Shengliver’s Note: This revised entry features one of my former teenage students, Junyi. The story, Two Yuan, is set in a Chinese village around 2,000.

Who Is Junyi?

Junyi is a high school senior. He will be sitting the National Matriculation Test in June, 2010. I did not teach him from the very beginning. He joined my class in the first term of Year 11.

He comes from a village in Fangxian, a satellite county of Shiyan City. His home is in that village but only his grandma lives there all year round. His parents have been labouring in the city of Leqing, Zhejiang Province, as migrant workers for several years. My school is a boarding school located in the regional capital, so Junyi resides on campus as a boarder most of the time throughout the year. When vacation comes, he goes back home to keep his grandma company in the hamlet.

The other day, it was the teen’s turn to do the “Small Talk” project, in front of his classmates. Talking excitedly in simple English on the podium, he announced to the class a big piece of news—his parents would be coming back for the Spring Festival this year. They are arriving in Shiyan next week. We all shared his joy. It is two years since the boy stayed with his parents. For the past two years, he has been in touch with them on the mobile. I said that his parents would be surprised by their son’s change. An adolescent grows fast. The lad must be taller and stronger. I asked him, “Will you hug or kiss your parents when you meet them, Junyi?” The teens burst into laughter, for we Chinese are not that explicit about our emotions.

Two Yuan

I read Junyi’s journal entry for this week. What he wrote touched me as my eyes were gliding along the lines. I assume the boy in the story was Junyi himself. But he did not use “I” in his narration. Instead, he used the third person Fuqiang. Shengliver will recount the story as follows.

 

Fuqiang was staying with his grandmother in the hamlet. It was winter vacation, the Spring Festival a few days off. In the cottage were only the boy and the granny.

Fuqiang missed his parents. “How I wish they were home!” the boy murmured. With his mother’s mobile number in mind, he decided to call her.

He reached into his pocket and fumbled there for the two coins he had saved. “I have got two yuan,” Fuqiang said to himself.

He ran to the village shop. Besides selling groceries, the shopkeeper had a payphone installed on the premises. Those villagers who had no landline home phones often came and used the payphone calling their family or friends faraway. If a caller from elsewhere dialled this number and asked the shopkeeper to go and fetch someone he wanted, the shopkeeper would do the favour. After a call, the shopkeeper would charge the villager who answered or made it one extra yuan, apart from the rate for the call. A meter that went with the phone timed a call.

When Fuqiang reached the shop, he told the owner he would place a call. “I have only two yuan, sir,” the boy said. The man nodded a go-ahead.

Fuqiang picked up the receiver and dialled the number he kept in his mind. It had 11 digits, and he remembered it well. He had practised it mentally so many times.

The line was through. At the other end was Fuqiang’s mother.

“Mother, will you and Father come back this year?”

“Dear, we wish we could. But you know, this time of year, our business is the best. It is very difficult to get a train ticket this season. It would cost an arm and a leg. We are saving for your schooling, son.”

“I see, Mum. I miss you and daddy,” Fuqiang sniffled.

“We’re coming back next year, son and—”

The line went dead. The boy realised that the shopkeeper had disconnected it. 2 coins were not enough for him to talk on.

Fuqiang put down the receiver and trudged back home, where his granny was waiting at the table for the boy to have supper.