The Vagrants. Yiyun Li
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one day Teacher Gu and Mrs. Gu would stop caring about her, and her bowl would be missing from the table. When she saw now that no one was standing next to the half-dead plum tree she wondered, for a second, if Mrs. Gu and Teacher Gu had overslept; they could have gotten ill also, she thought, old people as they were, their bodies no longer reliable. Still, her instincts told her that they must have stopped wanting her around, and she decided to go to the Gus’ house, if only to make sure that was true.
Several steps into the alley a police jeep drove toward Nini with short impatient honks, and she hurried to make way for the vehicle, almost twisting her bad foot. When the jeep turned out of the alley Nini said a curse she had picked up at the marketplace—even though she understood little of its meaning, it fitted her mood and she used it often. She lingered in front of the Gus’ gate for a few minutes and made small coughing sounds, but neither Mrs. Gu nor Teacher Gu rushed out of the gate to apologize for their lateness. Nini pushed the gate ajar and let herself into the yard. The front room was unlit, and the window that faced the yard was covered with thick layers of old newspaper for insulation. Nini looked in, but could see nothing through the opaque newsprint. “Mrs. Gu,” she said quietly, then raised her voice a little. “Teacher Gu.” When no one answered, she tried the door, and it opened without a sound. The front room, dark and cold, was lit only by a long stripe of orange light on the floor that came from the half-closed door of the bedroom. “Mrs. Gu,” said Nini. “Are you feeling all right today?”
The bedroom door opened and Mrs. Gu stood in the frame, a dark silhouette. “Go home now, Nini,” she said in a flat voice. “We don’t owe you any more. Never come to my door again.”
Nini had been waiting for moments like this all her life. She was not surprised, but relieved. She had not made a mistake: People changed their minds all the time, often without a reason. She sucked the inside of her mouth hard and did not move. She could not see Mrs. Gu’s face in the dark shadow, but any moment now the old woman would come closer, grab her arms, and push her out of the door, and Nini’s small body tensed up at the expectation. She wondered whether Mrs. Gu’s hands would feel differently on her face than her own mother’s slapping. “Nini,” Teacher Gu said, appearing behind Mrs. Gu, his voice gentler. He walked past Mrs. Gu and took the rope off Nini’s shoulder. She let the basket go and followed him to an old desk that served as both the kitchen counter and a dinner table. There was no porridge and no pickled cabbage waiting. Teacher Gu looked around, and before he spoke, there came a muffled cry from Mrs. Gu in their bedroom. He rubbed his hands. “Mrs. Gu is not feeling well today,” he said. “I’ll be back, and you wait here.”
Nini nodded. When Teacher Gu closed the bedroom door behind him, she tried the two drawers at the side of the desk. From the dim light coming through the newsprint that covered the window, Nini could see that the first drawer was filled with chopsticks, cutting knives, matchbooks, candles, used batteries, and other knickknacks. She shut it without making a sound and opened the other one: a few pencils, a black velvet box, some scratch paper, a thick notebook in which many receipts were pasted, a plastic barrette. Nini opened the box and found a fountain pen inside; she stroked the smooth and dark blue body before putting it back into the box. She then picked up the barrette and slipped it into her own pocket; Mrs. Gu deserved this. The two hens, quiet and forgotten by Nini, scratched and cooed; startled, she almost gave out a cry. When no one came, she paged through the notebook. There was a loose receipt, and she pocketed it too, just in time before Teacher Gu came out of the bedroom. He turned on the lamp and Nini blinked in the sudden harshness of the light. He walked to the cabinet and took out a tin of biscuits. “Nini, take the biscuits with you,” said Teacher Gu. “For you and your sisters.”
Nini looked up at Teacher Gu, and his eyes, tired and sad, seemed not to register her presence. She thought about the receipt in her pocket, something he would be looking for later; if he said a few kind words to apologize for Mrs. Gu, Nini thought, she would find a way to sneak the receipt back into the drawer, or just drop it by the door.
Teacher Gu did not notice her hesitation. He picked up her basket. “Mrs. Gu is not feeling well these days, and she does not wish to see you for some time,” Teacher Gu said, pushing Nini gently out of the door. “Don’t come back to see us until Mrs. Gu feels better.”
In the street Nini opened the tin and put a biscuit in her mouth. The biscuit tasted sweet and stale. Teacher Gu had changed his mind too, dismissing her with a tin of biscuits that must have been sitting on the shelf for ages. Nini took the receipt out and looked at the red official stamp on it. She could not read, but a red stamp must mean something important, which made her happy. She squeezed the receipt into a small ball and threw it into a nearby dumpster. She took out another biscuit, nibbling and walking slowly home when someone tapped her on the shoulder.
Nini turned and saw a familiar face that belonged to a young man who spent most of his days wandering in and out of the marketplace. She stepped back and looked at him.
“Nini’s your name, isn’t it?” he said, baring his yellow and crooked teeth.
She nodded.
“You must be wondering how I know your name,” said the man. “Do you want to know how I know your name?”
Nini shook her head.
“And you have five sisters. Do you want to know what else I know about you?”
Nini stared at the young man without replying. On another day, in a different mood, she might ask the young man who he thought he was to bother with other people’s business. She had heard grown-ups talk this way and she believed she had learned the right tone, impatient, and with authority. At least, when she talked to her sisters in that tone, they all seemed intimidated. She could make the young man speechless and embarrassed, but she was not in the mood for that today. The only thing she wanted to do was to bite the inside of her mouth until she could taste blood.
“If your mother gives birth to another daughter, they will become the Heavenly Emperor and Empress, do you know why?”
Nini shook her head.
“Only the Heavenly Emperor and Empress gave birth to seven daughters, the Seven Fairy Sisters,” said the man. “Ha.”
The man waited for her to laugh. He seemed disappointed when she did not. “My name is Bashi, Eighty.”
What an odd thing to have a number as his name, Nini thought. She wondered if the man had any brothers and sisters, and if they had names like Seventy, Sixty, and Fifty. As if he had guessed her question, the man said, “You know why Bashi is my name? Because I ate eighty dumplings the day I was born.”
Nini knew it was a joke too, but it was not funny, and she decided not to smile.
“Are you a mute?” Bashi said.
“Of course not. What a stupid question.”
“Good, you can speak. How old are you?”
“It’s none of your business,” Nini said.
“I’m nineteen—well, nineteen and a quarter. I was born in July. July 7, an important day, because I was born on that day. Have you seen a history textbook? It lists all the birthdays of all important people, and someday it will include mine.”
Nini shifted the coal basket to another shoulder. She knew enough not to believe his words, but nobody had wanted to talk to her at this length before.
“How old are you? If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to guess.”
“Twelve,” Nini said. She did not know why the man was so persistent.
“Twelve? Wonderful.”
“What’s wonderful?”
Bashi looked baffled by Nini’s question. “Do you want to come and chat with me?” he said.
“Why?”
Bashi scratched his scalp hard and Nini watched big flakes of dandruff fall. “You can come to talk to me so you don’t have to walk all the way to the railway station for coal. What you’re doing is really stealing, I’m sure