Stories from Fujian, China

Sedge, a Countryside Girl He scooped up a gourd ladle of water from the boat bottom, then another ladle of water.... He made the boat very trim. He could detect the coming of someone to the boat far away at night. That middle of the night he got up quietly, dressed himself and lighted the storm lantern. When he was about to go out of the house, there came a female voice: “Where are you going?” “I go to the boat. Someone is waiting at the opposite bank.” So strange, indeed, when he got to the ferry, a light flashed on the opposite bank of the river. “Boat, please! I want to cross the river!” someone shouted on the opposite bank. He silently cast the boat off the bank, struck the bamboo pole against the cobble shallows, then rowed smoothly. The oar swam across the water, and the boat sailed fast. The man opposite got on board. He gave the boatman a note of two yuan as a tip, and he accepted it silently. The man shouldered two large round bamboo baskets with a pole. He went quickly, soon there were no traces of him. He tethered his boat, and decided to go home. It was midnight anyway. Under the big trees along the sandy bank, he heard some sound. He saw a shadow flying up, then flying between the branches. Squirrel? Fox? Maybe. The night insects chirped among the grass. A very bright star was shooting down the river. When he got home, he saw his woman just shoulder two buckets of water from the well which is actually a pool of spring near the village. When he went to the boat for some errands, his woman often got up too. He went to bed again. He looked through the window and saw a red crescent moon in the sky. He heard a couple of squirrels twitter in the loquat trees and the pomegranate tree in the courtyard. He went to the riverside of the ferry very early the next morning. He saw the footprints on the sandy bank like a beast’s, his own footprints beside them. He was very surprised. This day the boatman only went to harrow the field. Another boatman was attending the boat on shift. The evening mist came from the river. The breeze blew gently. It made the leaves trembling, giving a subtle sound. Someone crossed the field. He was Little Stone, a young chap. He often stood under the camphor tree after supper, Leisurely looking at the distance, especially the hazy ford with splashing water on the rocks, and dreamed so much. There was a vast cobble riverside with the bulrushes and reeds dotted on it. Along the higher edge of the riverside, there was a line of green trees or a cluster of bamboos. They shadowed the houses. Some trees also grew on the soil among the houses, too. So the houses with black pan-tiled roofs and the people bustling around looked more elusive, shadowy and idyllic when someone looked at the scene from the opposite bank. A girl carried a basket of bed sheets. Her name was Sedge. She went to the river to wash the bed sheets and other things. She passed by. “How diligent!” Little Stone greeted her. When he saw the girl snub him, he said again, “May I wring the bed linen and other washing with you? I guess that you cannot deal with them yourself!” Then Little Stone went along with her to the river. They now went through the cobble riverside. Somewhere she almost stumbled to the cobble ground when she trod on the very wet and mossy stones. Little Stone hurried up to catch hold of her by the elbow. She leaned back and they were so close that they sensed each other’s breath and the thumping of their own hearts. She looked at the higher place superciliously, and didn’t say anything. They reached the river. The water gurgled and sprayed about, clear and rapid. She spread the bed linen in the water. She rolled up her sleeves high. He rolled up his trousers, waded into the water and held the other end of the bed linen. The bed linen and some clothes had soaked with the water at home previously, also had been spread with soap, and scrubed. So the bed linen and the washing needed to be washed away the dirt and stains on them by scrubbing them again in the pellucid water. Soon her hands became slightly pink. In the green fields the fog drifted. Now the fog seemed as if it came from the mysterious place. The village, the fields, the surrounding hills far away, everything was hazy and ethereal in the distance as the dark was approaching. The last tresses of crimson on the west sky faded. Little Stone wrung the bed sheets with her. She was slim. Her hair was wound into a chignon with a ribbon, and her curvy bust and abdomen made her full of charming. Indeed, she was a stunner, a beautiful wench in the world. She was a coquette with the country’s crisp flavor. He unconsciously touched her loin. He stared at her. Her eyes avoided meeting his although she could sense his stare hazily. “You can go now, and I’ll manage it myself, thanks,” She said. Then she ignored him. Little Stone was reluctant to go, but he also felt embarrassed to stay there, so Little Stone went away. He disappeared in the darkness soon.