Pow!

cargo did not arrive with stolen children or bound women in tow. They were too clever for that. They'd walk up and down the village streets pretending to sell wooden hairbrushes or bamboo head-shavers. The fellow who sold combs could talk with the best of them and had a terrific routine—a string of witty remarks and plenty of humour. To prove the quality of his head-shavers he'd even saw a shoe in half with one of them.

    Mother straightened up, stepped back and wrung her hands, then took a quick look round as if hoping someone would come to her aid. Three seconds after she turned to look at me, her eyes clouded over and my heart ached to see her so helpless. She was, after all, my mother. As she let her hands drop, she looked down at the floor, possibly to take in Father's boots, which, despite the mud, looked to be of pretty good leather. They were the only evidence of the respectable stature he'd once enjoyed.

    ‘This morning,’ she said so softly you'd have thought she was talking to herself, ‘my words were too strong…it was cold, I was tired, in a bad mood…I've come to apologize…’

    Father fidgeted in his seat, as if being bitten by fleas. ‘Don't talk like that, please,’ he waved his hands and stammered. ‘You were right, I deserve everything you said. I should be apologizing to you…’

    Mother took the pig's head from me and rolled her eyes at me. ‘Why are you standing there like a moron? Help your dieh with his things so we can go home.’

    Then she glared at me once more and headed for the door, which creaked on rusty hinges. The pig's head flashed white for an instant before vanishing. ‘Damn door,’ I heard her grumble.

    I hopped over, sparrow-like, to the bench where Father sat to take the bulging canvas satchel from him but he grabbed the strap, looked me in the eye and said: ‘Xiaotong, go home and take care of your mother. I'd be a burden to you both…’

    ‘No,’ I insisted, refusing to let go. ‘I want you to come with me, Dieh.’

    ‘Let go,’ he began sternly but then grew forlorn. ‘Son,’ he said, ‘A man needs dignity the way a tree needs bark. Your dieh has fallen on hard times but he's still a man, and what your mother said is true—a good horse doesn't graze the land behind it.’

    ‘But she apologized!’

    ‘Son!’ I could see his mood darkening. ‘A man's heart is easily bruised, like the roots of a tree.’ He yanked the satchel out of my hand and waved his hand towards the exit. ‘Go now, and do as your mother says.’

    ‘Dieh,’ I sobbed, tears gushing from my eyes, ‘don't you want us any more?’

    His eyes were moist as he looked at me. ‘That's not it, my boy, that's not what this is about. You've got a good head on your shoulders, I don't have to explain things to you.’

    ‘Yes, you do!’

    ‘Go, now,’ he said decisively. ‘Go, and stop bothering me!’ He picked up his satchel, pulled Jiaojiao to her feet and took a quick look round, as if to find a better place to sit. Everyone was looking at us, agog with curiosity, but he didn't care. He picked up Jiaojiao and moved her to a rickety slat bench by the window. Before he sat down, he fixed his bulging eyes on me. ‘What are you hanging round for?’ he bellowed.

    I backed up fearfully. He'd never spoken to me like that, at least not that I could recall. I turned and looked at the door behind me, wishing Mother could tell me what to do. But it was shut tight and not in the least welcoming. Only a few snowflakes blew in through the cracks.

    A middle-aged woman in a blue uniform and a stiff hat walked into the waiting room with a red battery-powered bullhorn. ‘Tickets! Tickets! All passengers for Train 384 to the Northeast Provinces line up with your tickets.’

    The passengers scrambled to their feet, tossed their bundles over their shoulders and lined up to have their tickets punched. The two men gulped down what remained in their bottles, gobbled up the last of the pigs’ ears, wiped their greasy mouths, then belched and staggered up to the gate. Father fell in behind them, carrying Jiaojiao.

    I stood there staring at their backs, wishing he'd turn to see me one more time. I refused to believe that he could walk away from me so easily. But he didn't turn, and I stood there, unable to take my eyes off his overcoat, so dirty and greasy it shone, like a wall in a butcher's house. But Jiaojiao, whose little face poked up over his shoulder, sneaked a look at me. The