When he arrived at the plant, it was already dark; all the houses had their lights on. Without difficulty he found Unit 12, which had been assigned to Hua recently and was in the middle of a dormitory house. Hearing his daughter singing from inside, he didn't knock on the door. He couldn't make out what she was singing, perhaps a dance song.
It had begun to snow lightly. From a tall smokestack in the south, a loudspeaker was announcing the evening news after the music of "The East Is Red, the Sun Is Rising." Outside the plant a few firecrackers exploded on the balconies of some residential buildings.
Uncertain whether he should go in, he remained at the window, whose panes had almost frosted over. He bent forward and looked in with one eye through an uncovered spot. Inside, Shuyu, in a white apron and a green cotton-padded jacket, looked healthy and happy. Mother and daughter were making pies together. A round bamboo grid on a kneading bowl held three rows of pies. Hua was rolling out the dough with a wooden pin, while her mother was using a spoon to stuff the pies with sugared red-bean paste. Shuyu looked younger now, somewhat urbanized; she reminded Lin of a professional cook. For some reason he was overwhelmed by the peaceful scene, and his throat tightened. He straightened up, looked around, and saw a few white cloth sacks, which must have been filled with frozen dumplings and pies, hanging outside some windows of another dormitory house. He remembered that back in their home village each family would make thousands of pies and dumplings at the end of the year and have them frozen in the storehouse, so that they wouldn't have to spend a lot of time preparing meals during the holiday season. Winter was the time to relax and enjoy themselves, and many men would gamble and get drunk every day.
Should he go in? He remembered that a few months ago a retired official had died of a stroke while getting together with his former family. The old man had left his home village with the Communist army in the fall of 1943 and later divorced his wife when he became a middle-ranking official in Harbin. Forty years later, when he retired and went back to visit his home village, he found his former wife still waiting for him and their four children already raising their own families. Overwhelmed by the family gathering, which consisted of sixteen members of three generations, the old man had a stroke at the dinner table and died two days later.
Now, standing outside the apartment, Lin was afraid he might not be able to control his emotions if he went in. So he left the duffel bag on the briquets piled beside the door. But before he could move away, the bag fell to the ground, together with a thick bunch of frozen scallions that had hung above the coal.
"Who is it?" Hua cried from inside.
The door opened. "Dad! Come in." She turned around and shouted, "Mom, my dad is here."
Shuyu came out, rubbing her floury hands. "Don't stand in the snow. Come on in," she said with a broad smile, as though he had returned from a long trip.
Lin locked the bicycle and went in. The room was so warm he took off his hat and glasses, which misted up instantly. He kept wiping the lenses with his thumb and forefinger.
Both Shuyu and Hua urged him to get on the brick bed, which was shiny and well heated, so he unlaced his boots and climbed on it. He crossed his legs, covered them with a small quilt, then removed his jacket. In no time Shuyu placed a large mug of black tea on the low table before him. She said, "Drink this to warm yourself up. It's so cold outside."
Sitting on the brick bed made him feel cozy. How he would like to lie down and warm his back for a while. He was tired, and the feeling of being at home moved him as he sipped the tea and listened to his wife and daughter talking in the kitchen and cooking dinner.
His heart was full, and he was breathing heavily. He looked around and saw four Spring Festival pictures on the walls, similar to those in their village home and each having at least one fat baby and a pair of giant peaches in it. The thought came to him that Shuyu and Hua could live quite well without him. This realization saddened him and made him feel like a good-for-nothing. "I'm a superfluous man," he muttered. That was a phrase he had read in a Russian novel long ago. The author's name escaped him.
He tried to recall the holidays in recent years and found himself at a loss – not a single one of them was distinguishable from the rest. He couldn't say that he had ever had a happy Spring Festival since he left Goose Village. His mind shifted from holidays to love, which perplexed him more because he had never spent a day with a woman he loved wholeheartedly – no, there had not been such a woman in his life and that emotion had been alien to him. Yet one thing he was certain about now: between love and peace of mind he would choose the latter. He would prefer a peaceful home. What was better than a place where you could sit down comfortably, read a book, and have a good meal and an unbroken sleep? Deep in his heart he knew this was merely wishful thinking, because soon he would have to return to Manna and their babies in the other home. He closed his eyes. What a mess he had made of his life and the lives of others!
Dinner was ready. Hua put on the table a cabbage salad mixed with cellophane noodles, a plate of stewed chicken, a small basket of fried pies made of glutinous-rice flour, and a casserole of sauerkraut and pork and tiny shrimps. Shuyu opened a bottle of wheat liquor and poured a full cup for Lin, telling him, "Bensheng asked Second Donkey to bring this bottle for you when he came to town."
"When did Second Donkey come?"
"Last week. He was here with his son Handong to buy a used truck. He's so rich now he wants to start a hauling business."
"How's Bensheng doing?"
"He's fine. Second Donkey says he envies you a lot."
"Your brother envies me?"
"Yes. Bensheng said, 'How come all good things happen to Lin? Why am I never that lucky? He has the best education, a high rank, and three kids.' "
"Why did he say that? Didn't he make a lot of money from his grocery store?"
"Don't know. Second Donkey said Bensheng burst into tears when he heard you got two sons. Never so jealous."
Lin raised his head, facing the sloped ceiling. He thought, How we're each sequestered in our own suffering! He turned to his daughter. "Get two more cups, Hua."
"We have only one cup, Dad." But she went out into the kitchen anyway.
"We have more good news," Shuyu said.
"What?"
"Hua's boyfriend, Fengjin, is going to leave the navy soon. He'll come here and join her. He wants to be engaged. Lin, in a few years we'll become grandparents, and our family is going to get bigger."
"Mom, don't talk about that please," Hua cut in, having returned with two small bowls.
Shuyu's words made Lin want to smile and weep at the same time. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then he poured some liquor into the bowls and said, "We should all drink for this family reunion. "
"Happy holiday! " Hua said to him.
They clinked the cup and bowls and drank. Shuyu said to him, "Try a pie and see how good we made it." With her chopsticks she put one of the two chicken legs in his bowl.
As he was eating, he remembered that this was the first time he had celebrated the Spring Festival with Shuyu and Hua, if he could call this a celebration. The holiday was still two days away. Every winter he had stayed at the hospital, and he had always returned home in summer. This memory upset him. Somehow he wished Shuyu and Hua had hated him and barred him from this home. That might have made him feel better, at least less attached to them. It was harder to bear their kindness.
He drank one cup after another, as though wanting to numb his mind and make himself forgetful.