Free Under the Hawthorn Tree by Ai Mi, Anna Holmwood Page B

the tenants on their land, so he was doubly wronged and should never have been classed as a landowner. He should have been seen as a progressive youth. He’d fled enemy territory for the liberated areas at least a couple of years before 1949, using his musical talents to serve the people by organising a choir for propagating Communism and Mao Zedong, teaching the masses ‘A liberated sky is a brilliant sky’. No one knew why, but once the Cultural Revolution started he was singled out and accused of being an undercover agent in the service of the Nationalists. Eventually he was branded a landowner, and sent to labour camp. The truth of the matter was that they couldn’t give him more than one label, and so only the one capable of causing the most harm would do; ‘secret agent to Chiang Kai-shek’, ‘active counter-revolutionary’ and heaven knows what else simply weren’t injurious enough.
    Even the smallest error on her part, therefore, would bring about even greater misfortune. These thoughts filled her with remorse for her actions. She couldn’t work out what had come over her, it was as if she had taken some kind of bewitching drug. Old Third told her to take the mountain road, so she took the mountain road. Old Third said he wanted to wait for her in town, so she let him wait in town. Afterwards, she let him take her by the hand, let him hold her, let him kiss her. And the worst of it all was that Lin had seen him carrying her across the river. What now? The worry consumed her. How can I stop Lin from saying something, and if he does, what do I do then? She didn’t have the energy to even think about what she felt about Old Third.
    The following few days Jingqiu was on edge, conscious of every word she said to Auntie and Lin, and scrutinising Auntie for evidence of his betrayal. She realised that Lin did not have a loose tongue; he was like a sealed calabash. It was Auntie she was worried about. If she were to hear about it, then it would definitely get out. Jingqiu felt trapped by the threads of the thoughts as they wound themselves around her. Sometimes Auntie displayed an all-knowing look, but other times she was quiet, as if unruffled by suggestions or wafts of gossip.
    Old Third still came to Auntie’s house, but his place of work had moved to another part of the village so he couldn’t come at lunchtimes. He often came in the evenings, however, and each time he would bring food. Twice he brought sausages that he had bought from a local farmer. Auntie cooked them, cut them into pieces, and prepared vegetables as accompaniments. One such evening, Jingqiu discovered a chunk of sausage hidden beneath the rice in her bowl. She knew Old Third must have put it there. Knowing as he did that she liked sausage, he was making sure she received more than the others.
    She didn’t know what to do with the extra piece of meat. It disarmed her. Her mother had narrated stories from the old days in which loving husbands from the countryside would hide meat in their wives’ rice bowls. Young wives had no status in the family, and had to yield constantly to everyone else. If there was ever something nice to eat she would have to wait for her husband’s parents to eat first, then her husband, then any uncles and aunts, and finally her own children. By the time it came to her turn, only vegetables would remain.
    Husbands didn’t dare display love in front of their parents, so if they wanted to give their beloved wives a piece of meat they’d have to resort to tricks. Her mother told Jingqiu the way such a favoured young wife would eat the hidden meat: first, furtively, she would mash it up, then, lifting the bowl to her mouth, she would dig the meat out from the bottom of the bowl as if excavating a tunnel, pretending only to be shovelling rice. Quietly, she would chew, while ploughing the remaining meat back ‘underground’. She had to be careful not to eat