【069】Unworthy of a Son

Fang Lujun was a rather hot-tempered man, but he wasn’t one to resort to domestic violence over a mere sentence; thus, Fang Changan narrowly escaped a beating.

Thanks to Fang Changan’s recent “excellent” conduct, both Fang Lujun and Cong Rong, though still not quite seeing him as a fully grown man, had to admit their eldest son truly seemed much more sensible these days. And now, he had even achieved the coveted rank of “first in the whole school”—for parents, a child’s level of sense always rose in direct proportion to their academic performance.

So, while Fang Lujun still thought his eldest had far too much on his mind, he did not dismiss him outright. Instead, with clear discontent, he grumbled, “You think you can just leave like that? Where would you go? Where could you easily find work? Out there, where you know no one—how would you manage without a single familiar face to help you?”

These days, public safety everywhere left much to be desired, and real risks existed. But Fang Lujun’s true hesitation came from never having ventured far from home—he was simply uneasy about the unknown. This was one of the very reasons Fang Changan was so eager for his parents to venture out into the world sooner rather than later.

“Doesn’t Uncle Li from Li Village work out of town? You could go find him,” Fang Changan suggested.

He recalled two relatives working away from home: one was an older female cousin with the same surname, whom his mother had followed when she first went to work in the city in his previous life; the other was an uncle from Li Village next door, a relative on his maternal grandmother’s side—his mother’s cousin.

“You mean... Uncle Li Chang?” Fang Lujun sighed. “That’s only possible if we can reach him. He doesn’t have a phone. We’d have to wait for him to call home.”

Cong Rong interjected, “Even if he does call home, how would he know you want to come? What good would it do?”

Fang Lujun, caught out by his wife’s keen question, looked a little disgruntled. Fang Changan smiled, “That’s easy. In a few days, you and Mom can go to Li Village and let his family know. Next time he calls, have him leave you an address. Then you can just go find him.”

Cong Rong looked at Fang Lujun, who glared at his son, his expression saying: “You unfilial boy, just a few sentences and you’ve arranged your father’s whole life?”

“We’ll talk about it later. Later,” Fang Lujun said, slipping into his habitual procrastination. He had already finished eating, so he picked up his bowl, gulped down his porridge, put it down, and went to the inner room to watch TV.

As soon as their father turned on the television, Fang Changming and Fang Yanran grew restless, hurriedly finished their porridge, and ran off to watch with him.

Fang Changan helped himself to another bowl, savoring the simple mix of rice and flour in water—it tasted delicious.

Cong Rong laughed softly with a sigh, “Every time it’s mentioned, it’s always the same.”

Fang Changan knew she was talking about his father’s temperament and grinned, “Mom, don’t worry. There’s still time, after all.”

With a sigh, Cong Rong said nothing more.

After the meal, Fang Changan helped his mother tidy up. An aunt from the front courtyard came by to chat, and Cong Rong sat in the west room with her, chatting as she made shoes for Fang Changming and Fang Yanran—Fang Changan’s new shoes were finished, but theirs were still in progress.

Fang Changan chatted a bit with the aunt, then went to the east room, where the black-and-white television was playing an old wartime film. His father was watching intently, so he asked, “Dad, will you go to Li Village with Mom tomorrow?”

Annoyed at being interrupted, Fang Lujun glanced at his son. “Why would I go to Li Village?”

Fang Changan replied with a puzzled look, “Didn’t you just say you’d go to Li Village to let Uncle Li Chang’s family know, so next time he calls he could leave an address, and you could find him?”

Fang Lujun’s face looked like he wanted to haul his son over for a thrashing. “When did I say that? Go, go, either watch or don’t, but don’t bother me while I’m watching TV.”

So Fang Changan stood there watching. After a couple of minutes, he remarked, “Black-and-white TVs are really hard on the eyes. Why don’t we get a color set? They’re not that expensive these days.”

“Where would we get the money?” Fang Lujun shot back.

“You could earn money by working out of town, couldn’t you?”

Fang Lujun took a deep breath, “Just watch TV. Stop talking.”

“But it’s not just about whether I talk or not.” Fang Changan turned to Fang Changming and Fang Yanran. “You two, would you rather watch black-and-white TV or color?”

The two little ones looked at their big brother, then at their father, not daring to speak.

“Tell the truth,” Fang Changan prompted.

“Color TV!” Fang Changming declared.

“Mm! Mm!” Fang Yanran nodded vigorously.

“Dad, see? The will of the people.” Fang Changan beamed innocently. “You’re bored at home anyway. Don’t you want to go out and see how people play cards elsewhere? And the cigarettes, the liquor—surely it’s different out there than at home.”

