CHAPTER 12
Mud
“We’re nearly there, Grandfather. We shouldn’t rest now. Look, you can see the village stairs from here. A kilometer at the most. Here, I’ll help you.” Bingwen extended his hand.
Grandfather swatted it away. “Did your parents teach you nothing, boy? Do your elders mean so little to you? If I say I need a rest, I will take one, and no boy, however closely related, will command me not to.” He muttered something under his breath, a curse perhaps, then leaned heavily on his staff, groaning and wincing and scowling as he lowered himself toward the ground. His strength failed him just before he reached it, and he fell with a thud onto his backside. Another wince. Another curse. Then he exhaled deeply, as if the air he had been carrying in his lungs had only added to his burden and he was glad to be rid of it.
After the chaos of the night, the morning seemed strangely normal. The sun had been up for only half an hour at the most, but already there were small groups of people in the rice fields all along the valley, bent over the shoots, working, chatting, going about their labor as if the previous night had been a dream. There were fewer people than usual though, Bingwen noticed. And those who were close enough for him to see their faces were all elders, hunched and wrinkled like Grandfather with their coned straw hats and sun-faded garments.
“You told him not to let you rest, Ye Ye Danwen,” said Hopper. “You’ve been saying it for hours. It’s not fair of you to scold him for doing exactly what you commanded.”
Grandfather swung his cane out, not hard, not intending to hit Hopper, but fast enough and with enough force behind it to scare Hopper and send him shuffling backward. Hopper’s bad foot tripped him up, and he fell back onto the dirt, nearly tumbling into the nearest rice paddy.
“Enough from you,” said Grandfather. “You’ve been chattering all night and I’m done with it. Home with you.”
He waved his hand wide, as if sending Hopper away.
Hopper rolled his eyes when Grandfather wasn’t looking, dusted himself off, and went back to sit by Meilin, who was squatting on an embankment nearby, poking at the nearest rice shoots with a stick.
Hopper was right of course. Grandfather had told Bingwen on multiple occasions throughout the night that he was not to let Grandfather sit down again. “Keep me moving, Bingwen,” he had said. “It hurts too much to get back up again.”
And so Bingwen had tried: rushing over whenever Grandfather made a move to sit down, urging Grandfather on, pleading, pulling, reminding Grandfather of the pain that awaited him when he got up again. But on every occasion Grandfather had only grunted and resisted and cursed and scolded and sat down anyway.
And an hour or so later—because Grandfather would always take that long, regardless of how many times Bingwen urged him up again—Grandfather would struggle upward, his bones creaking and paining him so deeply that he’d apologize to Bingwen for being old and foolish and “Please please please, don’t let me sit down again.”
It was maddening. Stop me, Bingwen. Don’t stop me, Bingwen. Do as I say, Bingwen. Don’t do as I say. Bingwen would give anything for a truck or a skimmer.
Grandfather began to lie down in the dirt, and Bingwen came over and helped him, getting his hands under Grandfather shoulders and lowering him gently down.
“There are people in the fields, Grandfather. Let me find some who can carry you the rest of the way.”
“I have two feet, boy. Let me use them. I will not be the burden of any man.”
Oh, you won’t burden any man, thought Bingwen, but you will burden me.
Then he instantly felt ashamed for having thought such a wretched thing. It was Grandfather who had believed him about the aliens when no other adult had, Grandfather who had helped him pilfer cans of food and bags of rice and bury it all in the earth, Grandfather who had shown him how to build the ladder to get into the library many years ago. Always Grandfather.
For a moment Bingwen considered running ahead to the village and getting Father anyway. But then the thought of Father only angered him. He shouldn’t have left us, thought Bingwen. He should have come back for us after getting Mother home.
No, if Father didn’t come on his own accord, Bingwen wasn’t going to get him.
Hopper and Meilin giggled, poking the stick at a paddy frog who hopped away from them and splashed in the water.
Bingwen got up and went to them. “He’s asleep again. You should both go home. Your parents will be sick with worry. Grandfather and I don’t need you now.”
“And do what at home?” said Hopper. “Get a lashing for staying out? A fist to the ear. No thanks.”
“I told you to go home hours ago. You should have listened.”