Masses of people had gathered along the road. The shops on the main street were yet to open, but there were hundreds of men, women and children all like them, carrying long poles and buckets, some rolling drums. Shaozhen had seen large crowds in the town before, but never like this. There were even a few vehicles about, mostly sanlun, three-wheeled motorcycles, the preferred farmer’s transport that consisted of a flatbed trailer bolted onto the back of a moped frame. Every trailer was overloaded with gallon drums and plastic buckets. The drivers stood around looking bored as if they had been waiting for a long time.
At the end of the road was the junior middle school that Shaozhen and Kang went to. It was hard to imagine he had been taking his final exams only a few weeks ago.
The water truck was nowhere to be seen. A couple of officials were trying to create order, shouting and waving short batons at the crowd as they pushed forwards.
‘Please form a queue. There won’t be room for the truck if you don’t clear the way.’
The villagers stood there, stunned, and unsure of how to enter the fray. Shaozhen was suddenly shy, even though a part of him considered Xifeng to be his home.
‘You new arrivals – go to the back of the queue,’ an official barked, ushering them off the road. ‘The truck will arrive soon. Remember, only two buckets per household.’
The official spotted Tingming and Wulei, each with their four hanging buckets. ‘You boys live together?’ He didn’t give them a chance to reply. ‘You’ll only be able to take home two,’ he shouted, holding up two fingers.
‘What? Only two buckets?’ Yangyang fingered the straps of the woven basket on her back, her eyes darting from her own buckets to Nainai and Shaozhen’s.
Tingming slammed his pole to the ground and stormed over to the official. ‘Are you kidding me? We came all the way from Hongsha, near the base of the mountain, and you say two buckets?’
The official nodded. ‘That’s right. The order is from Secretary Lam himself. Two buckets per household. If you want more, you’ll have to come back for the next truck.’
‘Come back?’ Tingming balled his fists by his side.
Shaozhen shifted his buckets nervously. He didn’t want Tingming to cause trouble for them. ‘Come on, Tingming,’ he said quietly. ‘We should join the queue before it gets any longer.’
But the older boy wouldn’t budge. ‘Didn’t you hear him? It takes at least ninety minutes each way. There won’t be time to come back for the next truck!’ Tingming shook his head in frustration, but then, to Shaozhen’s relief, he retrieved his buckets from the ground.
The official sneered and gestured to the buckets Shaozhen was carrying for Kang. ‘And, boy, those are much too big. You’ll only be able to fill up one.’
Tingming opened his mouth to protest but Shaozhen steered him away.
Kang moaned. ‘I’m going to be in so much trouble.’
Two buckets. Shaozhen shook his head, looking from his buckets to Yangyang’s and Nainai’s. Two buckets per household wasn’t much at all. They might have water to drink and cook with, but then there were the pigs to feed and the corn was still dying in the fields.
They heard the slow rumbling of an approaching engine. The officials did their best to shift the hordes to the edges of the road, banging their sticks against their palms and shouting, ‘Move to the side. Make way.’
Shaozhen had imagined a truck with sixteen wheels, barrels stacked three metres tall, chock-full of water.
But this was just an ordinary fire truck that wasn’t much bigger than the vehicles that came around to the villages come harvest time. It was old and worn, its tyres sagging into the ground. The freshly painted words ‘Xifeng Township Fire Rescue Authority’ looked out of place against the faded reddish pink on the side. The engine stuttered as the driver backed into the lane, his shiny bald head hanging out of the window. He paused to hack a lurgy and spit on the ground.
‘Make way, people. Form two lines,’ one of the officials shouted, shooing stragglers off the road. Another was trying to guide the truck into place but he wasn’t really looking, just flapping his gloved hand. The truck veered to the left and the right, stopped and then started, until, finally, the driver switched off the engine and pulled the parking brake into place.
People began unfastening their buckets from their poles, hugging them close to their bodies like newborn children. The driver and a second man got out of the truck and moved to the back of the vehicle. The driver was holding a length of plastic tubing and he jammed one end into a spout fastened to the base of the truck. The other man had a long metal wrench that he positioned over the nut on the top of the spout, before giving it a mighty tug.
And with that, a clear trickle of water began to run out of the tube and onto the ground.
‘Wah, don’t waste it!’ The man at the head of the queue shoved his bucket under the water to catch the flow. The front of the mob surged forwards, buckets at the ready, jostling each other to get as close to the stream as possible until one of the officials ordered them back into the queue. The men then opened up another spout on the other side of the truck. ‘I’m going to go over there,’ Yangyang declared. But it didn’t take long for the mob to crowd in and she found herself caught in the back.
‘Remember, two buckets per household. That’s all.’ The officials were trying to maintain some semblance of authority, waving their batons through the air. But the people began policing each other as the buckets filled up.
‘Dong, I saw your grandson carrying off two buckets already,’ a woman scolded the hunchbacked man behind her in the queue. ‘You’ve had your share.’
‘I’ve walked four hours to get here. Don’t let it be for nothing. Just one bucket and I won’t come tomorrow.’
‘Two buckets per household, that’s it. Move along,’ said the driver.
Shaozhen watched the progression, his palms getting sweaty as he gripped the handles of the buckets and waited his turn. The stream seemed to be easing off, like the truck was emptying. Will there be enough? He felt the crowd tightening around him in reply.
Finally, they reached the front. The driver didn’t even look at them, just snatched the proffered buckets from Nainai’s hands and placed them under the stream. The basket itched on Shaozhen’s back and he wondered about offering it to be filled, but the hard stare from the official beside him made up his mind.
Suddenly a strong hand gripped his arm. Nainai was doubled over beside him, her free hand at her waist, pain evident on her face.