“Do you think those things don’t cost money?” Fang Lujun glared at his unfilial son again, but seeing it made no difference, he simply refused to answer and grumbled, “Watch TV, watch TV. Damn, another commercial!”

Sensing the time was right, Fang Changan quickly made his exit lest he get himself into trouble.

He took his copy of “Lu Xun” to the west room, grabbed some weeds he’d gathered the evening before to feed the sheep in the corner. There was a lamb, just born, quite cute; Fang Changan thought of petting it, but as it approached, the smell of sheep droppings put him off the idea. He sat nearby to read, listening to his mother and the aunt gossip about the neighborhood.

The next morning, as usual, Fang Changan rose early. Fang Lujun was already gone. Wandering out to the gate, he returned to find his grandfather, Fang Fukan, also taking a stroll.

The old man wore gray trousers and a gray shirt, spectacles hanging from his collar, a pen clipped to his pocket, hands behind his back, strolling along with the air of a retired official—he was only missing a birdcage.

“Good morning, Grandpa!” Fang Changan called brightly.

Fang Fukan nodded, pausing to look his grandson over as if noticing something different. “I heard from your uncle you ranked first in the whole school?”

So the news traveled even faster than wings, thought Fang Changan, and he smiled shyly, “Yes.”

The old man nodded. “Don’t grow complacent.”

“Of course, I’ll keep studying hard,” Fang Changan replied dutifully.

From behind the house came the cry of a hawker selling fried dough twists. Fang Fukan said, “Call out to him.”

“Sure!” Fang Changan shouted, “Fried dough twists for sale! Over here!”

A middle-aged man rode his bicycle around from behind the house, a huge bamboo basket tied to his rear rack. He stopped beside grandfather and grandson, expertly kicked out the stand, pulled off the cloth covering the basket, and asked, “How much do you want?”

“Four yuan’s worth, in two bags,” the old man said.

The vendor blew open a plastic bag, reached into the basket for the dough twists, filling one bag to the brim. He took out a scale, set the bag on the tray, then added another twist until the tray tipped down, and only then handed the bag to Fang Changan.

Fang Changan glanced at his grandfather, who seemed lost in thought, nodding for him to take the bag, sighing softly, almost imperceptibly.

The vendor filled another bag, measured it, and Fang Fukan pulled a coin purse from his pocket, found two one-yuan coins, counted out two red one-yuan bills, and handed the money over, reaching for the second bag.

The vendor mounted his bike and rode off, calling as he went, “Fried dough twists—fried dough twists—!”

“Let’s go home and have it with porridge,” the old man said, waving Fang Changan ahead as he turned south, bag in hand.

“Thank you, Grandpa,” Fang Changan called with a smile.

The old man paused, looked back at him. Fang Changan grinned radiantly. The old man sighed again and continued on his way.

Carrying the bag of twists back into the courtyard, Fang Changan found his mother just up, brushing her teeth. After rinsing, she asked, “Did your grandfather buy those?”

Fang Changan nodded, showing off the bulging bag. “This much could last us all day.”

Cong Rong sighed but then smiled, “Go ahead and eat. Isn’t it your favorite?”

He carried it inside. “Are those two still asleep?”

“They are. Let them be—it’s Sunday, let them sleep in,” Cong Rong said, setting her toothbrush and cup on the living room cabinet, then going to the west room to open the stove’s draft for breakfast: porridge as usual, steamed buns, and leftover dishes from yesterday reheated.

Fang Changan had thought his father would be off eating elsewhere, but as the porridge neared readiness, Fang Lujun returned. Seeing the bag of dough twists on the table, he asked, “Did you buy these?”

Cong Rong, annoyed that he’d run off early and likely hadn’t found a card game, ignored him.

Fang Changan said with a laugh, “Grandpa bought them.”

“Oh,” Fang Lujun replied, then went to rouse Fang Changming and Fang Yanran. Soon the family gathered for breakfast. The two children, delighted by the unexpected treat, broke up the twists and soaked them in steaming porridge, eating with relish.

Fang Changan also ate heartily. Watching his father finish, he asked, “Dad, are you going out to play cards after breakfast?”

Of course Fang Lujun wanted to, but with his son watching, he was embarrassed to admit it. “Why, is there something you need?”

“Aren’t you playing cards, Dad?” Fang Changan feigned surprise. “Mom said you play cards all day. I thought she was telling the truth, but it seems she’s wronged you.”

Before his parents could respond, he went on, “In that case, I’d like to visit Grandma, and you and Mom could go to Li Village on the way, ask about finding Uncle Li Chang. The sooner you go, the sooner you can earn money and get a new TV.”

Fang Lujun was speechless.