A Map for the Missing(45)
“Here,” he said, handing the object to Yitian.
It was a small and thin piece of paper. Yitian rose and went to the window, so that the blue cast of the moonlight illuminated the thin text to make the print visible.
“Oh my god—” Yitian caught himself and lowered his voice. It was a permit to take the gaokao. “How did you even get this?”
“I took the hukou from Ba’s coat and registered you while I was in town today.”
“And Ba didn’t notice?”
“I took it when he was napping yesterday afternoon. It’s not like he’s checking for it every second.”
Yitian rubbed the paper between his thumb and index fingers. A solid thing. Somehow, the permit showed almost no signs of creases or wear. Yishou had protected it well.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop sulking and come to town with me?”
Yitian was speechless. His brother had performed a miracle.
“Take a look. Is it right?” Yishou asked anxiously.
Yitian peered at the words in the moonlight again. There they all were, stamped officially with a red seal. Name, age, gender. He tilted the paper to reveal different parts of the permit, and, as he did, noticed one mistake. His brother had registered him for the mathematics and sciences exam, rather than the one for literature and history. Yitian wondered how Yishou could possibly have made such an error. The characters were completely different and impossible to confuse with one another.
“The exam type—” He stopped himself. Yishou’s expression was so expectant, his smile glowing so hugely in the dark.
“Something wrong?”
“No, nothing.” Yishou would surely be embarrassed if he brought up the mistake. He struggled with writing and reading, and had probably accidentally misread the form. Yitian took one last look at the paper before he placed it under his pillow. Clipped onto the document was his official photograph. Where had Yishou even gotten that? What his brother had done for him was not a simple, spontaneous matter—the trip would have required deliberate planning and sidestepping of their father for days.
“Thank you,” Yitian said.
Even in the darkness, he could tell Yishou was relieved. “What are you thanking me for? I’m your brother. It’s just what I’m supposed to do. Now, make sure you hide that paper somewhere good. Don’t just leave it out.”
“Do you really think I’d be so stupid?” Yitian slapped his older brother’s head.
Yishou climbed into bed. Yitian expected him to fall asleep immediately, but instead he yawned, turning onto his back, and said, “Why do you want to leave so badly, anyway?”
“Life feels so limited here,” Yitian said. When he realized the implications of what he’d said, he hurried to add, “Not limited. I meant—it’s not about here. I just want to experience other places, too. Don’t you?”
“Visiting is enough for me.”
Yishou turned onto his side and fell asleep, but Yitian felt even more awake than before. He propped himself up to watch Yishou’s silhouette, his chest moving up and down in sleep, and wanted, suddenly, to embrace his brother. He felt ashamed that earlier that day he’d thought Yishou stupid. He’d forgotten how his brother cared about his studying. Once, when Yitian was eleven and Yishou thirteen, there had been a torrential rainstorm. When the rain finally ended after three days, half a meter of muddy water remained in the schoolhouse and all the books were destroyed. The other students hadn’t cared much. The teacher, who only lazily scanned the material each day before class was about to begin, was also apathetic. Yitian, however, relied on the textbooks for information on math and physics, which his grandfather knew little about and he needed to learn on his own.
Yishou had suggested they go to Five Groves Township, which housed the only library in the area. Yitian objected that the library wouldn’t lend to anyone their age.
“Fine, then we’ll just steal them.” Yishou grinned. “That’s more fun, anyway.”
They’d lied to their mother. She wrapped bowls of rice in handkerchiefs for the trip, which would take an entire day.
At the library building, they hid behind one wall and watched people go in and out. The only person who looked over the books was an old man seated at a rickety wooden chair by the front door. In one hand he gripped a ring of keys loosely, while in the other he held a cane upon which he rested his chin. When the guard showed the sure droop of someone asleep, they entered quietly.
Yitian was immediately distracted by the shelves and shelves of books inside, piled up to the ceiling, titles he’d never heard the names of.
“Hurry and get what you need,” Yishou said, but then they heard the creak of someone entering.
Though they weren’t technically doing anything wrong, the sudden appearance startled them both. Yishou grabbed Yitian’s hand and ran out the back door. Behind the building there was a tall wall that separated the library from the alleyway. Yishou made a foothold for Yitian to climb. Yitian reached the top of the wall and then jumped quickly down. He’d nearly reached the main road beyond when he heard his brother scream. When he looked back, he saw Yishou lying on the ground below the wall, one of his knees crumpled under him, the other jutting out in a strange acute angle from his kneecap.
When Yitian apologized days later, Yishou grinned and said, “It’s not your fault. It was my idea. Anyway, now I don’t have to go to class.” There was no talk of him returning to school after he recovered. He dropped out, having finished only the eighth grade.