Ting-Xing Ye - Mountain Girl, River Girl

PUFFIN CANADA

MOUNTAIN GIRL, RIVER GIRL

TING-XING YE , born in Shanghai in 1952, was an English interpreter for the Chinese government before leaving China in 1987. Her memoir, A Leaf in the Bitter Wind, has been published in nine countries. She is also the author of Throwaway Daughter and the award-winning White Lily. She lives in Orillia, Ontario.

Also by Ting-xing Ye

A Leaf in the Bitter Wind

My Name Is Number Four

Throwaway Daughter

White Lily

Three Monks, No Water

Weighing the Elephant

Share the Sky

Mountain Girl,

River Girl

a novel

Ting-xing Ye

PUFFIN CANADA

Published by the Penguin Group

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Published in Puffin Canada paperback by Penguin Group (Canada),
a division of Pearson Canada Inc., 2008

Published in this edition, 2009

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (OPM)

Copyright Ting-xing Ye, 2008

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Publishers note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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upon request to the publisher.

ISBN: 978-0-14-316813-3

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A N OTE ON P RONUNCIATION

AND U SAGE

The standard pin-yin notation is used through-out. Most letters in pin-yin are pronounced more or less the same as in English.

Pan-pan is pronounced as in English.

Shui-lian is pronounced shway lee-an.

The words Lao (old, venerable) and Xiao (young) when used with a surname are common terms of respect in China.

For Bill, who calls China his second home.

Shan chong shui fu yi wu lu

Liu an hua ming you yi cun

Mountain folds into mountain,

river flows into river,

with no path in sight.

In the shadow of a willow

wildflowers glow.

A village comes in view.

FROM TOURING SHANXI VILLAGE

BY SONG DYNASTY POET LU YOU, 11251210

Chapter One

Pan-pan

Give the back of your neck a good scrub.

Startled, her heart pounding in her throat, Pan-pan gripped the rim of the enamel washbasin to contain her irritation. Yes, Ah-Po, she murmured.

And behind your ears.

Yes, Ah-Po.

Good Heavens! Theyre a whole shade darker than the rest of your skin, the old woman rattled on. You should know theyre also part of your face.

Are they really? Pan-pan muttered, slowly turning away from the stone sink. Blinking and squeezing soapy water out of her eyes, she looked up to find that the tip of her nose was only an inch away from her grandmothers.

Yes, Ah-Po, she said again.

And

And, Pan-pan cut her off, lifting her chin and staring into her grandmothers eyes, give my armpits a good wash and dust them with the talcum powder you so kindly bought for me.

Aiya, Pan-er, Ah-Po exclaimed, her voice rising. Did you eat gunpowder for supper last night? Fine, then. Do whatever you want! Im leaving. Why do I care so much? she lamented, reaching to brush soapy water off Pan-pans bare shoulder with her open palm before she turned and shuffled toward the door. There she raised her plump arms in surrender and called out, I give up. Its your face, after all. And your body.

Youll never give up! Pan-pan shot back angrily, but not until the kitchen door had shut behind her grandmother. As for today, my face and my body are all yours. She paused, making sure that Ah-Po was gone, and yelled, And dont call me Pan-er. Im not a boy. My name is Pan-pan!

Pan-pan had told Ah-Po time after time that she didnt like to be sneaked up on, particularly when she was washing herself. That was why for months she had been getting up each morning before anyone else in the house. Now, two weeks before her fifteenth birthday, Pan-pan enjoyed having the tiny kitchen to herself. She cherished the quiet moments and solitude, or her privacy, a word she had heard Xin-Manew motheruse a lot lately.

Rubbing her neck with a rough cloth, Pan-pan held back another surge of fury as she realized that even the hinges on the door had betrayed her, letting her grandmother come into the kitchen unheard. For as long as she could remember, the warped wooden door had squeaked each time it was pushed open. Didnt Mom use to say that when a person is feeling low or struck by bad luck, she can be bullied by her own shadow?

Thinking about her mother brought tears to Pan-pans eyes, and, overcome with frustration, she wiped them away with the back of her hand more forcefully than necessary. Todays grand ceremony would mark the third anniversary of Moms death. Her father had remarried, and over a year ago Xin-Ma had given birth to Gui-yang, Pan-pans half-brother. No matter how hard she tried, Pan-pan couldnt work up much enthusiasm for the coming rituals.

No one in the family had ever explained to Pan-pan why her mother had died so unexpectedly at the age of thirty-six. People are not supposed to die so young, and Mom hadnt even been sick. Many times Pan-pan had begged her father for an answer, but each time he hemmed and hawed as if he had suddenly lost his voice. He would fidget, rubbing the back of his neck or repeatedly wiping his face with his hand. His pain and agony were so hard to watch that eventually Pan-pan stopped asking him questions altogether.