Frog

Dad — this was the first time Little Lion had called him that, and it felt awkward — the government won’t just stand by. They’ll come up with something.

All the government knows is family planning, Father said with obvious resentment. Nothing else interests them.

The village committee loudspeaker sounded just then. Worried that he might miss something, Father ran into the yard to listen carefully.

The voice over the loudspeaker announced that the commune had made contacts in cities like Qingdao and Yantai, and that trucks had been sent to meet up at the Wu Family Bridge, some fifty li distant, to buy our peaches. The commune appealed to the people to deliver their peaches to the bridge by land and by water. The price would be less than half that of previous years, but it was better than letting them rot.

The village came to life as soon as the announcement ended. I knew that ours wasn’t the only village to be energised, that the whole township had come alive.

We had a river, but not many boats. Every production brigade had been supplied with small wooden boats, but no one could find them after they were contracted to individual farmers for production quotas.

There’s no disputing the fact that the masses possess enormous creative talent. Father ran over to the side building and took four large gourds down from the rafters, then picked up four pieces of timber, tied them together, and started building a raft. I took off my pants and shirt, and stood there in my underwear and a vest to give him a hand. Little Lion held an umbrella over me to keep me as dry as possible. My daughter was running around the yard with her little umbrella. I gave Little Lion a sign to hold the umbrella over Father, but he waved her off. He had draped a sheet of plastic over his shoulders and was hatless. A mixture of rain and sweat ran down his face. Old-time farmers like my father give their work their full attention; whatever they put their hand to, it is done accurately and powerfully, with no superfluous effort. The raft was swiftly completed.

The riverbank was a flurry of activity by the time we reached it with our raft. All those missing boats had miraculously reappeared. Dozens of rafts had been put in the water along with the boats. The rafts were fitted with gourds, inner tubes, and Styrofoam. Someone had even shown up with a large wooden basin. People were pouring out of the lanes with baskets of peaches, heading for the boats and rafts all tied to willow trees on the bank.

Dozens of draft animals were lined up on the riverbank, including mules and donkeys that were loaded down with full saddlebag baskets.

A commune cadre swam over and put on a raincoat, rolled up his pant cuffs, and held his sandals in his hand as he shouted instructions.

I saw a raft in front of ours that was a thing of beauty. Four thick China fir poles were tied together with rawhide into a tic-tac-toe grid. The centre was constructed of logs as thick as scythe handles, with four red, fully inflated inner tubes from a horse-drawn wagon. A dozen or more full baskets barely had any effect on the raft, testimony to the high quality flotation of the inner tubes. Vertical poles — one in each corner and a fifth in the centre — supported a light blue plastic tarpaulin as protection against both sunlight and rain. It was not the sort of raft that could be thrown together in a hurry.

Wang Jiao in a conical palm bark hat and a palm bark cape crouched in front of the raft like a fisherman.

Our raft, which could only hold six baskets, sat deep in the water. Father insisted on adding two more. All right, I said, but I’ll go alone. You stay here.

He objected, probably out of concern that it was only my second day in the new marriage. Don’t argue, Dad. Look out there and tell me if you see anyone else your age punting a raft.

Then you be careful.

Don’t worry, I said. I may not be good at much, but I know what I’m doing on the water.

If it gets choppy, toss the peaches into the river, Father said.

Don’t worry about that.

I waved to Little Lion on the riverbank, where she was holding Yanyan’s hand.

She waved back.

Father untied the rope around the tree and tossed it to me.

I caught it, rolled it up, picked up my pole, and shoved off; the heavy raft moved slowly out onto the river.

Careful!

Be careful!

I punted fairly close to the riverbank, moving slowly.

The mules and donkeys kept pace with the water traffic, their loads weighing heavily on them, bells that had been draped around their necks by fastidious household heads ringing out crisply. Old folks and youngsters followed the burdened animals up to the head of the village.