man’s family occupied the fanciest building on the island, a ten-room house made from stone slabs, and the suitor was a skilled mason, Yan wasn’t interested and politely turned the proposal down.
The rejection angered the party secretary, who came to the school himself. He slammed his fist on Yan’s desk and delivered some thinlyveiled threats about her future. She cried day and night, alone, unable to come up with a solution. Finally, she visited my dad, who offered her a risky strategy.
The next day, she went straight to the party secretary. “I was raised by my uncle, who happens to be a very poor and greedy old man,” she said. “He considers me his own daughter and treats me as such. He said that he would not mind marrying me off to your good son, if you will pay this sum.” Yan showed the eager man a slip of paper in Dad’s writing. He read it with disbelief, left, and never came back again to bother Yan.
They told me later that the slip contained a long list of expensive items and conditions. A payment of twenty thousand yuan was demanded up front. Dad had actually calculated all the money he had invested in Yan and detailed his expected return income from her for the rest of her life. Dad called the strategy “evil curing evil.”
ONE MORNING, A muscular man showed up at the entrance of the school, smiled warmly, and took me out to his fishing boat down at the dock. The man, Ar Piao, was in his early forties and was the father of the school’s class president. As we walked down the steep steps in silence, it seemed that even though he wanted to show me the island, he couldn’t articulate very well. When he had something to say, his face went beet red. But the more silent he was, the more questions I asked him, for his tanned, leathery skin told me he had a vast knowledge of the sea. There was a story, a good story, somewhere inside him. He answered in single syllables, with a nod, smile, or shake of the head. It seemed that the sea had made him think more and talk less.
The ocean was calm and blue and the sun gentle. The subtropical winter melted away on mornings like this. His boat was new, with tall sails and fishing nets hanging all over it. His son, whom he had named Monkey, waved to me with a broad smile and helped me onto the deck. Ar Piao said the boat was equipped with a motor, and he could sail against the wind if he had to. Soon we left the busy dock, and skipped on the water with a breeze behind us as we set out for a fishing expedition off another tiny island. I leaned against the side of the boat, watching the waves part in our wake.
Monkey was twelve and was already quite muscular. He had the friendly look of a simple young man—much like his dad—but his eyes danced with excitement and curiosity as he gave me the once-over. I could see he wanted to chat but wasn’t sure his quiet dad would approve of his forwardness. He kept glancing at me.
“Hey, you got a pretty good boat here,” I said to him, stroking the mast with my hand.
“You like it?” he asked, contracting the word “you” into the syllable “ya.” Monkey and his father were simple people. Eloquence and correct pronunciation were of small importance. Monkey smiled, revealing two missing teeth. “I’ll show you the skeletons on the island later on.”
“No skeletons this time,” his dad said.
“What skeletons?” The subject definitely interested me.
“Some people slept on the little island,” Monkey said.
“And they died there?” I guessed.
He shook his head, stealing another look at his dad, who was handling the sails. “Don’t use that word on the deck, but you’re right.”
“Maybe we can see them next time. Just fishing is enough, thanks.” I liked him already.
“What does your city look like? A lot of tall buildings?” he asked.
“I didn’t come from a big city. Just a larger town than yours, that’s all.”
“Any movies there?”
“Yeah, theaters, too.”
“I love movies,
The rejection angered the party secretary, who came to the school himself. He slammed his fist on Yan’s desk and delivered some thinlyveiled threats about her future. She cried day and night, alone, unable to come up with a solution. Finally, she visited my dad, who offered her a risky strategy.
The next day, she went straight to the party secretary. “I was raised by my uncle, who happens to be a very poor and greedy old man,” she said. “He considers me his own daughter and treats me as such. He said that he would not mind marrying me off to your good son, if you will pay this sum.” Yan showed the eager man a slip of paper in Dad’s writing. He read it with disbelief, left, and never came back again to bother Yan.
They told me later that the slip contained a long list of expensive items and conditions. A payment of twenty thousand yuan was demanded up front. Dad had actually calculated all the money he had invested in Yan and detailed his expected return income from her for the rest of her life. Dad called the strategy “evil curing evil.”
ONE MORNING, A muscular man showed up at the entrance of the school, smiled warmly, and took me out to his fishing boat down at the dock. The man, Ar Piao, was in his early forties and was the father of the school’s class president. As we walked down the steep steps in silence, it seemed that even though he wanted to show me the island, he couldn’t articulate very well. When he had something to say, his face went beet red. But the more silent he was, the more questions I asked him, for his tanned, leathery skin told me he had a vast knowledge of the sea. There was a story, a good story, somewhere inside him. He answered in single syllables, with a nod, smile, or shake of the head. It seemed that the sea had made him think more and talk less.
The ocean was calm and blue and the sun gentle. The subtropical winter melted away on mornings like this. His boat was new, with tall sails and fishing nets hanging all over it. His son, whom he had named Monkey, waved to me with a broad smile and helped me onto the deck. Ar Piao said the boat was equipped with a motor, and he could sail against the wind if he had to. Soon we left the busy dock, and skipped on the water with a breeze behind us as we set out for a fishing expedition off another tiny island. I leaned against the side of the boat, watching the waves part in our wake.
Monkey was twelve and was already quite muscular. He had the friendly look of a simple young man—much like his dad—but his eyes danced with excitement and curiosity as he gave me the once-over. I could see he wanted to chat but wasn’t sure his quiet dad would approve of his forwardness. He kept glancing at me.
“Hey, you got a pretty good boat here,” I said to him, stroking the mast with my hand.
“You like it?” he asked, contracting the word “you” into the syllable “ya.” Monkey and his father were simple people. Eloquence and correct pronunciation were of small importance. Monkey smiled, revealing two missing teeth. “I’ll show you the skeletons on the island later on.”
“No skeletons this time,” his dad said.
“What skeletons?” The subject definitely interested me.
“Some people slept on the little island,” Monkey said.
“And they died there?” I guessed.
He shook his head, stealing another look at his dad, who was handling the sails. “Don’t use that word on the deck, but you’re right.”
“Maybe we can see them next time. Just fishing is enough, thanks.” I liked him already.
“What does your city look like? A lot of tall buildings?” he asked.
“I didn’t come from a big city. Just a larger town than yours, that’s all.”
“Any movies there?”
“Yeah, theaters, too.”
“I love movies,
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