But before Bingwen could muster the courage to admit that he had defied Father, the moment was past and Father was pulling Mother by the hand back toward the stairs.
“Get home as fast as you can, Bingwen,” Father called back over his shoulder. Then he shouldered his way into the crowd, hurrying down the stairs, pulling Mother along. In seconds, Bingwen lost sight of them completely. He turned back to Grandfather, who had seated himself on the ground again, resting.
Hopper was still with the little girl. But now Meilin, Bingwen’s cousin, was with him also. The little girl clung to Meilin’s shirt, her eyes wet and wild with fear.
A young woman broke through the crowd, running back up the stairs. The little girl saw her, tore away from Meilin, and ran into the woman’s arms. The woman embraced the child and lifted her up, crying, terrified, relieved.
“How could you run off without your own child?” Hopper scolded.
Meilin rounded on him, eyes wide with shock. Bingwen was surprised as well. It was unthinkable to address an adult like that.
The woman was shaking her head, ashamed, clinging to her daughter. She mumbled her thanks and ran back the way she had come, the girl in her arms.
“You see?” Grandfather said to Bingwen. “No respect for one’s elders.”
When the woman was gone, Meilin poked Hopper hard in the chest. “You had no right to say that to her.”
“She had no right to abandon a two-year-old,” said Hopper.
“She might not have abandoned her. Maybe she thought her husband had her. Maybe she was helping someone.”
“She should have taken the child with her.”
“Oh you know so much about parenting.”
“Enough,” said Grandfather. “Both of you. A sack of rice knows more about rearing children than either of you two. And where are your parents, hmm? Would you scorn your own mother so, boy?”
Hopper hung his head, ashamed. “No, Ye Ye Danwen,” he said, addressing Grandfather with the proper respect.
“I should think not,” said Grandfather. He motioned for Bingwen. “Help me up.”
Bingwen offered a hand and pulled, but it was Grandfather who did most of the work, getting one foot under him and then another, slowly, painfully getting to his feet.
“Don’t let me sit and rest again,” he said. “Hurts too much to get back up.” He inhaled deep and winced. “Hurts to breathe, too.” He gingerly raised his arms above his head, stretching, testing the threshold of his pain. Then he lowered them, out of breath. “I need a length of fabric, Bingwen. To tie around my chest and keep my breaths shallow. And a staff.”
Bingwen looked around him. The area outside the library was deserted now except for the four of them. Homes lined both sides of the staircase that twisted up the hillside, and the lights inside the homes were mostly on. Bingwen could hear people talking in hushed, hurried voices. Fear, their voices said. Fear and death.
Two houses up, a clothesline stretched between two homes. A sheet flapped on the line, lifting and falling with the updrafts from the valley below. Bingwen ran to the sheet, listened a moment, then yanked it down and threw it over his shoulder. At the same home, by the edge of the roof, a two-meter length of bamboo stretched from the corner of the roof to the rain barrel, directing the runoff. Bingwen turned the bamboo and pulled it free of its lashings, then carried both items to Grandfather.
“That’s stealing,” said Meilin.
“No,” said Grandfather. “That’s minding your elders. Rip the sheets into long strips, Bingwen.”
Bingwen dug in the dirt for a stone, found one with an edge, then worked it in the sheet enough to tear it. Then he got his fingers in the hole and ripped the sheet easily.
They made long strips, wrapping them tight around Grandfather’s chest and putting the knot far from the wound. “Tighter,” Grandfather kept telling them, until it was so tight Bingwen was afraid Grandfather might not be able to breathe at all. But it was only then that Grandfather’s face finally relaxed.
“Good. Yes, good,” he said. He sounded old and tired and leaned on the bamboo. “Now down the stairs with us.”
The four of them took to the stairs, moving at Grandfather’s pace, taking each step slowly, one at a time. Grandfather’s free hand rested on Bingwen’s shoulder for support, clutching at the boy’s shirt.
“You two run on home,” said Grandfather, nodding to Hopper and Meilin. “I’ll not keep you. Your families will fear for you.”
“We’re staying with you,” said Meilin. “If you fall down the stairs, Bingwen will never get you home.”
Grandfather leaned on his staff and laughed, which instantly brought on a new wave of pain that nearly buckled him. “Don’t make me laugh, child. Or I will fall.”