Once, Ma guarded her trunk so fiercely. She rationed1 its contents and most of all she rationed its smell. Inside her trunk lives a musky perfume, bitter and sweet. A smell not of this land, diminished each time the lid lifted.
Now that same trunk gapes2, dresses and medicines spilled free. No need to hoard3 when they mean to set out for the harbor next week, leaving the trunk behind. Ma, her belly4 big and the baby weeks away, says they won’t need extra weight. Soon they’ll be living where that smell is common.
“Hao mei,” Ma says, handing Lucy a pair of delicate white shoes, beaded, long-coveted. “They suit you.”
Lucy spins as Ma bids her, then slips the shoes off. She refuses to admire the beadwork. Runs barefoot into the rain
“Don’t forget to thank him,” Ma calls.
There was a time when Ma’s praise quenched5 a thirst in Lucy. Now praise arrives like this season’s rain: too much, too early. The mine is flooding. More men are out of work. With the swirl6 of brown water rise rumors7, and tempers. Last week the mine boss visited unannounced to collect rent. He burst inside, gaze darting9. Lucy was glad, then, for how Ma had hid the pouches11. Ba stood by his pistol, but Ma was undisturbed. She smiled at the boss and stepped over the puddle12 he left. Only said they’d best get used to wet before sailing.
—
Storm encroaches on the order of Teacher Leigh’s house too. His coyote brush is bedraggled, bent13 this way and that by wind. A puddle laps his porch. Nellie whickers uneasily, and Lucy stands stroking the mare’s nose. Practicing goodbyes.
The mood in the parlor14 is prickly, the light low. A shattered lamp sits in one corner, and there’s wood nailed over a broken windowpane. The other guests—the butcher and Miss Lila, whose return East was delayed by weather—sit discussing the latest mine accident. A flood swept away supports and collapsed15 three tunnels. Eight men are dead.
“There’s no worse year for rainfall on record,” the teacher says. “I’ve even had some miners approach me, asking for assistance.” He shakes his head mournfully. “I had to turn them away, of course.”
“Those poor miners,” Miss Lila says, heaping sugar into her tea. “I hear there are more trapped belowground. They say those walking above can hear screams. Imagine living like that, at fortune’s whim16.” She turns to Lucy. “Your poor family!”
“We’re not miners,” Lucy says, Ba’s words leaping to her mouth.
“There’s no shame in it, child.” Miss Lila pats Lucy’s arm. “What else would your father do?”
They watch her, their kindness oppressive as the weather. Lucy wants to tell them about standing17 on that plateau, the nugget a small sun in her hand. She bites her lip, still pondering what to say as the mine boss enters the house and greets the teacher. Then the boss sees Lucy.
“You,” he says, striding over. “Aren’t your folks packed yet? Your mother told me you were on your way out any day now.”
“There must be some misunderstanding,” Teacher Leigh says, putting a protective arm in front of Lucy. “Lucy is my star pupil. She’s not going anywhere. I’m in contact with her mother.”
Swallowing, Lucy says, “Sir, I need to tell you something. In private, please.”
Ba swore them to secrecy18, but Ma permitted Lucy to tell the teacher about their leaving next week, if not about their gold. Out on the porch, Lucy explains the ship as the teacher’s face pinches.
“I thought your mother would have more respect for your education. We’re accomplishing great deeds here, Lucy.”
“She says thank you.” Best not to repeat what Ma said about better schools across the ocean.
“One week isn’t near enough time to complete my research. You know how important this monograph19 is. Though perhaps, if your mother herself were to come, and lend her answers as well—”
Lucy shakes her head. Nothing can distract Ma from her vision of the land across the ocean. As the teacher rails against the rashness of this move, Lucy bites her lip. She agrees. But she can’t explain it properly without mentioning the gold.
“You may go,” the teacher says at last. “All the work we’ve done is useless now.” His voice is bitter. “You understand I’ll be removing you from the history—there’s no value in a half-finished chapter. And, Lucy? There’s no point in your coming to school this week, either. If you’re going, then go.”
—
All that week the shack20 eddies21 with preparation, as messy within as the world without. Clothes and medicines are strewn round, and Sam’s toys, Ba’s tools, blankets for the baby, cloth torn and resewn into diapers, the three worn storybooks Lucy fought to take though Ma said there would be new, and better, stories.
Ba comes stomping22 in with sacks of flour and potatoes. Supplies for their journey to the harbor, and then, after the baby is born there, supplies for the ship.
