Read Online The Little Red Guard: A Family Memoir by Wenguang Huang - Free Book Online

wood,” she said, tapping on our front door. There was not just the coffin to think about, she said. “I heard you want to take your mother to Henan. You know those rural folks, they think every city person is dripping with money.” She smacked her lips. “If you have to depend on them to help you, they’ll charge you a bundle.”
    Mother nodded vigorously. “You are absolutely right. Every one of our relatives in Henan thinks we are better off than they are, and they use every excuse to ask for money.”
    Encouraged by Mother’s comments, Mrs. Zhang told Father to pick pine or cypress, the traditional woods for coffins. “I heard you can get them really cheap in a black market at the foot of the Qinling Mountains outside Xi’an,” she whispered.
    I had never seen Father engage in long conversations with Mrs. Zhang. He even offered her a cup of tea and probed her for details—the style of coffin to choose and what ceremonial customs to follow.
    Now that my sister and I were firmly on the right path, Mother had no legitimate excuse to thwart Grandma’s plan. She dropped her earlier opposition and urged Father to act fast. I guess Grandma’s seemingly imminent death and the fear of retribution for not fulfilling a dying person’s wish had changed her attitude. In addition, if having a coffin made in Xi’an could save us money, she could not let that good opportunity pass us by.
    Instead of tending to Grandma’s illness, my parents became preoccupied with her coffin. As usual, Mother left for her aunt’s place in the southern section of town to borrow money. Father went back to his close friend, Li, who headed the city’s Light Industry Bureau, and sought advice. Li called the Party secretary at Father’s company, asking him to grant Father an exception. “Your Party secretary will turn a blind eye to your situation, as long as nobody files a complaint against you. Otherwise, he would be obligated to investigate,” Li said. “So, tell your wife to keep it quiet.”
    By Sunday evening, when it was time to return to school, I begged Father to write my teacher a note so I could take a week off and help. He shook his head emphatically. “There isn’t much you can do now,” he said. “You are the eldest grandson and you have a bigger role to play later.”
    While I was away at school, my parents were busy enlisting relatives and coworkers for their clandestine coffin operation. Mother’s aunt lent our family one hundred yuan to purchase wood—our family of seven lived on a combined income of eighty-five yuan a month, and it took Father three years to pay off the loan. A relative who worked for the Provincial Transportation Department had one of the drivers whose route took him past the Qinling Mountains outside Xi’an look for cypress or pine, and he secured a load of pine planks; he even negotiated a substantial discount. Several curious neighbors nodded at Father’s explanation that the thick planks in our courtyard were for furniture he was making for the house. They admired the timber and asked, casually, after Grandma’s health.
    Finding a carpenter was more difficult. The father of a classmate of mine, Feng, headed the carpentry team at Father’s company. He had been reported to the boss for taking several days off, claiming to be ill, so he and a coworker could make furniture and coffins in the rural areas in neighboring Gansu Province for extra cash. Feng’s father was detained and brought before a condemnation meeting attended by all the company’s employees and their families who raised their fists and shouted: “Down with capitalist greed.” Feng stayed away from school for several weeks.
    Father asked his friends if they knew of a carpenter, but no one could help. He was on the verge of despair when a laborer he had once befriended came to the rescue. He had heard of Grandma’s situation and volunteered his carpentry skills. He promised to bring two other Henan friends and, if Mother