It was common for a rural Chinese family of the 1950s-60s to have 8 kids. The family lived on a farm, not a modern farm growing commercial wheat with tractors and grain harvesters, but a field of unassuming soil for vegetables and a few pigs. Life was repetitive, and their labor was hardly sustainable.
Hua, a fourteen-year-old girl, was the oldest child of the family. She had been working with her mother and father to support her younger siblings since completing her elementary education. She could read a few characters but not write well. Her normal job was to plow the soil, help look after the vegetables, fetch water, and cook. Those were hard labor for a girl of her age, but she took them without much complaint.
The chirping birds, wet muddy fields mingled with a scent of fresh grass, and crude farmhouses were her sole companions of childhood and adolescence.
The father was strict on the behaviors of the children. Hua remembered when she was little, mom had once cooked a table of dishes, including a plate of good pork, typically reserved for festivals. There was nobody around. She was so eager to taste the meat and sought to grab one with her little fingers. Her fingers had almost reached the slice when an overwhelming pain overtook them. It was her father who hit them with a pair of chopsticks. Yes… she was too young to remember the rule that children weren’t allowed to start eating till the elders had.
Therefore, she took her youngest sister wherever she went, knowing the little girl would suffer from her father’s expectations and even punishments if being left alone. I must be a nice and tender sister, she thought, even if Dad is a grumpy old man. That way, I shall be the savior of MY family.
In her early twenties, she was expected to marry. But she didn’t want to marry a farm boy for it would not give her an urban census register, which would provide much better opportunities: an urban resident would not have to burden certain taxes and could find better jobs at factories. Thus, she was satisfied to finally get to know a young man, an urban resident, who seemed to be perfectly polite and good-looking, if not handsome.
After that, they had a daughter and life repeated, except it was now in a town. She became a worker at a textile mill and “worked her ass off”. She voluntarily extended her working hours and headed for work every day when the sun hadn't fully risen yet, hoping to earn a little more money in this command economy. Her husband was an industrial worker and spent hours daily on hot boilers. Sometimes, they would even have to visit the chairmen of their factories and bring gifts, hoping this would convince the chairmen to arrange better positions for them. Whether this was effective, though, was another story. At home, she would never let a single dish or shirt remain unwashed, or a corner of the room uncleaned before she took any rest, knowing that she couldn’t rely on her husband if she wanted the tasks to be done quickly. Her husband, unlike her, wouldn’t bother making more money or improving anything. A cup of green tea, a radio, and a cigarette would make an ideal life for him. He was so easily satisfied that Hua’s ambition wouldn’t even affect him, leaving her moaning at the lonely helplessness after every quarrel. Why don’t you just listen to me, you fool, you fool… Aren’t I supposed to be the savior of our household?
Luckily, their daughter was a sensible child and outstanding student, requiring little attention from the busy couple yet still gaining excellent grades, especially in math. Due to heavy labor, Hua was ultimately diagnosed with some illness that made her live in hospital for two weeks. During this time, Hua’s daughter wrote a long letter in neat characters, utilizing all her writing skills to soothe her mother, telling her everything was alright. Hua recovered, but the seed of illness had already been buried into a fertile ground. By her fifties, her arms had become visibly slim and her health condition deteriorated.
She was then diagnosed with cerebral infarction, slowly turning her from a laborious woman to an old and weak person who relied on her husband to keep the house and take care of her. The illness was a beast that ground down every part of her body as time passed: initially just making her left hand tremble and stiff, then freezing almost all her muscles and making movements even more difficult, if not paralyzing her all at once. Age took her love for prettiness, the energy of managing everything by herself, and even the most basic everyday performances: standing up from a chair, going to the bathroom, and unbuttoning her shirt.
Her husband had grown increasingly annoyed with the caretaking task and held a grudging temper that could easily be ignited and topple the roof of the house. Hua would sometimes cry out in desperation, which only received more reprimands, as she tried to articulate her demands to her husband but failed to make him listen. Listen. O please make him listen patiently. She could feel the gravity of earth dragging her down to earth as if eager to bury her once and for all, although she had just reached 70.
As for her daughter, who desired better opportunities and freedom, she had found a decent job after college, happened to marry someone from a major city, and moved there ever since. Her life’s busy: managing the household and supporting the daily life and education of her own daughter, who continues to excel in school. Hua would talk to her daughter on the telephone once or twice a week.
Hua therefore looked upon her many siblings whom she had taken care of when young. They were at least healthy and voluble, able to support themselves and perhaps offer a hand. When she asked her seven younger siblings for help, the only responses she received were suggestions to go to the hospital and a few superficial excuses. The families of my younger siblings have been busy vying over the money from the sale of their old houses, mother’s heritage, and a list of other petty things that stemmed from disputes over interests. Of course, a better material life was the only solace to their childhood poverty, even if such a life had turned them into ungrateful beings in the eyes of Hua. On New Year holidays, some relatives would bring their children to visit. Hua was always embarrassed not to give these children the traditional “lucky money” as a New Year's gift. They would take the money, say hello, and leave, and there would be no way they would help. The once close siblings were now totally severed from Hua.
Wasn’t I an honorable worker in this socialist country? Shouldn’t I be one of the strongest and happiest after all those years of hard labor? Where’s my promised happiness?
She felt like her siblings were some vampires who had sucked away her youth, knowledge, and freedom, making her nothing more than an old and pathetic woman, a mere shadow of a bygone age.
But she still couldn’t know who the vampires truly were.