Chapter Six: The Thieving Boy

“Thank you, Grandpa. Dad, let me brush the dust off for you.” Since childhood, Hongtao had called his maternal grandfather “Grandpa.” At first, he found it hard to get used to, but after a few years, it became a habit he couldn’t break, and no one bothered to correct him anymore. His grandfather had a routine when returning home: he would pick up a duster made from horsehair, hanging outside the door, to brush off his clothes so as not to bring dust into the house. This time, Hongtao took the initiative, fetched the duster, and first brushed off his grandfather’s pants before turning to help his father.

“Hehehe… What more could you want from a son? Shiming’s already grown, but he’s never dusted me off, not even once. Be content.” Though Hongtao only gave a few half-hearted swipes, missing many spots, the old man was delighted. For him, to enjoy a child’s service a little earlier made his life feel worthwhile.

“Mom, did something happen to Xiaotao today? This child seems a bit odd to me!” After entering the house, Hongtao’s father still couldn’t make sense of his son’s strange behavior. As a teacher, he was skilled at reading his students, and the same with his own son. But he couldn’t put his finger on what was off, so he asked Hongtao’s grandmother.

“Shizhong picked him up, didn’t say anything happened! The boy is odd today, though—came home and sat in the yard, wouldn’t drink his malted milk. You didn’t scare him on the way to kindergarten this morning, did you?” Hongtao’s grandmother was adept at turning the tables—if Hongtao did something wrong, she’d soon find a way to link it to his father.

“I didn’t even speak to him this morning. He didn’t complain about going to kindergarten. He even said there was a parade today and asked me to find his new shirt so he could wear it.” Unable to argue with his mother, Hongtao’s father could only defend himself.

“I know what it is—he got his new shirt dirty and is afraid of getting a beating from his brother-in-law, so he’s pretending to be well-behaved!” Hongtao’s younger aunt, who was rather sharp, spotted the black dots all over the white shirt Hongtao had left on the bed and immediately exposed her nephew. For this mischievous nephew, nothing delighted her more than watching him get scolded, though such opportunities were rare.

“This boy, already soiling his new shirt—what is this? Where did the ink come from?” Hongtao’s father examined the shirt and seemed to understand why his son was behaving so oddly today.

“Oh, it’s just a shirt. If it’s dirty, it’s dirty. Yumei, go wash it. Rub it well with soap, and if that doesn’t work, use a bit of lye. Just get it clean.” Seeing his grandson in danger, Grandfather quickly stepped in to protect him, while conveniently assigning the laundry to the young aunt, blaming her for her loose tongue.

“Making me do it again... I’ve got homework!” The young aunt hadn’t expected that she’d end up losing out after all. She pouted, but dared not disobey her father. Grudgingly, she fetched the washbasin from under the bed to wash Hongtao’s shirt.

“Aunt, let me do it myself. Here, I have half a sugar twist left—I took a bite. You and Uncle can have the rest.” Hongtao felt awkward inside, wanting to use the excuse of washing clothes to escape to the yard and figure out how to avoid the doom of going to kindergarten.

“Go play somewhere else. You don’t know the first thing about washing clothes. Just be glad you don’t ruin them completely. And don’t eat now—we’re about to have dinner. Go!” Grandmother promptly hauled Hongtao back, thrust the basin into the aunt’s hands again, and snatched the sugar twist from her, placing it on the cutting board.

“Favoring boys over girls! Such old-fashioned thinking!” The aunt was stunned by Hongtao’s offer, and just as she was about to take a bite of the sweet sugar twist, her mother took it away. Barely a teenager herself, the aunt nearly burst into tears, storming out with the basin in her arms. She knew perfectly well that she’d never get to eat that sugar twist—when her younger brother, Hongtao’s uncle, came home, he’d get it all. As for the rule about not snacking before meals, it only applied to her; for the boys in the family, it was immediately disregarded.

“Xiaotao, come here, take a taste… Hehehe… Is it spicy?” The head of the household was back. Whether or not to boil dumplings could wait; cold dishes and wine glasses were laid out, and Grandfather began to drink alone. Hongtao’s father only smoked and didn’t drink, sitting on the bed reading the newspaper. Grandfather took Hongtao onto his lap, dipped the tip of his chopsticks in white liquor, and let the child taste it. This was his favorite moment of the day.

“Dad, don’t give the child alcohol—he’s too young!” Without even looking up, Hongtao’s father knew what the old man was doing. He raised this issue almost daily, but his father-in-law never changed, not only refusing to stop but also never admitting any fault.

