pencil case inside to clatter out.
Head down, Yang Zhan said nothing.
"Tell me! Is it or isn't it?" Yang Jincheng gave his son a shove in the hollow of his shoulder.
"No," Yang Zhan said in a quiet voice.
"Why would you force someone to trade schoolbags with you? Huh? Do you know how much your schoolbag is worth? And what about this one?" Yang Jincheng threw the bag onto the floor furiously. "What is wrong with you?"
Yang Zhan looked up suddenly. His face was calm, and he even cracked a smile. "Would you even recognize my schoolbag?"
Yang Jincheng was stunned. Scowling, he raised his hand and delivered a heavy blow to Yang Zhan's face with a loud smack.
The blow knocked Yang Zhan's little body sideways, and he fell to the floor with a thud. Still furious, Yang Jincheng charged over and picked him up with one hand, about to hit him again.
Blood was trickling out of Yang Zhan's nose and mouth. He struggled feebly in his father's hands, craned his neck around, and shouted in the direction of the living room wall. "Mommy! Mommy…!"
The mournful voice stopped Yang Jincheng's hand in mid-swing, and he couldn't help but glance at that wall. His wife stared at him and his son from within the black picture frame with a pair of warm, gentle eyes that seemed to be pleading.
Yang Jincheng loosened his grip. Yang Zhan fell to the floor, curled into a ball, and continued to weep softly while still burbling, "Mommy… Mommy…"
Yang Jincheng stood there, arms dangling at his sides, mouth gaping for breath. When he could breathe easily again, he pointed toward his son's bedroom. "Go to your room! You'll go without dinner tonight!"
Yang Zhan climbed laboriously to his feet, ran to his room, and slammed the door shut behind him.
The child sat quietly in the room without any lights on, filling the darkness with occasional sniffles. He had long since stopped crying and the tears had dried to his tautly stretched cheeks. After sitting a while, he carefully massaged his puffy face and could distinctly feel a few swollen lumps rising in the shape of fingers.
The child's face was calm; he neither appeared wronged nor resentful. He just slowly rubbed his face and listened closely for sounds from the living room.
Finally he heard the sofa creak, as if someone had stood up. Soon he heard his father's heavy footsteps. The sound continued over to his father's bedroom, after which it ceased completely at the sound of the door closing.
The child did not move; he simply sat there, listening alertly, until he was sure that his father had fallen asleep. He slid along the edge of the mattress until his butt touched the floor, and then crawled under the bed. A moment later he squirmed his way back out holding a small metal box.
Sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, the child opened the box. Inside were all sorts of edibles; most of them were leftovers of some kind. There were a few pieces of bread, a rice cake broken into small pieces, half of a sausage, an opened packet of crackers, and a few pudding containers. With the help of the moonlight shining through his window, the child picked through the box, selecting a few things and stuffing them into his mouth. He chewed neither quickly nor slowly, but steadily, his eyes never leaving a corner of the room.
After he had finished eating, the child returned the box to its place under the bed, dusted himself off, and prepared to sleep. As he was taking his clothes off, his hand brushed against something hard in one of the pockets of his jacket. The child took it out; it was a pair of keys that had been fastened together. He spread the two keys out on the palm of his hand, fiddled with them a while, and then suddenly stood and opened the window.
The cool midnight air felt extremely refreshing on the child's face. He took a deep breath, drew back, and hurled the keys into the night. He then stuck his head out the window, but down below it was pitch dark and he could see nothing. A
Head down, Yang Zhan said nothing.
"Tell me! Is it or isn't it?" Yang Jincheng gave his son a shove in the hollow of his shoulder.
"No," Yang Zhan said in a quiet voice.
"Why would you force someone to trade schoolbags with you? Huh? Do you know how much your schoolbag is worth? And what about this one?" Yang Jincheng threw the bag onto the floor furiously. "What is wrong with you?"
Yang Zhan looked up suddenly. His face was calm, and he even cracked a smile. "Would you even recognize my schoolbag?"
Yang Jincheng was stunned. Scowling, he raised his hand and delivered a heavy blow to Yang Zhan's face with a loud smack.
The blow knocked Yang Zhan's little body sideways, and he fell to the floor with a thud. Still furious, Yang Jincheng charged over and picked him up with one hand, about to hit him again.
Blood was trickling out of Yang Zhan's nose and mouth. He struggled feebly in his father's hands, craned his neck around, and shouted in the direction of the living room wall. "Mommy! Mommy…!"
The mournful voice stopped Yang Jincheng's hand in mid-swing, and he couldn't help but glance at that wall. His wife stared at him and his son from within the black picture frame with a pair of warm, gentle eyes that seemed to be pleading.
Yang Jincheng loosened his grip. Yang Zhan fell to the floor, curled into a ball, and continued to weep softly while still burbling, "Mommy… Mommy…"
Yang Jincheng stood there, arms dangling at his sides, mouth gaping for breath. When he could breathe easily again, he pointed toward his son's bedroom. "Go to your room! You'll go without dinner tonight!"
Yang Zhan climbed laboriously to his feet, ran to his room, and slammed the door shut behind him.
The child sat quietly in the room without any lights on, filling the darkness with occasional sniffles. He had long since stopped crying and the tears had dried to his tautly stretched cheeks. After sitting a while, he carefully massaged his puffy face and could distinctly feel a few swollen lumps rising in the shape of fingers.
The child's face was calm; he neither appeared wronged nor resentful. He just slowly rubbed his face and listened closely for sounds from the living room.
Finally he heard the sofa creak, as if someone had stood up. Soon he heard his father's heavy footsteps. The sound continued over to his father's bedroom, after which it ceased completely at the sound of the door closing.
The child did not move; he simply sat there, listening alertly, until he was sure that his father had fallen asleep. He slid along the edge of the mattress until his butt touched the floor, and then crawled under the bed. A moment later he squirmed his way back out holding a small metal box.
Sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, the child opened the box. Inside were all sorts of edibles; most of them were leftovers of some kind. There were a few pieces of bread, a rice cake broken into small pieces, half of a sausage, an opened packet of crackers, and a few pudding containers. With the help of the moonlight shining through his window, the child picked through the box, selecting a few things and stuffing them into his mouth. He chewed neither quickly nor slowly, but steadily, his eyes never leaving a corner of the room.
After he had finished eating, the child returned the box to its place under the bed, dusted himself off, and prepared to sleep. As he was taking his clothes off, his hand brushed against something hard in one of the pockets of his jacket. The child took it out; it was a pair of keys that had been fastened together. He spread the two keys out on the palm of his hand, fiddled with them a while, and then suddenly stood and opened the window.
The cool midnight air felt extremely refreshing on the child's face. He took a deep breath, drew back, and hurled the keys into the night. He then stuck his head out the window, but down below it was pitch dark and he could see nothing. A
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