A Map for the Missing(57)

They traveled on for another twenty minutes, during which Yishou had to demand the driver stop so he could get out and vomit. He dashed out to the side of the road, the sound so loud that Yitian could hear it from the truck. After he returned, he looked better for a while, but soon the nausea worsened again. When they finally arrived back at their village, he ran off the tractor with his belongings so that he could go to the outhouse. Yitian hurriedly thanked the driver, who was grumbling about young passengers like them who had no respect for those who offered them a favor.

Yitian walked slowly back to his home. He’d lost sight of Yishou’s sprinting figure long ago. As he walked, an unexpected melancholy settled in on him. He saw the white-tailed eagles flying above and noticed the frost that lingered in the dirt until early spring, longer than anyone would have expected. The next winter he spent could be away from this, he realized.

“What happened to your brother?” his mother asked, when he arrived home. “He hardly greeted us.”

“He’s been shitting in the outhouse ever since he got home,” his father grunted.

“I think it was some food we had”—Yitian caught himself—“at Aunt’s house. She’s not a very good cook, you remember?”

“This is why it’s better to stay in one’s own home. You never know what will happen outside of it,” his father said. “So, how are they?”

“They’re—they’re good,” Yitian stuttered. “Very good.”

His mother looked up at him, confused. He’d never been a good liar; Yishou was much better—his light and humorous nature made lying a simple act, like an extension of playacting.

Luckily, Yishou entered at that moment, and they were all distracted by how poorly he looked. His head was still sweaty and his very outline seemed to be trembling.

“You look sick!” his mother said, alarmed.

“I’m fine,” Yishou said, sitting down on the bench. When he lifted rice to his mouth, his throat bobbed, struggling to swallow.

“You should go rest,” his mother said. “You’ve had a long journey. I’ll bring some food to your bed.”

“Nonsense!” his father said. “He’ll be fine. He just needs some baijiu to clear up his system. I know this look. You drank too much last night, didn’t you?”

Yishou nodded weakly. His father poured him a shot, muttering, “Hair of the dog . . . this will definitely make you feel better.”

“So you had a lot of fun with Uncle and his son, it seems,” their father said.

Yishou nodded. He began to tell the story they’d recited earlier, of how well their uncle was doing. His son had grown up a lot since they’d last seen him, Yishou explained slowly, and they got along perfectly. Uncle had said there was no need for their father to go visit him and inquire about his health, because he’d likely come to Tang Family Village that very summer.

Yitian didn’t have to speak at all, and he felt relieved and amazed. Yishou might not be able to plan into the future, but he was reliable in a situation like this.



* * *



—

That night was a village movie screening. When they’d parted in Hefei, Yitian, Hanwen, and Yishou had made a plan to attend together. They were screening an Albanian war film called Rain and Thunder on the Seashore, one of everyone’s favorites. Yishou was always amongst the most eager attendees for the rare screenings, arriving early with his bench under his arm so he would be able to sit in the front row, sometimes even willing to walk dozens of li to another village to catch a showing. When Yitian went to call him to leave, however, Yishou was still in bed, which he hadn’t left since lunchtime. He complained that his head hurt and snapped at Yitian to move the lamp away from his face.

Yitian felt his forehead and found it burning. His brother’s face was flushed.

“I’ll get Ma.” He stood up, but Yishou grabbed his wrist. Yitian dropped his hand, alarmed. His brother’s hand was limp, his grasp not at all like the firm grip he usually had when they wrestled.

“I don’t want to bother her.”

“Fine, then I’ll stay here with you.”

“And miss a movie screening? No way. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have let Ba make me drink at lunch, that’s all it is,” Yishou said. “Just bring me some water.”

When he explained his brother’s absence to Hanwen, she said, “How strange. I hope he’s all right.” She smiled. “But I’m happy we get to spend some time alone.”

She was in a joyous mood. They placed their benches at the very back of the field so that no one would see them and huddled together against the cold air. They’d both seen this movie twice before and only had to look up to pay attention during their favorite scenes. The last time this movie had been screened, the villagers had spent days afterward repeating the lines and imitating the actors until every scene was solidified in their memory.

“What city do you want to go to most?” she whispered.

“Shanghai, because of all the stories you’ve told me about it.”

“All right. I’ll take you to the movies when we go back. Before the Cultural Revolution, we used to be able to go to movies whenever we wanted. I used to make fun of people who wanted to watch movies all the time. I thought they weren’t going to make anything of themselves, not like me. I was going to be different from them, because I spent my time studying, not at the theater. I never realized how lucky we were.”