The Boat to Redemption by Su Tong

‘Limbering exercise: one, two, three, four’ – as the boats, matching the callisthenics beat – ‘one, two,
     three, four’ – nestled up to the piers.
    Dockside cranes swung into action, but not before the stevedores had gathered on the embankment. A cacophony of noise rose
     all around. I saw Zhao Chunmei race under the arm of a crane, heading for the boats. If I knew anything, it was that no one
     would let her aboard while she was in mourning garments. Sailors are a superstitious lot, and would never allow that to happen.
     As I expected, Sun Ximing and his wife came down off barge number one to stop her. Then Six-Fingers Wang and his family blocked
     her way on to the gangplank. So, with a quick change of tactics, she turned and headed for barge number seven. When the people
     spotted what she was doing, they grew anxious. ‘Go away!’ they shouted. ‘Don’t come any closer!’ Desheng and Old Qian even
     used poles to drive her away. I watched as she ran around avoiding them.
    In the end, she gave up. ‘Ku Wenxuan, get off that boat!’ she shouted, before crumpling to the ground.
    Anticipating something like this, I ran down the mountain of coal and saw a crowd of people heading from the General Affairs
     Building towards the piers. We all reached Zhao Chunmei at the same time. Obviously, they’d been sent by her brother Zhao
     Chuntang, and they started to carry Chunmei away. She was crying – not keening, but sobbing her heart out. ‘I’m not crazy,’
     she insisted. ‘Why are you doing this? I haven’t done anything wrong, and you don’t have to worry that I’ll humiliate you.’
     She struggled in their arms; first a defiant leg kicked out, then an angry arm flailed in the air. She was desperately trying
     to get backto the pier, by crawling if necessary, twisting her head to keep the boats in sight. We passed each other, going in opposite
     directions, and when she spotted me, she turned to get a better look. Glaring at me hatefully through tear-filled eyes, she
     cried out shrilly, in a desolate tone, ‘Go and tell your dad that I don’t care about the blood debt. I just want him to visit
     Little Tang’s grave in funeral garb!’
    I stood on the pier, bag in hand, and watched them carry Zhao Chunmei away. One of the white sashes fell from around her waist
     and skimmed the ground behind her. As soon as she was out of sight, my fears were replaced by curiosity.
Do it, do it, thump, thump!
How had she and my father managed so well, and Little Tang wound up dead? I struggled to conjure up an image of the now dead
     Little Tang, and what came to mind was a fair-skinned, bespectacled man with a kindly face, one of the most cultured men in
     town. He was in the habit of saying sorry. Always ‘Sorry. I’m sorry.’ He’d played chess at our house, and each time he took
     one of Father’s men, he’d say sorry. I pondered the relationship between my father and the two of them, and couldn’t help
     feeling that it was all tied up with cheating and ugly schemes. Father did what he did with Zhao Chunmei in the caretaker’s
     cupboard during the day and then invited Little Tang over for a game of chess at night. Was that supposed to be some sort
     of consolation for the cuckolded man, or was it shitting on his head? Then, for some strange reason, two words Mother used
     a lot in her notebook – ‘active’ and ‘passive’ – came to mind. Who had been the active participant in all this, and who had
     been the passive one? I couldn’t work out how passive Zhao Chunmei had been, or how active Father had been. But my mind was
     clear on one thing: Little Tang had been totally passive. Seen from this angle, Master Liu had hit the nail on the head: Father
     had secretly placed a green hat on Little Tang’s head, and that hat had crushed him to death.
    I turned my anxious gaze to barge number seven and looked for Father, since it was time to unload. I didn’t want him to see
     me. The