Colors of the Mountain

  “We’ve gotta job for you, Mr. Student.” Sen wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Take over my saw and I’ll slice some tobacco. By the way, you look like an idiot.”

  “What’s the matter?” Yi put down his saw. “You’re very quiet.”

  “Where’s my Flying Horse cigarettes?” Mo Gong flapped his arms up and down like wings.

  “I’m sorry, my teacher trashed them,” I said darkly.

  “What?”

  “And he gave me a whole shitload of crap right in front of everyone.”

  “About what?”

  “About me hanging around with you guys.”

  “The bad-influence shit, right?”

  They understood even though I didn’t nod.

  “It was all my fault. I got you guys dragged into this,” I said.

  “How’s it your fault?”

  “Because of my family and what had happened to me in the third grade.”

  “Wait a second. Are you giving us the sorry-and-good-bye-forever speech?” Sen asked.

  I felt bad that they could even think so. “Not at all. I’m here, right? You’re my brothers,” I said sternly.

  “So we’re not bad apples?” Mo Gong asked quietly.

  “You don’t think I’m just a no-good landlord’s son?” I asked in return.

  They looked at each other and laughed as if it was a joke. Siang picked me up, planted me on his lap, and they all started tickling me until we were covered with sawdust.

  “Hey, look what he’s got here,” Siang said as he encountered something square in my coat pocket. He stuck his hand in and pulled out a pack of unopened Flying Horse.

  “You snake, you lied about your teacher,” Siang said jokingly.

  It didn’t matter where the cigarettes came from. My friends scrambled for them.

  “Hey, where didja get this, truth?” Sen asked.

  “I bought it on credit from Liang.”

  “Hey, I love that, little brother!” Sen put his arm around me and then around Mo Gong. “We have to figure out how to deal with that rascal Han slowly. I’m sure it was him.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “We’ll give a hint that something is coming his way, then we’ll let him wait and sweat it out.”

  I put down my schoolbag, picked up a saw, and got right down to business. It so happened I had a good eye for sawing real straight.

  The cigarette incident didn’t ripple beyond the classroom. Even though Han and my other enemies shouted, “The smoker is here!” a few times when I entered the room, they didn’t get the whole class to respond as they usually did. One day, the shortest fellow in class actually came up to me and said nervously, “Da, I had nothing to do with the cigarette thing. I hope you and your friends understand and leave me alone.”

  This took me totally by surprise. The little guy used to trail along behind my enemies. I sensed the fear in his voice as he tried to distance himself from his bosses. As he turned to run away, I grabbed him and brought his face close to mine. “Tell your boss that the hooligans still remember him and his friends.”

  The kid shrank back and ran off as if fleeing a ghost.

  For the next few days I was given extra space as I passed down the narrow aisles, and silent stares came from my classmates. It was a stare usually given to an older guy with a rare disease, a drinking addiction, or a wife-beater. It was an innocent, mind-speaking stare, that said, “You scare me, stay away.” I enjoyed it and was in no hurry to dispel the myth around me. Soon I started to walk with my jacket hanging open to my belly. I spoke less, and forced my eyes to move slowly from one spot to another. Occasionally I sucked in air loudly like I was suffering from a terrible yearning for some bitter tobacco. Though it wasn’t his intention, Teacher Lan’s public criticism did more for than against me. I was now the smoking buddy of the hooligans and, in comparison, my enemies looked liked trapped rabbits.

  One day after school, the little guy came running to me in the hallway and said, “Look, your enemies didn’t believe me when I sent them the message. They pushed me over to you to confirm it.”

  I saw my three enemies standing ten yards away, looking at us.

  “What do I need to do?”

  “Give them a smile, that’ll be the signal that I told the truth. Please do it, otherwise they’ll beat me up and say I was lying,” he begged.

  I spun the kid around to face the three of them, and slowly and unmistakably gave them the finger. Then I smiled.

  The smirks on their faces disappeared.

  “See, I wasn’t lying, the hooligans really want your ass,” the little guy yelled, running in their direction. But my enemies were long gone.