‘Nainai, what’s wrong?’ He draped her arm over his shoulders to support her weight. ‘You look pale. Why don’t you go sit down?’ He started leading her away from the truck.
She leant into him but she shook her head. ‘No, I’m okay. We need the water.’ Her voice was weak and she was short of breath and she dropped the pole she was carrying.
‘Next bucket,’ the driver called out and the people were pushing against them, trying to reach the water. Shaozhen gripped his grandmother around her tiny waist and they stumbled away from the group. Nainai’s face was ghostly white, her eyes half-closed.
‘Nainai?’ Shaozhen fought the urge to shake her like a doll.
Just then Yangyang was at their side. ‘Come on, Nainai. We’ll go sit down. Shaozhen can get the water.’
Shaozhen recognised the fear in Yangyang’s eyes but he went back to retrieve their buckets. The two white pails had once held cooking oil and the Lu family had used them for hauling water since last summer. Shaozhen spotted them straightaway: they were being hoisted onto the shoulder of a muscly man in a tattered flannel shirt.
Shaozhen tapped the man on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me. Those are mine.’
The man turned and peered down at him, the edges of his mouth turning up to reveal black rings around his teeth. The man didn’t say a word, just shifted the weight of the buckets, his gaze fixed on Shaozhen.
‘Hey! Give those back.’ Shaozhen leant over and smacked the man’s hands, trying to slap the buckets away. He heard the crack of his palms against rock-like knuckles. It was like hitting steel rods.
‘Watch your hands there, boy.’ The man leered, revealing grey, sodden gums above the grim teeth.
‘Hey, you’re stealing my buckets. I left them there so I could help my grandmother.’
‘These are my buckets, dirty village boy. I carried them here from my home and I’m going to carry them back.’
‘You’re lying!’ Shaozhen was shouting now, his hands clenched into fists, the left one throbbing. He tried to pull himself taller and meet the man’s gaze. He couldn’t keep his knees from shaking.
‘Shaozhen, is everything all right?’ Headmaster Song appeared from the crowd. He caught Shaozhen’s eye before turning to address the man. His voice was calm and steady. ‘Sir, I believe there must be some mistake. This young lad is from my village and I saw him carry these buckets here this morning. Perhaps your buckets look very similar, but I can assure you—’
The man laughed. ‘Get a load of this tubao, country bumpkin, trying to tell me I’ve made a mistake.’ He slung the pole over one shoulder, letting the weights of the buckets swing freely. ‘These are my buckets, little man, and this is my water, and I suggest you mind your own business if you know what’s good for you.’
Song stammered in protest but stepped back into the crowd.
The man turned to leave but there was a thunderous crack. Tingming had appeared, bamboo pole in hand, his eyes wide and his mouth pulled back into a snarl. He raised the pole, ready to strike the earth with it once again. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of going anywhere with those.’
The man stood his ground, but Shaozhen saw the shift in his expression.
‘I’m warning you.’ Tingming raised one end of his pole so that it was level with the man’s wide forehead. One swift thrust and he could drive it into him like a branding iron. ‘Now, why don’t you set those buckets down and move along.’
‘You’re nothing but tubaozi,’ said the man.
‘Don’t call him tubao.’ Shaozhen tried to keep his voice strong. He took a step forwards, sidling over to Tingming’s side, and raised his fists in an attempt to look menacing.
The man’s eyes darted from left to right as a small group began to form around them. Two village boys facing off against a grown man who was almost twice the size of one of them made for quite a spectacle.
With a grunt, the man threw the buckets down, water sloshing everywhere as he huffed away. Shaozhen let out a gasp of relief and he rushed over to the buckets. His hands were shaking as he attempted to hoist the rod over his shoulders. Buckets secure, he turned back awkwardly to his saviour.
‘Thanks, Tingming,’ he mumbled.
The older boy shrugged. ‘You would have done the same. In times of hardship, we watch our brothers’ backs.’ He offered his hand, which Shaozhen shook after a moment’s hesitation.
Tingming cracked a smile. ‘See you on the court.’
Shaozhen chuckled but then remembered Nainai and quickly excused himself. He moved as swiftly as he could, taking extra care not to spill the water he had almost lost.
His grandmother was sitting up on a small step. Yangyang was fanning her with a scrap of an old flyer.
‘Seriously, Yangyang, I am fine.’ Nainai tried to push the girl’s hand away.
‘You almost fainted! You need air. And water. Where’s – oh look, there he is, thank goodness.’ Yangyang waved Shaozhen closer. ‘You got the water.’
‘Yeah.’ Shaozhen was about to recount his and Tingming’s heroics, but thought better of it. He watched Yangyang plunge a hand into the bucket and bring water up to Nainai’s lips.
‘Laobo, drink,’ she commanded.
Nainai protested at first, but eventually slurped the water. When she was done, Yangyang sucked the droplets from between her fingers.
‘Nainai, are you okay?’ Shaozhen asked. Despite their weight, he kept a firm hold on the buckets, not wanting to let them out of his sight again.
His grandmother gazed up into his eyes. The colour had returned to her cheeks and she was smiling a little, although she still seemed frail. ‘I’m okay, just a silly bout of dizziness. Here, let me help you.’
Shaozhen shook his head violently and shrugged his shoulders to keep the pole balanced. ‘Yangyang, you and Nainai take your time going back to the village. I’m going to rush home. Maybe if I come back for the next truck, they’ll let me have two more buckets.’
Yangyang nodded and Shaozhen took off. His feet felt light despite the load he carried. He whistled tunelessly as he walked, trying to match the chirruping of the birds. He was feeling cheerful and triumphant. Two buckets of water wasn’t much, but after almost coming away with none, it somehow felt like a fortune.