Bronze and Sunflower Read online

  Sunflower sat at her desk reading. At least, she was trying to read, but nothing would go in. Every now and then, the other children would glance over at her. She could feel their stares, and buried her face in her book.

  When Bronze came to collect her, he could see that all the children were more excited than usual, like at New Year – all, that was, except Sunflower.

  On the way home, Sunflower sat on the buffalo and watched the sun setting over the river. It was as big and round as a winnowing basket, an intense red disc burning silently in the sky. It stained the fluffy white panicles of the reeds, which stood in rows like fire torches.

  Sunflower stared at the scene with an expressionless face. Bronze wondered what was wrong. He glanced up at her and she noticed, and smiled at him and pointed to the sky in the west. “Did you see that wild duck coming down to the river?”

  It was almost dark when they reached home. Baba and Mama had just returned from working in the fields. Sunflower saw how tired they looked, and went to fetch a scoop of water from the water barrel. Mama took a few sips then handed it to Baba. She really is a thoughtful girl, thought Mama, as she lifted the corner of her jacket and wiped the gleam of sweat from Sunflower’s face.

  The family drank their rice soup, as they did every evening. There was no lamplight, just the clear, crisp sounds of them eating their supper in the gloom. As she drank, Sunflower told them about interesting things that had happened at school that day, and everyone laughed.

  But Bronze took his bowl and went to sit on the wooden threshold. The pale moon shimmered on the surface of his thin rice soup.

  The following afternoon, Limping Liu of the Youmadi Photographic Studio appeared at the gates of the school, rocking from side to side as he walked, his photographic kit slung across his shoulders.

  “Limping Liu’s here!” shouted the sharp-eyed child who spotted him first.

  “Limping Liu’s here!” everyone shouted, whether they’d seen him or not.

  No one could think about schoolwork now. The classroom doors opened like the gates of a sheep pen, the sheep streaming out, desperate for fresh grass, pushing and shoving. The desks were swept to the side. Some boys couldn’t wait for the jam to clear; they pushed open a window and jumped out.

  “Limping Liu’s here!”

  The photographer didn’t mind that the children called him Limping Liu. After all, he was crippled, and he did limp.

  Youmadi was the only town for miles around that had a photographic studio. As well as taking his customers’ photos in the studio, once a year Limping Liu would spend two weeks visiting the villages around Youmadi, alone and on foot, his arrival causing as much commotion as a travelling theatre or a circus. Wherever Limping Liu went, he seemed to take a festival with him.

  In the villages, most of his business was in the schools. Sometimes the village girls would hear he was there and rush to the school, and between taking photos of the teachers and children he’d squeeze them in somehow. He charged less in the villages than he did in the studio.

  As always, he photographed the teachers first, then the children. He photographed them class by class, and everyone had to line up. Any bad behaviour and Limping Liu would let his black cloth drop over the lens and refuse to continue, at which point a teacher would come and put the children back into line.

  As soon as everything was in order and Limping Liu was happy, he would concentrate on taking the photographs. Once his heavy old camera was set up on his heavy old tripod, he would busy himself, adjusting the camera, then shouting, “That girl first! Next! Next! Head this way a bit! Chin up! Relax! Did you wake up with a stiff neck?” And when the person couldn’t do what he asked, he’d limp over, pull their shoulders back and move their head until he had what he wanted.

  Most of the children had paid to have one photo taken, and a few had paid for two or even three. Limping Liu was very pleased. He talked louder than ever, and said amusing things that made everyone howl with laughter. It was always fun when Limping Liu was in school.

  Sunflower stayed in the classroom. The noise from outside reached her in waves.

  “Why aren’t you having your photo taken?” asked a girl who’d run inside to fetch something. Sunflower didn’t know what to say, but fortunately the girl was busy looking for whatever it was, and ran out as soon as she’d found it.

  Sunflower was afraid someone else might see her, so she slipped out of the door into the schoolyard. There were people everywhere, but no one noticed her. Keeping low, she sneaked past the classrooms and vanished like a wisp of smoke into the lush forest of bamboo behind the office. The laughter seemed far away now.

  She waited, hidden in the bamboo, until the school had gone completely quiet. When she crept back to the school gate, she found Bronze waiting for her, sweating with worry. As soon as she saw him, she started to sing one of the songs Nainai had taught her:

  “Little Sister, Meimei, we combed your hair

  And now you look like a lady!

  Big Sister, Jiejie, we combed your hair

  And now you look like a baby!”

  She laughed at the words as she sang them.

  “What’s funny?” he said.

  Sunflower didn’t reply, just laughed, until the laughter turned to tears.

  A week later, when Bronze came to collect Sunflower he saw the other children walking along with photos in their hands. Whether they were stealing glances at them on their own or showing them to friends, they were clearly all delighted with them. Sunflower was the last to appear.

  “What about your photo?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  Neither of them spoke on the way home. As soon as they arrived at the house, Bronze told the adults about it.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Mama asked Sunflower.

  “I don’t like having my photo taken,” said Sunflower.

  Mama put her hand to her daughter’s face and took a deep breath. Then she pulled her into a hug, and combed her fingers through her wind-tangled hair.

