The ribbon-cutting ceremony for the River Island Bridge was all but ready. Colorful flags flapped on the forty-four shiny light poles. Four large colorful balloons floated dreamily above the bridge. People in their best holiday outfits streamed in from all directions, buoyed up by the rapturous joy of having conquered the divide between the small island and mainland, which, though within sight, felt like an ocean away.
The ceremony was to begin at exactly two in the afternoon. The countdown had only three hours left, yet Director Qiao, the ribbon cutter, had yet to arrive. How nerve-racking! The invitation sent to him half a month ago had not been answered. The phone in his residence had been busy all the time. Even the urgent telegram did not generate more response than a pebble falling into the sea. At their wits’ end, the village heads sent Grandpa Tian, who had once saved Qiao’s life, to the provincial capital to invite the director in person. Grandpa Tian should have been back yesterday, but even his shadow was nowhere to be found at this moment. Village Chief Zhao was restless like an ant on a hot stove.
The honor of ribbon cutting belonged to no one but Director Qiao. This was the voice of all the folks on the River Island. Qiao was not only the highest-ranking official River Island folks had ever known, but deserved the most credit for building this bridge. During the war years, Qiao was seriously wounded in a battle. It was Grandpa Tian who, risking his own life, pushed him across the fierce river in a wooden tub. From then on River Island had been close to Qiao’s heart. He had called for a bridge to be built left and right for many years so folks here could shake off poverty like a nagging illness. He had even donated thirty-thousand yuan to help make that happen. River Island folks were touched to tears because they knew that it must have taken Director Qiao, a straight shooter, years and years to have saved up such a big sum. Other than Director Qiao, who else in the world would deserve the distinguished honor of being the ribbon-cutter?
This question bouncing around Chief Zhao’s head was as big as the river itself:
Perhaps the self-effacing Director Qiao is staying away from all this attention in order to safeguard his reputation? That can’t be. Qiao once promised at a public meeting: “When the bridge is built, I’ll come to congratulate you as long as I can still breathe. Even if it means I have to crawl!” Perhaps he is caught up with his work? That can’t be either. Director Qiao has been retired for three years. “Building the River Island Bridge is the biggest thing in my old age!” He had said. Perhaps his good children are taking him on a sightseeing trip somewhere deep in the mountains? Only wish that were true. Director Qiao has no children of his own. He once said: “Giving all I have to building this bridge will be my biggest joy for the rest of my life!”
Then, why. Why? Chief Zhao was puzzled.
When Grandpa Tian finally returned from the provincial capital, Chief Zhao asked anxiously: “Why isn’t Director Qiao with you?”
“I didn’t see him,” Grandpa Tian mumbled, gasping for air, as he pulled his snow-white beard.
“You didn’t see anybody else?” Zhao’s breath quickened.
“I saw his wife,” Grandpa Tian said. “She said Director Qiao is not feeling well. So he won’t attend the ceremony, but will come and take a look in the evening.”
“Ah. . . . ” Chief Zhao was disappointed. The Ceremony Committee held an urgent meeting and decided to ask the deputy-mayor to be the ribbon-cutter.
At nightfall, the bridge was brightly lit. People waited anxiously. “Here he comes!” They cried in unison when a black car appeared on the bridge, moving slowly.
When the car stopped, an old lady, in black, face ashen, stepped out and shut the door.
“Where’s Director Qiao?” Chief Zhao asked.
“The old man is in the car.” The old lady said calmly.
Chief Zhao walked up to the car: “Director Qiao, please come out. The folks here have been expecting you the whole day!”
The old lady rubbed her eyes and said in a quivering voice, “Okay, let me help the old man out.”
When the old lady stepped out again, all eyes were on her, and on the black box in her hands: “The old man died five days ago. Here’s his letter to you.”
Trembling, Chief Zhao took the letter with both hands and began to read aloud: “Please accept my hearty congratulations as an old friend of River Island! Please allow my ashes to be buried underneath the bridge so I will have the honor of being one of its pillars, too. . . . ”
Then folks lined up to bow and pay their final respects in front of the ash box.
(1994)