In the courtyard, Fourth is sweeping the ground.
Our small compound only houses our two families. SanNe’s is larger with all red bricks and four rooms. VeVe and I have three rooms besides the kitchen and the bathroom. Facing north, SanNe’s house has better feng shui than our south-facing house. Both houses have a narrow hallway that opens to the courtyard.
The courtyard seems larger than it is because it’s empty. Other than SanNe’s ceramic flower pots strewn here and there, there are only two other fixtures: SanNe’s storage shed and the gigantic mulberry tree. The mulberry tree is tall and bushy. Normally mulberries don’t grow in the cold North, unless it’s in a shielded, temperate environment. Our compound is enclosed by tall, brick walls, which softens the harsh winter and allows the mulberry tree to thrive. The mulberries can be yellow, red, and purple, all at once.
But there is something haunting about the tree. SanNe says that a wealthy opium merchant’s wife planted it and later hung herself from its heaviest branch. I think of the story more often this summer, because the tree is acting so strangely—there is not a single mulberry on it, unlike in previous years when it was so fertile that Fourth, SanNe’s only son, and I always ate ourselves sick.
Fourth is now sweeping the courtyard with a large broom, though there is nothing to sweep. This is a way for a slow-witted eighteen-year old to earn some change, SanNe, says. In fact, it is her trick to keep him occupied. A communist cadre with extensive social connections, SanNe lacks nothing, and eats better than other families. I catch whiffs of cooked pork from her house right now.
Fourth’s dull eyes light up when he sees me. “Amei, I waited for you, waited for you,” he says, drooling.
“You are a good sweeper, Fourth. I don’t see a single twig on the ground.”
He giggles and scratches his shaved head. “Want to see? See?”
When I nod, he drops his broom, grabs my hand, and starts for the shed. We are used to holding hands, even when we are out in the alley. No one lifts an eyebrow or spits on the ground when they see us, as if Fourth’s slowness makes his sex insignificant.
The shed is a small room made of cheap wood. As soon as I step inside, a strong animal odor floods my nostrils. There are rabbits, seven of them, hopping around or nibbling the cabbage leaves scattered on the floor. Six of them are gray and one is white with red eyes. Fourth and I have agreed on naming this one Purely. He catches her and hands her to me. She easily settles in my arms.
“Is there sand in school rice? School rice?” he asks, stroking a gray rabbit’s long ears with his stubby fingers.
“There’s sand in rice everywhere,” I say. It’s true. Farmers mix sand into rice to add extra weight. VeVe has to swirl the rice in water to clean it.
“Is the mulberry tree high enough to jump off and die? Jump off and die?” Fourth asks, his thick eyelashes fluttering.
“You stop talking nonsense. I have enough on my mind.”
“On your mind?”
“A foreigner came to my school.”
“Foreign devil. Foreign devil.” He giggles. “Big nose. Big nose.”
Sometimes Fourth listens to me, sometimes he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. I can say almost anything in front of him. He is my walking diary, a safe one. The only thing I can’t do is cry, because he will cry with me, only harder and more loudly.
“The foreigner is going to test my English,” I say, stroking Purely’s fur. “I don’t think he will be nice. How should I act in front of him? Should I be a meek girl casting my eyes down and twisting the hem of my shirt? Or a sassy one with both of my arms on my hips and roll my eyes once in a while? One thing I won’t do is giggle—VeVe tells me never to giggle in front of men. So tell me: should I laugh if this foreigner says something funny?”
“Should you laugh. Laugh,” Fourth says.
“I’m scared.” I give Purely back to Fourth. “VeVe is scared, too,” I murmur to myself.
Fourth lifts his head with a pitiful look on his face. “You are scared? No. No.” He starts to cry.
“Don’t cry.” I touch his cheek. “Shush.”
But his tears and snot keep running down his bumpy face. I grab Purely from his hands. “I’ll throw her out the window if you don’t stop crying.”