  That night, Sunflower was the only one who slept well. The others tossed and turned. They had promised to do their best for her, and they felt they had broken their promise.

  “Surely we must have a little bit of money?” Mama asked Baba.

  “Nobody said there wasn’t any.”

  After that, Bronze’s family worked even harder. Although she was getting older, Nainai tended the vegetable garden and gathered firewood. Often she wasn’t back until after dark. When Bronze and Sunflower went to look for her, they would find her stooped over in the half-light, struggling home with a mound of firewood on her back. With patience and determination, the family saved every cent they could.

  In the wintertime, the villagers could seldom afford to buy cotton-padded shoes, so they wore shoes made of reeds. First, you had to pick the finest reed panicles, then twist them as evenly as you could into a grass rope, which you then used to make the shoes. They were known locally as “fluffy birds’ nests” because they were thick and sturdy like a bird’s nest, and the fluffy panicles kept your feet warm, even in the snow.

  When the autumn harvest was in, the family decided that in the winter months, when they weren’t busy in the fields, they would work together to make a hundred pairs of reed shoes that Bronze could take to sell in Youmadi. By New Year they would have made a good amount of money! They were excited just thinking about it. Their future felt bright.

  Bronze started to gather reed panicles as he grazed the buffalo. He took a large cloth sack and wove his way into the deepest part of the marsh. He found the thickest, fluffiest, shiniest reed panicles and stripped them from the stalks. He worked only on this year’s panicles, not last year’s. The reed fluff was like duck’s down, and you felt warm just looking at it. There were reed-marshes as far as the eye could see, but Bronze was very particular. Whatever he picked had to be the best, and it took him a long time to fill the sack.

  On Sundays, Sunflower would go with hi
m. She would look up at the tall reeds, searching and searching, and when she found a particularly pretty one, she would call Bronze to take a look.

  “There’s one here!” she’d say, and he’d rush over, smiling in delight when he saw how good it was.

  When they had enough reed panicles, the whole family set to work making the shoes. Bronze started by beating the fresh golden reeds with a wooden mallet. They had to be beaten again and again, to turn the raw grass into what was called worked grass. Worked grass was soft and strong, and because it didn’t break or split, it was easy to twist into rope, which could be plaited. Bronze held the mallet in one hand and turned the grass over with the other. The mallet thudded down and the ground shuddered like a drum.

  Nainai twisted the grass into rope. Her rope was well known in Damaidi: it was neat, strong and beautifully shiny. But this rope was different from usual because she had to tuck the fluffy heads into it as she went. Nainai’s hands worked their magic, and the fluffy rope flowed through her hands like water, like a living creature.

  Sunflower would take a little stool and sit beside Nainai. Her job was to wind Nainai’s rope into a ball. It felt lovely and soft as it passed through her hands. When the rope was long enough, Baba and Mama began to make the shoes. Baba made shoes for men and Mama made shoes for women. Their work was good, too. Baba’s shoes looked stockier; Mama’s shoes looked prettier. But the technique was the same for both: you needed to plait the rope tightly enough to keep the rain out. The soles had to be particularly sturdy or they wouldn’t last long.

  When the first two pairs of shoes were finished – one men’s pair, one women’s pair – the family was wild with joy. They passed them round and round, unable to take their eyes off them. They were covered in a soft fluff that seemed to grow all over them. When the wind blew, it ruffled the fluffy hairs, revealing the golden straw beneath, just like the wind ruffles the downy feathers of a bird. The two pairs of shoes looked like four birds’ nests and, at the same time, like two handsome pairs of birds.

  The family carried on beating grass, twisting, winding and plaiting rope. The work was hard, but no one pulled a face or complained. They talked and laughed. They worried about today but looked forward to the future. This horse-cart might be creaking, but it was still going strong. It might be slow, but they could clearly see the road ahead and the scenery around them. They couldn’t abandon it. So, if they hit a storm, a muddy patch, a bumpy road or a steep hill, they would get out, lean in with all their strength and push as hard as they could.

  Nainai would sing as she sat twisting rope in the moonlight. She could sing for ever. The family loved to hear her. It made them feel alive and full of energy. When she sang they worked better. Nainai would stroke her granddaughter’s head, smile and say, “This is for our Sunflower:

  When roses bloom in the spring

  And the silkworm season begins,

  The women go out to pick mulberry leaves

  In pairs, in pairs.

  Their baskets hang from the mulberry trees

  And they strip the branches bare

  In tears, in tears.”

  Eventually the family finished making their hundred pairs of shoes. Then they made another pair for Bronze. It was only right that he should have new shoes.

  Sunflower wanted some too, but Mama said she would make her some padded cotton shoes instead. “They’re so much nicer,” she said.

  Every day, Bronze would take a dozen or more pairs to sell in Youmadi. It was a big town, with a pier for the steamer, shops, a food distribution centre, a grain-processing plant, a hospital and all kinds of different stalls. People came and went all day long. It was a busy place.

  The shoes were tied together in pairs by means of a thin hemp string. Bronze hung them over his shoulder, with one shoe hanging down his chest and the other down his back. They swung as he walked.

