new year. We'd just finished a quick dinner, when Mother turned to Father, who was enjoying a leisurely smoke. ‘Let's go,’ she said, ‘the earlier we leave, the sooner we'll be back home.’
Father looked up through the haze of smoke. ‘Do we have to?’ he asked, obviously uncomfortable.
‘What's your problem?’ she responded unhappily. ‘I thought we agreed this afternoon. What changed your mind?’
‘What's going on?’ I asked, curious as always.
‘What's going on?’ echoed Jiaojiao.
‘This has nothing to do with you children,’ snapped Mother.
‘I think I'll stay home,’ said Father, giving Mother a hangdog look. ‘Why don't you go with Xiaotong and give him my regards?’
‘Go where?’ I asked. They'd really piqued my interest. ‘I'm ready.’
‘Shut up,’ Mother barked angrily, then turned back to Father. ‘I know how important saving face is to you, but a New Year's visit isn't going to demean you. What's wrong with villagers paying a call on their village head?’
‘People will talk,’ Father said, digging in his heels. ‘I don't want people saying that I'm kissing Lao Lan's arse!’
‘You call New Year's greetings arse-kissing?’ Mother was incredulous. ‘Lao Lan gave us electricity, he gave us a New Year's gift, he gave the children red envelopes—you wouldn't call that arse-kissing, would you?’
‘That's different…’
‘All those promises you made to me, they meant nothing…’ Mother sat on the bench. The colour left her cheeks and they grew wet with tears. ‘Apparently you have no intention of staying with us…’
‘Lao Lan's a big shot!’ Despite my general lack of sympathy for my mother, I hated to watch her cry. ‘Dieh,’ I said, ‘I'm happy to go. Lao Lan's an interesting guy, worth being friends with.’
‘He thinks Lao Lan's beneath him,’ Mother said. ‘He only wants to be friends with arseholes like Yao Qi.’
‘Yao Qi's a bad man, Dieh,’ I said. ‘He called you names when you were away.’
‘Xiaotong, stay out of adults’ affairs,’ Father said gently.
‘I think Xiaotong's got better sense than you.’ Now Mother was angry. ‘After you left, Lao Lan was the only one who treated us well. Yao Qi and the others got a kick out of watching bad things happen to us. It's times like that when you can tell who's good and who's bad.’
‘I'm going, too, Dieh,’ Jiaojiao said.
Father heaved a sigh. ‘All right, have it your way. I'll go.’
Mother went to the wardrobe and took out a blue wool tunic.
‘Wear this,’ she said in a tone that permitted no objection.
Father decided to say nothing. Instead, he dutifully took off his greasy, tattered jacket and put on the tunic. Mother tried to button it up for him; he pushed her hand away. But he didn't resist when she went round and straightened the back.
As a family we walked out of the house and onto Hanlin Avenue. The streetlights that had been installed shortly before New Year's were already lit. Children were out playing chase; a youngster was reading a book under one of the lights; some men were loitering under another, arms crossed, engaged in idle talk. Four young men were showing off their riding skills on brand new motorbikes, revving them up to make as much noise as possible. There was the occasional burst of firecrackers in front of houses that sported a pair of red lanterns in the doorway and a carpet of red confetti on the ground. ‘All those firecrackers,’ Father had muttered on New Year's Eve, ‘you'd think it was the beginning of World War III.’
‘More firecrackers means more money,’ Mother said, ‘and shows how effective Lao Lan's leadership has been.’
That's exactly how we felt as we walked down Hanlin Avenue. Within the confines of a hundred square li, Slaughterhouse was the only village in the area in which the roads had been paved and streetlights installed. Nearly every family lived in multistoreyed, tile-roofed houses; many even had modern interiors.
Hand in hand, our little family of four proceeded down Hanlin Avenue. It was the first time we'd appeared in public as a family. It was also the last. But I felt both proud and contented. Jiaojiao walked along happily. Father seemed less than natural. Mother was calm and unperturbed. Passers-by greeted us—Father barely mumbled a response but Mother heartily returned their greetings. When we turned into Lan Clan Lane, which led to the Hanlin Bridge, Father grew increasingly uneasy. The lane also boasted a dozen or so streetlights, which shone on the black gates and the bright red couplets pasted on them. Coloured lights on the distant Hanlin Bridge put the