“Bu gou,” Ma says. “Where’s the salt pork?”
“We’ll get the rest at the coast. Prices have gone up. Some of those inland roads are flooding. Jim’s charging an arm and a leg.”
“We can afford a little more,” Ma says, putting both hands to her stomach. “What’s a few coins to us? The baby—”
“People are starting to ask questions.”
That stops her.
“I don’t know how,” Ba says, fingering his pistol. Too wet for hunting, yet he cleans the barrel nightly. Sometimes even twice a night, sitting by the door and pausing at every sound. “Someone today asked me where I was headed—”
“Xiao xin,” Ma says, laying a hand on his forearm. She inclines her head toward Lucy and Sam. Ba quiets. Whispers move through the shack late that night, guttering23 along with the rain on the tin.
—
No trace of them is meant to remain. Their footprints in the dirt floor will be swept, their clotheslines taken down, their garden left to drown or rot. Another set of miners will be given this house, or maybe another flock of hens. It was never their house, or their land, to begin with. The wet season will wash away every imprint24, shoe print, hair, fingernail, mark, chewed pencil, dented25 pan, drawn26 tiger, voice, story.
A fresh horror surges through Lucy as she listens to rain soften27 the land, swell28 the creeks29, chill the air. A recurring31 image of the family tossed out like Ma’s pail of muddy brown dishwater. What proof will there be that they existed at all in these hills?
Surely she can leave something behind. Something that lasts.
And so Lucy sneaks32 out alone on the morning of their last day in town. A long day ahead: Ma and Lucy are to pack the rest of the house while Ba and Sam rake the gold field one final time. They’ll set out for the harbor that evening, under cover of dark. Safer this way, Ba said strangely, though the roads are treacherous33 and waterlogged.
Lucy heads to the place that’s secret from Ba and Sam—and secret, today, from Ma too. Something tight in her fist as she hurries over the swollen34 creek30, up the teacher’s path. A bright fleck35 in this grayness. The smallest bit of gold.
It’s not stealing. She wants only to show it to her teacher. Anyhow he doesn’t care for riches—he chose to give up his family’s wealth. He’s a scholar who prizes evidence. She’ll gift him this bit of gold, along with new information for his monograph, a piece of the Western territory recorded in no other book. He can preserve the dead lake—and them—in ink.
At the top of the path, she stops. A field of poppies has sprung up overnight.
Golden, some call these poppies, but Lucy has seen the real thing and these flowers are richer by far. Sunset caught in the petals36. She plucks one, another. She’ll bring a bouquet37 and watch the teacher praise her discernment. As she moves through the field, a figure slams out of Teacher Leigh’s house, its stiff-legged stride projecting fury—not the fair teacher but a dark-haired man, hat jammed low, maybe the mine boss or Jim, or even one of the miners come begging. Lucy hurries away, downslope, aiming for a patch of coyote brush that’ll keep her discreet38. Her foot catches a rock hidden by the mass of flowers.
Slow, slow, and then fast—she’s falling. Downhill, tumbling, body pulled into a ball for poor protection. Mud slams into her, breathing suddenly a violence. She’s stopped. Her mouth, her chin, blaze pain. She rolls onto her back, vision wavering. Is the figure approaching? To help her up? The last thing she sees for certain is the petals waving, innocent, beside her cheek.
—
She comes to some time later. Taste of copper39. Her chin and tongue gone numb40. She turns her head left, right. Sees her own hand, outstretched.
Empty.
Lucy scrabbles through the poppies, heedless of how many roots and stems she upturns41. The field is returned to mud by the time she sits back on her heels, panting. Blood drips off her hurt chin. Torn petals wink42, but there is no gold. There is no gold. Surely she didn’t drop it. She clenched43 her fist so tight as she fell that there are marks from her fingernails on her palm. She didn’t drop it.
Unless it was taken.
Halting, dizzy, she drags herself to Teacher Leigh’s porch.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles44 when he opens the door. “I brought it—I did—for your research—I, I don’t know where it is. I know where it came from—the plateau. It has a history. We found it. The water. You can write about it—please. We’re leaving, and—and you can write about it.”
“What do you mean?” the teacher says. She’s half-fallen on him and he pulls back, horrified45. Her blood on his clean white shirt. She gives a gurgling laugh. Sprays fresh pink. She was right. His clothes would never last on a trail.