  They knew revenge was coming and they waited in agony. Every day they watched me come and go, and whispered to each other. I stayed in my corner and sometimes threw a quick look their way, accompanied by my middle finger. They’d look away immediately. I hated using the influence of my friends to make life better at school, but I couldn’t help enjoying the mind games I tortured them with. And I didn’t feel one ounce of remorse, not after what they had done to me. It was their faces I saw in most of my nightmares. I told myself that the real revenge was yet to come. It was only a matter of time.

  One evening I brought a bag of freshly baked fava beans and went to join my friends at Yi’s. As soon as I stepped in, I noticed Sen acting a little strange. He hummed a broken tune, grinned from ear to ear, and kept looking into a half-mirror that hung above Yi’s coal stove, fussing with his unruly hair.

  “What’s with him?” I asked the rest of the gang. They were doing their usual stuff, slicing tobacco leaves, brewing tea, and getting ready for some juicy chatting. As I placed the beans on the counter, Mo Gong jumped down from his chair, grabbed a handful, and almost burned his hands.

  “They’re hot!” He sampled the beans with relish.

  “He saw his girl today,” Yi said, giving me a wicked wink, which I returned.

  “And now he can’t keep his mouth shut,” Siang said, also grabbing a handful of beans.

  “What’s the story, Sen? Details, details.” I was happy for him.

  Sen turned, still wearing a silly grin. “Well, I was riding on my old bike to the market this afternoon, right?”

  “On the street?” I asked.

  “No, on the narrow dirt road near Dong Jing River.”

  “And?”

  He kept beaming. “And there was no one else around.”

  “It sounds better each time,” Mo Gong said, chewing the beans. “Keep going, Sen.”

  “Outta nowhere, there she is.” Sen narrowed his eyes as if he could still see her figure, and lowered his voice. “Hair down to the waist, loose and fluttering in the wind. Still wearing that dress with the little flowers, real tight up here.” He grabbed his own breasts. We all smiled and he waved at us, annoyed.

  “I was getting nervous as I came closer to her because the narrow road wouldn’t let the two of us pass without touching each other.” His grin got wider.

  “Touching each other!” I exclaimed. “Did you touch her?”

  “Wait. I was afraid of losing my balance and falling off the bike into the ditch, so I got off and stood on the edge of the road to let her through.”

  “There was you and her with the bike in between?” I asked.

  “No, I was between the bike and her,” he corrected me.

  “You old dog,” I said, slapping his shoulder.

  “Of course, my heart was pounding and my face musta been like a real red lychee. I felt like I needed air…”

  “Normal feelings during sexual encounters.” Yi threw in a few goodies from his old days at the master’s house.

  “Do this part slowly, Sen,” Siang urged. Mo Gong and I stopped chewing the beans and our jaws hung slack as we waited.

  “She turned to face me and our chests brushed lightly. It was…oh, how should I say it…a lively moment. I can still smell her faint fragrance and feel the touch of her chest. Feel t
his, my heart still pounds at the thought of her sinful body.” Sen grabbed my hand and let me feel his heart. It was kicking like a baby’s foot.

  “That moment seemed so long and sweet. I thought I was dying and I felt completely happy with this shitty life I’ve lived.” He closed his eyes and shook his head earnestly. “Then, as I was admiring her from behind, she turned her head and gave me the sexiest smile. I felt my head explode. It was a heat wave. Those eyes pierced my heart. She knew I was looking at her and she didn’t dislike it. No, no, not at all. Her smile told me she really liked it, or she woulda started yelling and calling me a hooligan.”

  “She shoulda done so, anyway,” Mo Gong joked. Sen hit him with a fava bean.

  “Real poetry!” I said dreamily, “I can’t believe you touched her chest. Anyone else would have fainted and dropped into the ditch.”

  “I almost did,” Sen said.

  “I think she was flirting with you. That’s a good sign. She likes you,” Yi said.