“A real man must be able to drink! He shouldn’t follow your example, smoking all day! Drinking invigorates the blood, while smoking does nothing. Your wife’s a doctor—ask her!” Sure enough, Hongtao’s father was quickly silenced again and could only go back to his newspaper in defeat.

“Dad! Mom! Brother-in-law! My sister’s back—and she brought lots of stuff! She’s right at the alley entrance!” Suddenly, the door burst open. The young aunt, hands covered in soap suds, shouted into the room.

“I’ll go have a look!” Grandmother, upon hearing her second daughter was back, tossed aside the rolling pin and hurried to the door on her bound feet.

“Where are you going! Shizhong, go help your sister!” The old man didn’t budge from his seat but hollered toward the kitchen, sending Hongtao’s eldest uncle off on the errand, head hanging.

“Mom, Dad, I brought back some fish, and some sunflower seeds and hawthorn berries.” Hongtao’s mother entered, sweating profusely, trailed by the uncle and aunt, each dragging a burlap sack from the yard into the house, clearly a heavy load.

“Wife, start boiling the dumplings. It’s not easy for Yuzhi to come home from so far away. Yuzhi, where did you come from?” The old man, seeing his daughter so exhausted, felt a pang of sympathy and, for once, allowed dinner to begin before he’d finished his drink.

“From Miyun Reservoir. The local villagers were delivering fish to the city, so I caught a ride on their tractor. I smell of fish—I’ll go home and change first. Xiaotao, come to the yard—there are lots of big fish!” Hardly pausing, Hongtao’s mother complained about the fishy smell and hurried off to change clothes.

Because of her profession, Hongtao’s mother was something of a neat freak. When she was younger, conditions were harsher and she couldn’t afford to be so particular, but as she got older and life improved, her standards for household cleanliness grew ever higher. By the time Hongtao got married, his wife had only one request: they must not live with his parents, as she couldn’t stand a life that felt like daily quarantine.

“Xiaotao, bring out the big basin—the fish are still alive!” In the yard came the young aunt’s shrill cry. In those days, aside from festivals when ribbonfish could be bought, fish, chicken, and eggs were rare treats. Her yell brought not just Hongtao but also a crowd of neighboring aunts and uncles, all gathering to pass judgment on the sack of live fish in the center of the yard.

Some discussed the best way to cook them, some argued over what kind of fish they were, and others praised Hongtao’s mother for her resourcefulness in securing so much live fish—such a thing couldn’t be bought even with money. Some lamented their own husbands’ incompetence, unable to bring home even a fish scale. Such was life in a crowded courtyard: neighbors, whether close or not, all had something to say.

“Dad, they’re all silver carp—no good to eat. Only two grass carp are halfway decent!” Hongtao, peering out the doorway, immediately recognized that most of the fish, two or three pounds each, were silver carp, a type northern folk rarely ate due to the abundance of bones. Northerners are impatient people, with no time for picking out tiny bones.

“What do you know about fish? Don’t butt in,” his father dismissed him without a second thought.

“But you know, Xiaotao’s right—they’re all wretched silver carp, just two grass carp. Xiaotao, take those two grass carp to the kitchen for your grandfather; the rest can be divided up. Bony or not, they’re still meat—at least everyone can have a taste.” Grandfather, hands clasped behind his back, peered out the window, then dispatched his youngest grandson to claim the best fish. If an adult had taken the good fish and left the rest for the neighbors, it would look stingy—but if Hongtao did it, no one could complain.

“Got it!” Hongtao was thrilled for the chance to shine. He ran into the yard, reached straight into the gaping mouth of a grass carp, hooked its jaw with his finger, and lifted the three-pound fish right out. He repeated the process with the other, dragging both—tails scraping the ground—into their kitchen.

“Hey, you little rascal—took off with the only two fish worth stewing and didn’t even leave one for your Uncle Tai!” Among the onlookers was a middle-aged man with a pockmarked face, who immediately called out. He was the patriarch of the Tai family from the inner yard, younger than Hongtao’s grandmother, and addressed her and her husband as “big sister” and “big brother.” As he was Mongolian, they called him “Little Tartar,” as did all the older neighbors.

“Say what you will, but Xiaotao really is quick with the fish—wonder who taught him that. Boys should be bold; even live fish don’t scare him. Big sister, your grandson isn’t spoiled in vain. So young, and already knows how to look out for the family.” Another man, about the same age as Uncle Tai, joined in. His surname was Zhang, and Hongtao also called him “Grandpa.” He lived next door and, like the others, belonged to the same generation as Hongtao’s grandparents.