China in One Village by Liang Hong

Author:Liang Hong
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Verso Books

Lumpy Ginger

By the time we’re ready to eat, it’s well past 1 pm. But, as they say, “In the country, there’s neither food nor tea, ‘til almost three,” so this is actually early. Just as the food is served, a wizened old man comes in, his hands and legs black as lacquer from coal dust. He yells out, in exaggerated tones, “What? It’s not even noon, but you’re all at the table!” My brother makes a minimal response. Father, acting very unlike himself, doesn’t welcome him at all. I look at him closely; could this be Lumpy Ginger? In the few years since I last saw him, he’s aged tremendously. His eyes are cloudy and his back hunched. But the lumps on the back of his head still stick out. My brother asks him to sit down but doesn’t offer him anything to eat. Lumpy sits for a minute, muttering, as he scans the room. He doesn’t seem to recognize me. I don’t know why, but I don’t say anything to him either. After a minute, Lumpy suddenly says to my brother, “Yizhi, son, I didn’t finish the bottle last night, get it and give me a drink.” My brother pulls out a bottle as if he had it ready in advance, and sure enough there’s just a little left at the bottom. Elder Brother murmurs something polite about there being so little, but Lumpy Ginger replies in earnest, “No need to open a new bottle. A little bit is fine.” There seems to be about two glasses, and after Lumpy Ginger downs them both, he wipes his mouth and asks my brother what time it is. It’s 2 pm, and Lumpy Ginger, suddenly flustered, says, “Aiya, fuck, it’s late, your Ninth Gramma must be waiting on me.” Then he climbs on his beat-up bicycle and, swaying from side to side, rides off.

I start telling my brother off for not being very civil, and he and Father both burst out laughing. They don’t dare be civil; rude as they are, he still comes over almost every day to ask for a drink. If they were at all nice to him, he would start coming at lunch and dinner, and in the middle of the day when he’s supposed to be at work. They don’t want him to come over more, so they just keep some liquor at the bottom of a bottle for him. He hadn’t been over for a while, because Ninth Grandmother got angry with him and was threatening to go back to her parents’ home. He had to stay at home to keep her from leaving.

Lumpy Ginger’s last name isn’t “Ginger.” He’s a Liang like us. We have the same lineage, and since he’s over sixty, if we were following the generational order, I would call him Fourth Grandfather. But no one knows his real name. When I ask Father and some of the village elders, no one can remember it. As for why he has this strange name, everyone just smiles.

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