupons had turned up missing.

  Fenghua had the commendable habit of counting her money and meal coupons when she took a tube of toothpaste out of her patent leather case each morning. On this morning, she discovered that the cash and coupons were gone. It was a considerable sum to lose, which made it a serious incident.

  At 10:15 Beijing time that Sunday morning, every student in Section Three of the class of '82 was called together before many of them had eaten breakfast. Yuyang did not even have time to brush her teeth and wash her face. The homeroom teacher was there, and so was Director Qian of student affairs, but not Pang Fenghua. She stayed behind in her room to give a statement to the police. Students who saw her on their way out of the dorm said she was sitting on the edge of her bed, hair hanging down, eyes puffy. She looked sad and drained of energy. The policeman poured her a glass of water. She didn't touch it. This time her grief was genuine, unlike the day before out on the track. It was not a look she could easily fake.

  When everyone was present in the classroom, the young homeroom teacher stood straight as a javelin at the blackboard looking unhappy. He was waiting for Director Qian to speak. But Qian just pursed his lips, which deepened the lines around his mouth. He hadn't said a word from the moment he walked into the classroom, but finally he lit a cigarette, inhaled, and slowly blew the smoke out. Then he spoke.

  "My name is Qian, you know, 'money,'" he said. "Anyone who has the guts can step up and ste
al me."

  His comment elicited laughter that quickly died out—he did not look like he was joking. Then he went quiet for a long time, during which two rays of light shot out of his eyes like the searchlights in black-and-white movies. The lights sliced across the face of every student with an inaudible swish, and if one of them shied away from the searching look and lowered her head, he warned her, "Raise your head and look me in the eye. Don't look away."

  Director Qian's devotion to all aspects of student affairs—life, work, and thought—was famous among teacher-training schools, even at the provincial level. For two straight years he had been awarded the title of "Advanced Worker at the City and Provincial Levels." The certificates hung proudly on his office wall. During the reign of the Gang of Four, he'd been imprisoned, and after his rehabilitation, his superiors had planned to "bring him up" to work in the bureau. But to their surprise, he had turned down the offer, insisting that he'd rather work "down below."

  He said he was passionate about school and passionate about education, so he stayed put and began his second spring at the school. He spared no effort on behalf of his students, working diligently to make up for lost time. In his own words, he was in charge of matters as important as someone's death and as trivial as the disappearance of a needle. No one could "trick the mosquitoes into taking a nap" because he was a master at managing student affairs, all of which could be summarized by one word: "seize." Seize the work, and seize the individual. He wrapped one hand around his wrist as he explained to all the homeroom teachers how to seize a person. You take the matter and, more important, the person, in hand and squeeze, forcing submission. That does it. Thanks to his graphic, vivid description, the homeroom teachers caught on immediately.

  Frankly, every student at the school was afraid of Director Qian and tried to avoid him at all costs. But when they did encounter him, they realized that he wasn't so scary after all. He'd call students over and ask nicely, "Would you say I'm a tiger?"

  No, he was not a tiger; he was a hawk, a predator that could spot prey even when it didn't see him. Once a problem arose somewhere, a special odor attracted him, and he cast his shadow on the ground, soundlessly circling above. At this particular moment, the hawk was perched on the Section Three classroom podium, eyes fixed on the students below. He was talking again, but not about the theft, not directly, and the confused students were properly intimidated, even shaken, by the righteousness in his voice.

  "What kind of school did the principal and I decide to set up?"

  He began with a serious and fundamental question.

  "I want you to know that I was in complete agreement with our principal," he continued, answering his own question, "when he said, 'we must have steely discipline and steely character.'" He poked the podium with his index finger to remind the students of the meaning of "steely." What is steel? Of course, "you've all seen it" so there was no need for Director Qian to repeat himself. Focusing on the common metal, he slowly worked his way up to the matter at hand.

  "How can steel be so durable? Because it has been refined and is unalloyed. If there are impurities, it will fail and the building will collapse." Then another question: "So what must we do? Very simply, we must identify the impurity and expunge it." The classroom was so quiet that the girls could hear their own labored breathing. Some girls' faces turned red from trying too hard to regulate their breathing. In conclusion, Director Qian said, "Now I'm giving you a word of caution: Honesty begets leniency; resistance begets harshness. Dismissed."

  But Pang Fenghua's meal coupons and cash were not missing at all. She'd been in such a hurry Saturday morning, thanks to the 3,000-meter race, that she'd taken them out and put them in a small pocket sewn into her underwear; then, once she'd started running around the track, she had forgotten about them. She found them Monday while doing her laundry. They still carried the warmth from her body.