  “I think I should do something about it or I’ll go crazy,” Sen said, all pumped. Then he paused, suddenly deflated. “But I have no money, no brains, no job, no future. Someday I’ll probably end up marrying a virgin from the mountains who walks like a duck and sounds like a man.”

  “You’re definitely not much to look at,” Siang joked. “Your chance of getting her is like a frog in a deep well, hungry for a passing swan in the sky.”

  Sen didn’t think it was funny this time. His face turned pale as he said to the good-looking Siang, “Fuck off. You think you’re pretty? Just check that garlic nose in the mirror, and those swollen lips.”

  “Okay, okay. Let our friends be the judge,” Siang challenged. “Loser buys cigarettes for the next three days, deal?” It was always about betting and winning.

  “I’m ashamed of you guys. What’s this? You want us to judge your Ugly Contest?” Mo Gong said, disgusted. “Forget it.”

  “That ain’t very nice of you, Siang, to say all that,” Yi said. “He has his dream and he’s happy when he dreams. It doesn’t matter who he ends up with, he still can dream about Ms. Huang, even lying next to another woman in bed. A man always dreams.” Yi sounded like an old man again.

  “Right, the same way you dream about marrying your ‘Miss Yellow Stone,’ Siang,” Sen said. “You think your chance is that good? I saw her brother bring those tall, muscular basketball players to their house. You don’t think they have a better chance at getting her than you?” Siang’s girl happened to be his next-door neighbor, a dentist’s daughter by the name of Ping, meaning lotus blossom. Ping’s whole family was beautiful. She recently inherited the title “Miss Yellow Stone” from her sister, who had married a college graduate, an engineer.

  “Okay, leave my Ping out of it,” Siang said. “I wish to say no more on the subject.”

  “You shoulda stopped a long time ago,” Mo Gong said.

  “Why don’t you write to her?” I asked Sen, remembering what my elder sister had told me about her high school life. “Everyone in the school has a locker, where they get letters and postcards sent to them.”

  “Ha, ha, ha. Right, me writing a letter.” Sen laughed sarcastically at himself. “I couldn’t even remember the last time I touched a pen. I can’t write a love letter. I don’t know all those beautiful words and sayings.”

  “I think our little intellectual could help,” Siang said, grabbing my neck and shaking it fondly.

  “No, I wouldn’t know how either,” I protested. “Besides, this is your girlfriend. I have no personal feelings for her.”

  “Hey, that sounds like a great idea, Siang,” Sen said, warming to the idea. “Have Da jot down something sweet. What an idea!”

  Sen turned to me smiling. “C’mon, don’t play hard to get. I know you’re well-read and can write a mean piece of prose. Just think of the love stories you used to tell us.”

  “You gotta help your elder brother here, Da,” Yi said. “The same way I’d repair your chair if it were broken, ’cause I’m a carpenter.”

  “Okay, I’d love to help,” I said. “Tell me what you want to say.”

  “You go write something, then I’ll see if it fits me.”

  “Make sure you tell her that Sen would jump into the Dong Jing if his love goes unnoticed,” Mo Gong said.

  We all laughed.

  The following afternoon, everyone lay on Mo Gong’s bed and listened quietly as I read aloud the letter I had spent the night composing.

  Dear dear Huang:

  I do not know where to begin or how to end.

  I am an ignorant boy lost deeply in the placid pond of your love.

  I am a silly man, tortured day and night by the fire of love, which only burns hotter each day. I want to whisper in your ear those tender words, which sometimes I find myself scared to utter: that I do love you.

  Only the Dong Jing River knows my thirst for you and only the Ching Mountain sees my drying tears. If you were the shepherd girl in a meadow of green grass, I would willingly sit beside you like a timid lamb. Your eyes, which carry warmth and love, lay bare my soul. I have no place to hide except to confess on my knees that I love you, I do love you.

  If only you knew that I would jump down cliffs thousands of feet high for you, and I would travel to the corner of the world to look for you if you were at the last post of human civilization.