  The people of Youmadi and the various traders who came to sell their goods would see Bronze approaching from the bridge in the east. “The mute’s here again, with his shoes,” they’d say.

  Sometimes he’d hear them, but he didn’t care; after all, he was a mute. He just wanted to sell the shoes and go home. All day long he made hand gestures, beckoning them to come and see the beautiful reed shoes for themselves.

  And many people did go and look, and perhaps because they liked the quality of the workmanship, or his sincerity, they bought the shoes, one pair after another.

  At home, the little wooden box was filling up. Every so often the family would crowd round and look at the heap of creased notes. When they’d seen enough Baba would lift up one of the boards of the bed and hide the box inside. They’d agreed that when all the shoes were sold, they’d go to the Youmadi Photographic Studio and ask Limping Liu to take a photograph of the whole family, and then one of Sunflower, and that they’d have them specially tinted, too.

  With the hopes and dreams of his family never far from his mind, Bronze would get up very early so that he could go and stand in the best spot in Youmadi – by the river. He’d tie a rope between two trees and hang the shoes over it. They would sway in the breeze and glisten in the sunlight, and were so appealing that even people who’d never normally wear reed shoes couldn’t help admiring them.

  When winter set in, it turned very cold. It was particularly chilly by the bridge. The north wind blew across the water and slashed Bronze’s skin like a knife. He would jump up and down to stop his feet going numb, and when he jumped he spotted things that he couldn’t see from the ground. He could see beyond the first row of roof ridges to the one behind, where a flock of pigeons had landed. Their soft feathers seemed to dance in the breeze. It amused him to compare the pigeons with his shoes, however crazy an idea it was. When he stopped jumping up and down, he still thought the shoes looked like pigeons, and it crossed his mind that they might be getting cold too.

  At midday, he pulled a cold, hard flatbread from his inside pocket and chewed on it. The family had begun by telling him to buy some baozi – steamed buns with a hot savoury filling – for his lunch, but, wanting to save the money, he had ignored them and stood there all day with an empty stomach. So the family had started making him a packed lunch to take with him.

  Bronze was a straightforward salesman. He had a price, and if people tried to haggle, they’d soon find that he wouldn’t budge by even a cent. There’d be no haggling over such beautiful shoes! Every time he sold a pair, he felt sad to see them heading off into the distance, as though someone was walking off with his pet dog or cat.

  At the same time he hoped the shoes would sell quickly. If someone was on the verge of buying a pair, then hesitated and walked off, Bronze would take down the pair they were looking at and hurry after them. When they sensed they were being followed, and saw who it was, sometimes they’d buy the shoes on the spot, and sometimes they’d say they weren’t buying, and carry on walking. Bronze would continue to follow them. The person would feel uncomfortable and would stop again. This time, they’d see him holding up the shoes and feel his big black eyes urging them to buy. They’d scratch their heads, then buy the shoes, saying, “These are very well made…”

  As New Year approached, Bronze had sold most of the shoes.

  One night it snowed very heavily. Snow was still falling in the morning, and there were drifts half a metre high. The family had difficulty pushing the door open.

  “Don’t go to town today,” said Nainai.

  “There are eleven pairs left,” said Baba and Mama. “One pair’s for you, so that leaves ten. If we can’t sell them, we’ll keep them and wear them ourselves.”

  Bronze took Sunflower to school.

  “Don’t go to town today,” said Sunflower, before she ran into school. Then she came straight out again. “Don’t go!” she shouted to him in the distance.

  But Bronze was determined. Back at home, he gathered his things together. It was cold, he said, and people would come to buy shoes. Baba, Mama and Nainai knew that once Bronze had de
cided to do something, it was very difficult to get him to change his mind.

  “In that case, you’d better choose a pair for yourself.”

  Bronze agreed, and found a pair that fitted. Then he picked up the other ten and waved as he headed out into the blustery snow.

  The streets of the town were almost deserted. There was only the snow falling constantly, quietly. He stood where he always stood, by the bridge. Now and again someone would walk by and wave at “the mute”. “Go home. You won’t have any business today,” they’d say.

  Bronze ignored them.

  The ten pairs of shoes hanging from the rope were soon covered in snow.

  A man walked over. “How much a kilo?” he asked.

  Bronze had no idea what he was talking about and looked around. The man pointed to the shoes. “These ducks of yours, how much a kilo?”

  This time Bronze understood. He lifted a pair of shoes from the rope, brushed off the snow and held them out in front of him. The man burst out laughing. From a distance, they’d looked like white ducks hanging there! Bronze laughed too. People walking past laughed as well. But as they hurried through the snow, they thought of the pitiful sight of Bronze standing in the cold, and sighed.

  Meanwhile, Bronze couldn’t stop laughing. He only had to look at the ten pairs of shoes hanging on the rope and he began again. Once he started, it was hard to stop. Doubled up with laughter, he crouched on the ground, his body shaking so much that the snow slipped off his hair and slid inside his collar.

  Some people were watching him from across the road. They were inside, keeping warm by a roaring fire.

  “The boy’s gone crazy!” they muttered.