  But she had sounded the alarm and alerted the police, and thus could not bring herself to reveal the truth. Crouching in the bathroom, she cried a second time, her face the picture of genuine sorrow and grief. No one could bring her out of her crying fit; in fact, the more people tried, the harder she cried. In the end, even the other girls began to cry with her. Who could blame her? Something so terrible would make anyone cry.

  Fenghua went to see the young homeroom teacher that night. He lived in the teachers' dorm, but all the other teachers were out playing ball while he stayed behind to correct homework. She stopped and held on to the door frame with both hands until he turned and gestured for her to sit down in the only available seat, the single bed beside his desk. Still looking grief-stricken, she lowered herself slowly, wriggling her hips to locate the edge before finally settling onto the bed. The teacher found the graceful way she sat enchanting. Fenghua was not especially pretty, but her hips had an alluring quality that was not lost on the teacher, whose sympathy for her redoubled. He swallowed hard. "Any new clues?" he asked.

  With her eyes fixed on him, she shook her head silently, looking wan and obviously distressed. He sighed, realizing how difficult it must be for her now that her money was gone, so he took out his wallet and offered her ten yuan.

  "This should tide you over for a few days."

  Deeply moved by his gesture, she stared at the money as tears welled up in her eyes. Her gaze slowly moved up until their eyes met, hers now brimming with tears.

  "Teacher," she said, but she was unable to go on and began to weep.

  She threw herself down on his pillow and sobbed, her shoulders heaving. He got up and sat beside her, cautiously reaching out to pat her on the back. She twisted her shoulders, sending a signal: "Leave me alone." But how could her own homeroom teacher leave her alone? So he patted her some more, touching the bottom of her heart and bringing forth even more tears. This time she did not twist her shoulders, but she increased her crying to the point that her whole body seemed to be choking on tears. His heart was breaking.

  This went on for two or three minutes until Fenghua recovered, quietly got up, and wordlessly took the money before she sat down in his chair. She slipped the money under the glass tabletop of his desk and picked up his handkerchief to dry her eyes. Then she turned and, looking right at him, smiled briefly; but she hurriedly shut her mouth and hid the smile behind her hand. Without warning, she stood up and walked to the door. There she spun around to see him still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at his handkerchief.

  The case remained open because the police had found no clues of any value after taking Fenghua's testimony, which made it impossible to proceed. On Monday afternoon, the students in Section Three noticed that the police car that had been parked outside the administrative building was gone. With more important things to do, the police could not possibly waste any more time on a trivial matter like this. But Director Qian said that they must solve the case, and that meant increased responsibility for everyone at the school if they were to get to the bottom of this. So the teachers in the security and student affairs sections divided up the labor and produced an organizational plan. They formed a special-case unit that was in operation day and night, and spread the net far and wide—a dragnet that would snare even the most cunning fish.

  At an administrators' meeting, Director Qian said that seizing the thief was not as important as making this incident an example—using it as a negative teaching model in the service of thoroughly rectifying the students' thoughts and behavior. According to him, the school had taken a downward turn. Some of the boys were letting their hair grow long, and a few of the girls had begun wearing bell-bottomed pants. "You call that a hairstyle? And what about those pants? I'm forty-three years old," he said, "and I've never seen the likes of this." They also had to be on guard against the actions of the off-campus juvenile delinquents who wore froglike shades and hung around the school gate with a Sanyo cassette player blasting decadent music by Teresa Teng—"Sweet Wine in Coffee" and "When Will the Gentleman Return?" What kind of crazy music was that? T
hese were all signs of danger that had to be dealt with early and decisively.

  "What are we running here?" Director Qian asked. "It's a teacher-training school. All signs prove that unhealthy societal influences have already seeped onto our campus. We must eliminate them now. Don't expect them to die on their own. We must be vigilant, we cannot let down our guard."

  So Director Qian devised a policy he called "outside loose and inside tight." "Outside loose" meant that they must continue the normal operation of school affairs and give that particular student a false sense of security to draw her out, like enticing a snake from its den. "Inside tight" required everyone to keep their eyes open and "not let go of that thread, even for a second."

  "Outside loose" proved hard to maintain with everyone so tense. Yuyang was a case in point. What exactly had she done after finishing the race? Danger lurked in her inability to explain why she had returned to the dorm alone. After two days of indecision, she went to see her psychology teacher, Ms. Huang Cuiyun, who was also the assistant director of student affairs. It was a wise move, for if she hadn't, it would have been virtually impossible to prove her innocence after her period was over. She explained the situation to Ms. Huang, telling her that she'd gone back to the dorm because of her "special condition." After hearing her out, Ms. Huang took her into the girls' toilet, where she told her to drop her pants and show her the pad. Obviously, she was telling the truth—that was something no one could fake.