The Statue of Buddha Living in Tile-roofed House

By Yuan Youcai

The Statue of Buddha Living in Tile-roofed House

By Yuan Youcai

It was under the camphor tree at the entrance of the village that my grandfather chanced to meet my grandmother.

One afternoon in the early autumn of that year, my then 25-year-old grandfather, as usual, slipped out of the house to enjoy the cool air under the shade of the camphor tree after lunch.

Grandfather was the only son for three generations. As the apple of the family’s eye, they felt he should get married and have children as early as possible to carry on the family line according to the local customs. However, my grandfather, being no more than 1.6 meters in height with a flat pumpkin-like face, a pair of small eyes of garlic chive width, and swarthy complexion, insisted on taking a woman like Xi Shi (a beauty in the late Spring and Autumn period) as wife, which seemed like reaching out and touching the moon in the eyes of others. His refusal of a dozen girls that family matchmakers introduced to him worried my great-grandmother a lot, who, like feeding an ever-hungry group of mice, kept nagging him everyday. But this exerted no effect on grandfather. He was nicknamed as“the sharp-eyed blind,” which meant he was always slowpaced towards everything. Even when dining, he picked up the chopsticks as if spearfishing in a field ditch, waiting for just the right moment to pick up a grain of rice.

The sun burned hot like a stove, and the camphor tree cast a mountain-like shade on the ground. Grandfather bent down to blow away the dust on the black flagstone, dusting it with his sleeves, and then sitting on the stone with a tilted body. The black flagstone was hot.

Almost everything in the world goes like this, what is coming will come at last. After sitting for a while, grandfather felt his foot on the stone got numb. He stretched himself, lifting the other foot propped on the ground to the stone while lowering the numb foot down to the ground. No sooner had he finished this series of actions in slow motion than a girl from the south with a load of firewood on her shoulder entered into his narrow field of vision.

Probably tired, the girl stopped under the camphor tree. She took the bundle off her shoulder. Then she bent down to free herself from under the firewood, balancing the carrying pole with two hands, standing in front of grandfather elegantly.

By judging from her skillful actions, grandfather affirmed that this girl came from the valley, for girls from farming families in neighboring villages would by no means take on such hasty manner.

The magpie perching on the branches had flown away, and the shade of the camphor tree was creeping to the east. Several pedestrians came to and fro in a hurry. When the girl freed up a hand to wipe the sweat off her face, the carrying pole begun to twist, and the stick that served as a prop started to tilt as well. The girl rushed to balance the stick, but it was too late: The girl had had her hands full, and the two bundles of firewood, like two mangy dogs, threw themselves onto the ground in tandem, raising a cloud of yellow dust all around. The stick under the carrying pole flew through the air, rolling to grandfather’s feet.

The girl frowned at the two bundles of firewood lying on the ground, heaving a sigh. Beneath her thin eyebrows was a pair of grape-like eyes, round and light.

Grandfather felt a heat from head to toe, as if he were drinking a bottle of rice wine. He jumped up from the black flagstone, and for the first time in his life he acted at a lightning speed, striding to the girl while saying, “Take it easy, let me help you.”

The girl was panicking, for it was hard to put the load back on her shoulder by herself. She had seen that grandfather was sitting on the stone but was too shy to ask for help. Now grandfather’s offer of help was exactly what she wished for. In a moment she nodded withconsent, “Thank you!” she said.

Grandfather’s arms and legs were tired and soft, but he strained every nerve to help her uplift the firewood, his both hands supporting the carrying pole while his feet trembled. The girl bent down to stand under the carrying pole and straightened up and the load fell upon her shoulder steadily.

Grandfather delivered the stick to the girl, asking her,“Sell firewood?” His voice sounded like a mosquito’s buzzing.

The girl smiled to him in appreciation, nodding her head, “Yes.”

Grandfather still wanted to say something, but his throat was dry with nervousness. By the time the girl had walked three or four steps away, he faltered, “Take……it……easy.”

The girl, burdened with a load of firewood on shoulder, walked towards the direction of the county market at a good pace. Grandfather saw her long braid rhythmically swinging on her rounded hips. Her figure gradually faded away, until completely disappeared from his narrow sight.

On the black flagstone, grandfather sat down then stood up again, repeating this five or six times. He kept running through the image of the pretty girl in his mind over and over again. His thoughts raced: Which village was she from? Was she married? Why did she sell firewood alone? Her family should be poor for she was wearing straw sandals, and her family couldn’t be far away from here since she was carrying a whole load of firewood.

Suddenly, an unimaginably queer idea dawned upon him like a streak of lightning: She would pass the camphor tree to go home after selling firewood. So, I would wait for her at here, then I could follow her secretly to find which village she lived in. If she was unmarried, I might ask a matchmaker to propose a marriage. We had cows, land, and a house, and we could prepare more betrothal gifts……we could take this slowly.

Having waited for three hours under the camphor tree, she walked past. He followed her covertly for eighteen li. It took grandfather one and a half hours to follow grandmother to her thatched cottage on the hillside in Xujiagou. Grandmother was just over eighteen when she married grandfather. The men in the village would rank newly-married brides according to five criteria: fair skin, black eyes, plump breasts, rounded hips, and long hair. Grandmother was ranked No.1 for ten years in succession.

The story of my grandparents under the camphor tree was not only a much-told tale in every household in Wanghu village, but also used as a vehicle to tease my grandfather.

(From Literature Port Magazine, Issue 3, 2017)

我爷爷是在村头的大樟树下认识奶奶的。

爷爷二十五岁那年初秋的一个中午，他吃过午饭，偷偷溜出家门，去村头的大樟树底下乘凉。

爷爷是一颗三代单传的“夜明珠”，按农村的风俗习惯要早一点结婚生子，完成传宗接代的使命。可是，他海拔不过一米六，脸型像一个扁南瓜，皮肤黑得如木炭，眼睛只有韭菜叶子一样宽，却癞蛤蟆想吃天鹅肉，硬说自己要讨个西施一样漂亮的老婆。村里的媒婆已经介绍了十多个姑娘，他都对不上眼，急得我太奶奶心里像养着一群饥饿的老鼠，整天唠唠叨叨的。可爷爷不管，爷爷有个绰号叫“亮眼瞎子”，他做什么都摸摸索索的，就连吃饭时拿一双筷子也像在田沟里捉泥鳅。

太阳猛得像盆火，大樟树下的树阴像山一样大。爷爷弯下腰，用嘴巴吹了吹青石板上面的灰尘，再用袖子掸了掸，斜着身子，轻轻地坐到青石板上。青石板热乎乎的。

世上的事大都如此，该来的总是会来。爷爷坐了一会儿之后，放在青石板上的脚有点发麻。他欠了欠腰，把支在地上的脚慢慢地抬到青石板上，把青石板上的脚轻轻地放了下来。他这个慢镜头一样的动作刚刚完成，一个挑着柴担的姑娘从南边过来了，渐渐地闯入他窄窄的视线里。

这个姑娘大概是累了，到大樟树下停了下来。她利落地把木棍从肩膀上拿下来，支在扁担的中间，欠着腰从扁担底下钻出来，双手扶着扁担，亭亭地立在爷爷眼皮之下。

爷爷看到姑娘的动作十分熟练，断定这个姑娘是山沟沟里钻出来的，邻村种田人家的姑娘是不会有这副风风火火的架势的。