Frog

My rafter was a young man in a Chinese-style jacket with cloth buttons. Just about everything out of his mouth was a buzzword in a heavy rural accent. His vessel was constructed out of twenty lengths of thick bamboo, with an upturned bow on which sat a painted dragon’s head. A pair of red plastic stools was fixed to the deck in the centre of the raft. He handed me plastic bags to tie around my ankles to keep my shoes and socks dry. City folk, he said with a laugh, like to take off their shoes and socks. The women’s little feet are as pale as whitebait fish, and they make a funny squishing sound when they dip in the water. I took off my shoes and socks and handed them to him. He put them into a metal box and said, half jokingly, That’ll be a one yuan storage fee. Whatever you say, I replied. He tossed me a red life vest. You have to put that on, old uncle, or the boss will fine me.

When he poled us out into the river, rafters crouching on the riverbank cried out, Have a good trip, Flathead. Don’t fall into the river and drown!

He skillfully poled us out into the river. No way, he said. If I drowned, your little sister would be a widow, wouldn’t she?

We picked up speed out in the middle of the river, where I took out my camera and snapped shots of bridges and riverbank scenes.

Where are you from, old uncle?

Where do you think? I replied in my hometown accent.

You from around these parts?

Could be. Your father and I might have been schoolmates! His long, flattened head reminded me of a classmate from Tan Family Village. Flathead was what we’d called him.

That’s possible, but I don’t know you. May I ask what village you’re from?

Just keep poling, I said. It’s okay if you don’t know me. But I know your parents.

The young fellow plied his bamboo pole expertly, turning to look at me from time to time, obviously trying to place me. I took out a cigarette and lit it. He sniffed the air. Unless I’m mistaken, old uncle, that’s a China brand you’re smoking.

He wasn’t mistaken. Little Lion had given me a soft pack of China cigarettes, from Yuan Sai, she’d said. He’d told her they were a gift to him from some big shot. Yuan smoked Eight Joys only.

I took out a cigarette, leaned forward, and handed it to him. He leaned forward to take it, turned sideways to stay out of the wind, and lit it. He obviously loved the taste, as his face twisted into a slightly screwy expression I found sort of handsome. It’s not everyone who can afford to smoke cigarettes like this, old uncle.

A friend gave them to me.

They had to be given to you. No one who smokes these ever buys them, he said with a grin. You must belong to the ‘four basicallys’.

And what are those?

Your cigarettes are basically gifts. Your salary basically stays the same. You basically don’t need a wife… I forget the fourth.

Your nights are basically filled with nightmares, I said.

That’s not it, he said, but I really can’t remember what the fourth one is.

Then don’t worry about it.

It’ll come back to me. Come take another ride tomorrow. I know who you are now, old uncle.

You do?

You must be Uncle Xiao Xiachun. Another of those strange laughs. My father said you were the most talented student in his class. You’re the pride not only of that class, but the pride of our Northeast Gaomi County.

The man you’re talking about really is the most talented. And that’s not me.

You’re just being modest, old uncle. I knew you were somebody special as soon as you stepped onto my raft.

Is that the truth? I asked with a smile.

Of course it is. Your forehead shines and there’s a halo over your head. You’re a very rich man!

Have you studied physiognomy with Yuan Sai?

You know old Uncle Yuan? He smacked himself on the forehead. How could I be so stupid? Of course you do, you were classmates. Uncle Yuan’s talented too, but he’s no match for you.

Don’t forget your father, I said. I recall he can make a complete circle around the basketball court on his hands.

How hard can that be? he said with a note of contempt. All brawn and no brains. But you and Uncle Yuan know how to use your head. ‘A thinking man rules others, a working man is ruled by others.’

You’ve got the gift of gab, just like Wang Gan, I said with a laugh.

Uncle Wang is gifted, but he walks a different path than you, he said. His triangular eyes narrowed. Uncle Wang pretends to be a fool as he rakes in the money.

How much can he rake in selling clay dolls?

Uncle Wang doesn’t sell clay dolls, he sells art. There’s a price for gold, old uncle, but art is priceless. Of course, next to you, Uncle Xiao, the little money Uncle Wang Gan makes is like comparing a pond and the ocean. Uncle Yuan Sai has a quicker mind than Uncle Wang, but he can only make so much from a bullfrog-breeding farm.

If his money doesn’t come from the farm, where does it come from?

Don’t you really know, old uncle, or are you teasing me?

I really don’t know.