“The gold,” she slurs46. She hopes he understands through the mud and blood in her mouth. “I, I mean me. Us. You can write about it . . .”
Exhausted47 of words she holds her empty hand up to him, again and again, as if he could see on it the precious imprint.
—
She wakes again with the smell of Ma around her. The light’s changed. Outside the small window, the rain has stopped.
She’s on Ma’s mattress48, face pressed into the pillow where Ma’s face usually rests. A stain spreads from Lucy’s mouth. Pink, now browning. Jackal hour, colors going blurred49 and dirty. Hard to tell what’s real and not. How did she get here? She recalls the teacher’s hands lifting her, gray hair, the warm column of Nellie’s neck—the teacher must have brought her home.
She hears his voice. Precise, cutting clean through the dim shack.
“. . . worried,” he says. “About all of you.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Ma says. Her arms are crossed, hands tucked into armpits. Hidden, her bare palms with their calluses and scars. She never leaves the house ungloved. “Staying with you would be an imposition. We’re safe enough on our own.”
“But what’s next?” Odd to hear Ma’s question in the teacher’s mouth. “You and Lucy deserve more than this.” He glances around—a quick glance, sufficient to take in the cramped50 room. “Lucy has told me how she was raised from nothing. I can read between the lines. Your influence is obvious. In all my years I’ve rarely met an individual of your moral fiber51, especially among the fairer sex. Lucy may have told you about my monograph. I’ve made it my life’s work to study and record the extraordinary. Your daughter is impressive, but I suspect I may be focusing on the wrong primary subject.”
No, Lucy wants to say. Her mouth is swollen shut with pain.
“I’m nothing special,” Ma says. “I do it for my children. That’s why we need to leave before this next one comes.”
“Surely the roads aren’t safe. Stay a little longer. Assist me in my work. It requires no more than answering some questions. I can pay you a fee. Three more months, I should think. And if you ever feel unsafe—well, my doors are open to you. I’ve a spare room. Not for all of you, perhaps, that might not be quite comfortable, but you and maybe Lucy. And when the baby comes, I’m good friends with the doctor in town.”
The teacher steps closer, his eyes so earnest. Ma refuses his gaze. She looks around the shack as he did. Lingering not on the hidden gold but the leaking window, the blackened tin, the half-washed dishes. Lucy knows where Ma will look—the same spots Lucy looks to each time she returns from the neat schoolhouse, the sunny parlor. All their dark and dirty places. All their shame.
“You’re still very beautiful,” the teacher says. Ma’s eyes quit their roaming to fix on him. He clears his throat. He’s a man who insists on precision. “You arevery beautiful.”
Lucy’s bloody52 mouth goes dry. She is aware of her thirst—not quite. Athirst, then, gathered in the damp house.
Is there color on Ma’s cheeks? Hard to tell in the dusk. “Thank you. I’ve a good deal of packing left, and I’m sure you’re a busy man. I appreciate your bringing Lucy here, but we’re not fit to entertain today. You see the state of things—”
Ma’s hands swing over their half-packed belongings53, then freeze. The exposed blue flecks54 on her palms are like an animal’s strange spotting. She snatches her hands back and laughs a thin, nervous laugh Lucy has never heard.
“You must be wanting to get back,” Ma says, as the teacher says, “May I touch?”
Ma moves to open the door as the teacher reaches forward. A confusion of limbs. Over the teacher’s shoulder, Ma locks eyes at last with Lucy. Her mouth parts in surprise—whether at the teacher’s actions, or at the sight of Lucy awake, Lucy can’t tell. Hour of the jackal and shadows are confused, edges running together. It’s Ma’s hand that the teacher touches, Lucy is almost certain, Ma’s hand on Ma’s belly—but for a moment it could be a different softness.
—
When the teacher has left, Ma comes with the washbasin and dabs55 at Lucy’s chin. Crusted blood loosens from the cut, mixes in with Lucy’s tears. Ma bends to wring56 the rag, and Lucy catches sight of herself in the mirror. Her unlovely face is even more misshapen.
Ma straightens and reappears as reflection. Her white neck, her sleek57 hair, a rebuke58.
Lucy says, “The teacher likes you.”
“Guai,” Ma says, wiping a tear from Lucy’s cheek. “It’ll stop hurting soon.”
“He’s right. You arebeautiful.” She looks nothing like Ma, or Sam. Them with their shine.
“You heard us?”
Lucy nods.
“He’s a kind man. He was frantic59 about you. Zhi yao make us feel welcome.”
