off-guard; he put away his slingshot and said to the man under the tree, ‘I hit her with my slingshot but, instead of scolding me, she cautioned me to take care not to fall out of the tree. The head of this large livestock has a problem.’
Binu stood fast on the dirt road. Since the tree and its surroundings were men’s territory, she could not stop there. But across the road were all those women, whose fancy dresses rippling in the desolate autumn breezes struck her as somehow improper. So she stood in the middle of the road and took a good look at the Bluegrass Ravine people market. The finely attired young women were, at the same time, sizing her up.
‘Why is she carrying a bundle on her head? Isn’t she afraid of crushing her hairstyle?’
‘Hairstyle?’ one of them sneered. ‘It’s a rat’s nest, that’s what it is. Southern women don’t fuss over their hair.’
Another woman’s attention was drawn to Binu’s face.With a combination of envy and ignorance, she said, ‘I didn’t know there were beauties down south too. Just look at her delicate moth eyebrows, her phoenix eyes and her willowy waist, a classic beauty.’
A woman beside her added caustically, ‘Too bad she never learned how to wash her face or apply make-up. She’s actually smeared dust all over her face in place of rouge. Look at the dirt on that face; you could plant crops in it.’
Binu was not immediately offended by the malicious gossip. From Peach Village all the way to Bluegrass Ravine, she had believed that women who congregated at the side of a road must be waiting to be taken to Great Swallow Mountain, and she expected to meet women from other towns who were also searching for their husbands, assuming they could travel north together.
She walked up to a woman in green who was eating flatbread. ‘Are you waiting for a ride?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to Great Swallow Mountain?’
The woman looked at her out of the corner of her eye. ‘Great Swallow Mountain?’ she replied, still munching her food. ‘This is not a stopping point for labourers heading north, so how could there be any rides to Great Swallow Mountain? If you want to go there, you’d best get back on the road while it’s still light.’
‘Then what are you all waiting for? And where are you going?’
The woman in green removed a packet from her sash and waved it in front of Binu. ‘We’re not like you. See that? It’s an embroidery kit. We are not large livestock, we’re skilled needleworkers who are waiting for a carriage from the Qiao family textile mill to take us into employment. Why are you standing here?’
Noting the derisive tone of the question, Binu said, ‘You shouldn’t talk like that, Elder Sister. None of us chooses what we are. Just because you can do a little needlework there is no reason to act like spoilt girls. In Peach Village girls grow up knowing how to plant mulberries and raise silkworms. Our needlework may not be as fancy as yours, but every thread in that packet comes from a silkworm. I can tell that your silk threads came from Peach Village silkworms.’
The woman blinked. ‘Are you saying our thread is silk from your hometown? Are you from Peach Village? No wonder you sound like crackling thunder when you speak!’ She laughed smugly. ‘I know who you are. People say there’s a madwoman in Peach Village who is afflicted with lovesickness. She is carrying a frog with her as she travels north to search for her husband. It’s you!’
Binu was shocked to learn that news of her travelshad reached Bluegrass Ravine. It did indeed sound like news of a madwoman. She detected a look of pity in the eyes of the woman in green, the controlled pity of a normal person towards a mad one. ‘Who is spreading such vicious rumours behind my back?’ she said. ‘I am taking winter clothing to my husband. That is not being lovesick, and I have no affliction. Any woman who could bear to let her husband go shirtless in winter is
Binu stood fast on the dirt road. Since the tree and its surroundings were men’s territory, she could not stop there. But across the road were all those women, whose fancy dresses rippling in the desolate autumn breezes struck her as somehow improper. So she stood in the middle of the road and took a good look at the Bluegrass Ravine people market. The finely attired young women were, at the same time, sizing her up.
‘Why is she carrying a bundle on her head? Isn’t she afraid of crushing her hairstyle?’
‘Hairstyle?’ one of them sneered. ‘It’s a rat’s nest, that’s what it is. Southern women don’t fuss over their hair.’
Another woman’s attention was drawn to Binu’s face.With a combination of envy and ignorance, she said, ‘I didn’t know there were beauties down south too. Just look at her delicate moth eyebrows, her phoenix eyes and her willowy waist, a classic beauty.’
A woman beside her added caustically, ‘Too bad she never learned how to wash her face or apply make-up. She’s actually smeared dust all over her face in place of rouge. Look at the dirt on that face; you could plant crops in it.’
Binu was not immediately offended by the malicious gossip. From Peach Village all the way to Bluegrass Ravine, she had believed that women who congregated at the side of a road must be waiting to be taken to Great Swallow Mountain, and she expected to meet women from other towns who were also searching for their husbands, assuming they could travel north together.
She walked up to a woman in green who was eating flatbread. ‘Are you waiting for a ride?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to Great Swallow Mountain?’
The woman looked at her out of the corner of her eye. ‘Great Swallow Mountain?’ she replied, still munching her food. ‘This is not a stopping point for labourers heading north, so how could there be any rides to Great Swallow Mountain? If you want to go there, you’d best get back on the road while it’s still light.’
‘Then what are you all waiting for? And where are you going?’
The woman in green removed a packet from her sash and waved it in front of Binu. ‘We’re not like you. See that? It’s an embroidery kit. We are not large livestock, we’re skilled needleworkers who are waiting for a carriage from the Qiao family textile mill to take us into employment. Why are you standing here?’
Noting the derisive tone of the question, Binu said, ‘You shouldn’t talk like that, Elder Sister. None of us chooses what we are. Just because you can do a little needlework there is no reason to act like spoilt girls. In Peach Village girls grow up knowing how to plant mulberries and raise silkworms. Our needlework may not be as fancy as yours, but every thread in that packet comes from a silkworm. I can tell that your silk threads came from Peach Village silkworms.’
The woman blinked. ‘Are you saying our thread is silk from your hometown? Are you from Peach Village? No wonder you sound like crackling thunder when you speak!’ She laughed smugly. ‘I know who you are. People say there’s a madwoman in Peach Village who is afflicted with lovesickness. She is carrying a frog with her as she travels north to search for her husband. It’s you!’
Binu was shocked to learn that news of her travelshad reached Bluegrass Ravine. It did indeed sound like news of a madwoman. She detected a look of pity in the eyes of the woman in green, the controlled pity of a normal person towards a mad one. ‘Who is spreading such vicious rumours behind my back?’ she said. ‘I am taking winter clothing to my husband. That is not being lovesick, and I have no affliction. Any woman who could bear to let her husband go shirtless in winter is
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