院子裏四兒拿著一把笤帚在掃地。我們的小院裏隻住了兩家人。三奶和四兒的比我們的大。紅磚牆，有四間房。而且三奶的房子坐南朝北風水好。院子裏麵很空，所以看上去不算小。除了三奶的東一個西一個的大花盆，還有她的一個儲藏木屋和一個高大的桑樹。桑樹長得很茂密。通常桑樹不在寒冷的北方生長。可是我們的院子周圍都是高牆，緩和了一點冬天的寒酷。這一顆桑樹上的桑葚有黃的，紅的，還有紫的。
關於這顆桑樹三奶講過一個讓人起雞皮疙瘩的故事。她說這棵桑樹是一個很有錢的雅片商人的妻子種的。之後她在樹上的最粗的樹枝上上吊了。這個夏天，我老是想這個故事。因為這桑樹非常奇怪。到現在還沒有結一個桑椹。不像往年桑葚結的那麽多四兒和我經常吃得要吐。四兒是三奶唯一的兒子。
四兒在認真的掃地，盡管除了一兩個小樹枝，沒有什麽可少掃的。這是三奶的主意，讓他18歲的弱智兒掙幾個零錢。實際上是是給他找個事幹，他會少惹事，也不煩他她。三奶有很多的社會關係，什麽都不缺。吃的比我們家好多了。我現在就可以聞到她做紅燒肉的味道。
看到我四兒呆滯的眼睛亮起來。“我一直在等你在等你。”他邊說嘴角邊流哈喇子。
“你很會掃地啊，四兒，掃得這麽幹淨。地上 連一個小樹枝都看不到，”我說。
他笑著撓了撓他的光頭，問我，“要看嗎，看嗎?”
我點了點頭。他扔下掃帚，拉起我的手，就往小木屋走。我從來不甩開我的手，即使在裏弄裏也這樣。看到我們這樣沒有人挑眉毛或往地下吐痰，好像四兒的弱智使他的性別失去的了意義。
小木屋是用碎木做成的，很小。一走進去，一股很強的動物味撲鼻而來。七個兔子在木板地上跳過來，跳過去吃白菜葉。六個灰的，一個白的。四兒和我給她起名叫雪球。四兒逮住雪球遞給我。雪球在我的懷裏顯得很自在。
“學校的大米飯裏有沙嗎？ 有沙嗎？“四兒忽然問。他在用粗短的手指撫摸一個灰色兔子的長耳朵。
“哪裏的大米都有沙子，“ 我說。是真的。賣米的把沙子摻進米裏加重。微微洗米時要花好長時間淘沙。
“桑樹上跳下來會摔死嗎?” 四兒又問，“會摔死嗎？”他的厚厚的睫毛一眨一眨的。
“你別胡說八道了，”我說，“我的心裏已經夠煩了。”
“你夠煩啦，夠煩了，”他嘟噥著。
“我有一個外國老師，”我說。
他傻笑笑起來，“外國鬼子，外國鬼子，大鼻子，大鼻子。”
我說話四兒有時候聽，有時候不聽，我不在乎。我跟她他說什麽都行。他成了我的會走路的日記，而且很安全。隻有一件事我不能在他麵前做，那就是哭。他會跟我一起哭，而且哭得更厲害，更響。
“那個外國鬼子要測試我的英文，”我邊說邊梳理雪球兒的白色毛發。“他不會對我好的，我在他麵前應該怎樣表現呢。像一個怯怯的女孩兒，眼睛往下看，用顫抖的手擰我的衣角？還是裝出一副灑脫的樣子，兩手插在腰上，不時給他一個白眼? 我隻知道我不能傻笑. 微微早就告訴我一定不能在男人麵前傻笑。四兒，如果那個外國鬼子說一句很逗人的話，我笑還是不笑？”
“笑還是不笑，不笑? ” 四兒嘟噥著。
“我真有點害怕，”我把雪球塞給他。“微微也害怕啊，”我自言自語地說。
四兒抬起頭來，臉上一副可憐巴巴的樣子。“你害怕？不不。”他開始哭。
“別哭，”我碰了一下他的臉，“停住。”
但是他的眼淚和鼻涕一起嘩嘩流下他的粗皮膚的臉。我從他手裏奪過雪球。“你再哭，我就把她扔到窗戶外麵。”