But he sent Lucy away last week. “You mean he wants to make youfeel welcome.”
“And who do you think is responsible for taking care of you? Ni de Ba?” A string of spittle flies from Ma’s mouth. “Fei hua. He’d have you girls starving alongside him while he digs your graves in the hills.”
“He found gold,” Lucy says, trying not to let her dismay show.
“Mei cuo. Can he keep it, though? Lucy girl, I care for your father, but luck isn’t something we have. Not in this land. I’ve known that for a long time.”
Ma’s eyes dart8 once more round the house, quick as the birds that sing out at sunset, so that you never see them—just the quivering grass where they alit. To the stovepipe with its pouch10, the pallet with its pouch, the cupboard with its two pouches so small and thin they fit between the hinges. Last of all Ma looks down at herself. She squeezes something between her breasts: a pouch previously60 unknown to Lucy. It must hide a big piece, to judge by its size.
“We may not need your teacher’s help. But I intend to hold on to that option. Ni zhi dao, Lucy girl, what real riches are?” Lucy points to the pouch, which Ma tucks back in her dress. “Bu dui, nu er. I could spend this gold tomorrow and it would belong to someone else. No—I want us rich in choices. That’s something no one can take.” Ma sighs, long and low, and later Lucy will recall that sigh every time she hears the wind moan through a too-small opening. “Mei guan xi, you’ll understand when you’re older.”
Ma’s said this before. “I don’t think so,” Lucy snaps. “I think I’d understand if I was prettier.”
Ma smiles. Lips, white teeth. And then the smile changes. Ma’s lips curl back to show gums, and two canines61, one chipped, and the tip of a tongue between. Ma’s shoulders hunch62, her eyes going slit—Ma still smiling, but transformed.
Then Ma lets her face relax. Once more it’s the face that Lucy knows.
“Ting wo, Lucy girl. What I meant to say that day was that beauty’s the kind of weapon that doesn’t last so long as others. If you choose to use it—mei cuo, there’s no shame. But you’re lucky. You have this too.” She raps Lucy’s head. “Xing le, xing le. Don’t cry.”
Lucy can’t help it. Like the rising creek, what’s in her has been weeks, months, in the gathering63. The tears come harder. In the mirror she sees that the blood is gone from her chin, in its place this fresh wet. A drop falls to Ma’s hand. Lucy doesn’t look like Ma. Doesn’t have Ma’s beauty. And yet, in the warping64 mirror, there is resemblance. An answering sorrow on Ma’s reflection though she sheds no tears of her own. Ma brings Lucy’s salt to her mouth,and sucks it clean.
点击
收听单词发音
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1
rationed
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| 限量供应，配给供应( ration的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gapes
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的第三人称单数 )；张开，张大 | |
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hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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8
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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10
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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pouches
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| n.（放在衣袋里或连在腰带上的）小袋( pouch的名词复数 )；（袋鼠等的）育儿袋；邮袋；（某些动物贮存食物的）颊袋 | |
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12
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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13
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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14
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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15
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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monograph
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| n.专题文章，专题著作 | |
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shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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stomping
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的现在分词 ) | |
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guttering
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| n.用于建排水系统的材料；沟状切除术；开沟 | |
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imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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25
dented
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| v.使产生凹痕( dent的过去式和过去分词 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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sneaks
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| abbr.sneakers (tennis shoes) 胶底运动鞋（网球鞋）v.潜行( sneak的第三人称单数 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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fleck
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| n.斑点，微粒 vt.使有斑点，使成斑驳 | |
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petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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41
upturns
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| n.好转，上升趋势( upturn的名词复数 ) | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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43
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
mumbles
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| 含糊的话或声音，咕哝( mumble的名词复数 ) | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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slurs
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| 含糊的发音( slur的名词复数 )； 玷污； 连奏线； 连唱线 | |
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47
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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48
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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49
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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50
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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51
fiber
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| n.纤维，纤维质 | |
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52
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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53
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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54
flecks
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| n.斑点，小点( fleck的名词复数 )；癍 | |
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55
dabs
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| 少许( dab的名词复数 )； 是…能手； 做某事很在行； 在某方面技术熟练 | |
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56
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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58
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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60
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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61
canines
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| n.犬齿( canine的名词复数 )；犬牙；犬科动物 | |
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62
hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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warping
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| n.翘面，扭曲，变形v.弄弯，变歪( warp的现在分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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