  In case you ask me why I think you should return my love, I want to say honestly from my heart that I am only a poor, poor man with a rich, rich heart that is full of love for you only. I know for a girl as pure as you there is no precious stone big enough to win even a faint smile from you. Only a heart full of love genuine enough could win your heart.

  My only qualification is a dream that contains only you and a strong body. I promise you that I would take good care of you, and use my two capable hands and strong knees to crawl along the rugged path of life, forever serving you as your obedient slave…

  Yours,

  SEN,

  with mountains of love

  Nobody stirred. It was as if they had all fallen asleep.

  After several minutes, Mo Gong sat up and said earnestly, “Da, can I give you a kiss? I’ve never heard something so moving. It gave me chills.”

  He leaned over to grab me, but I dodged and he almost fell off the bed.

  “Well, I wish it was longer,” Siang said. “You’ve gotta write one like that for me one of these days.”

  “I think Sen is getting a hard-on,” Yi joked. “He’s quiet.”

  Sen lay undisturbed by the statement.

  “What do you think, Sen?” I asked.

  “It’s so good that she wouldn’t ever believe it was from me,” Sen said finally.

  “That’s easy,” I said, relieved. “What you need to do is to copy it in your own writing and she’ll believe it’s from you.”

  “Da’s right. Naturally you’re gonna be missing a letter here and there. What’d be more convincing than that?” Mo Gong said, knowing what his buddy was capable of doing with a pen.

  The same night, after everyone had left, I sat alone with Sen at Yi’s. Sen copied the letter with difficulty in the dim candlelight. I could see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. There were a lot of words that he misspelled unintentionally, but the letter still read smoothly and was strangely touching for the misspellings.

  “How’d you learn to write such a mean letter at this young age? You have to have a pretty corrupt mind,” Sen said, putting his pen down and stretching.

  “It was taken from a few love letters that I read in novels. I just changed the name of the river and the mountain and that’s it.”

  “Thanks, Da. Out it goes in tomorrow’s mail,” Sen said.

  “Best of luck.”

  “You know, Da?”

  “What?”

  “Someday she’ll find out and will probably fall in love with you and marry you.”

  “If that happens, she won’t marry me,” I answered. “She’ll kill
me.”

  For the next few days, Sen was especially interested in the old mailman who rode his bicycle around town every morning. But nothing came back. He began to suspect that the letter had gotten lost or that the return address to Yi’s workshop was such an obscure alley that the mailman didn’t know it existed. We all were getting anxious. It seemed like a united effort by all of us. When Siang joked that Teacher Huang might have wiped his butt with the letter, we threw him to the floor and kicked him until he was reduced to tears.

  One Sunday we finally took to the road in search of Sen’s girl again. We smoked all the way to the high school, where we thought she might possibly be practicing basketball with the rest of the school team. What a sight! As we leaned over the low wall, we saw a dozen tall, slender girls running around the dirt basketball court, stretching their arms and kicking their legs to the rhythm of a coach’s whistle. Ms. Huang was somewhere in the middle. Her gestures were especially supple, and her long hair was bound into a huge bun. For the first time we could see her long, elegant neck.

  “Sen, I think you came at the right time. Check her legs out.” Mo Gong was drooling.

  “What do you plan to do with her? Just stare?”

  “Isn’t that good enough?”

  “I guess so, for the time being.”

  Now she was bending forward stretching her back, her bottom to us. We couldn’t conceal our excitement. What a lucky man that coach must have been. The back-stretching exercise lasted for a long time. Our five heads moved in unison to the movements of the warm-up.

  “She looks really beautiful today,” Sen said absentmindedly. “Think she got my letter?”

  “Maybe,” I replied.

  “There’s no way of finding out,” Sen said.

  “Perhaps we could try smoking, to give her a signal. She saw the smoke last time, that’s why she stopped and gazed lovingly at you,” Mo Gong said.

  “Hey, that’s not a bad idea at all.”

  I fished out a pack of Flying Horse, distributed it among us, and lit them all with a single match without burning my fingers.

  Smoke rose up above our heads, thick and blue.