North Family Letters

My hometown in Northeast China - Days are getting warmer

As the train rolled across the black soil of Northeast China and came to a steady stop at the platform, the setting sun cast long shadows across the station. Song Changshan's comrades from the barracks helped the mother and her seven children carry their luggage and stopped at the alley entrance—further in was the small, rented house the Song family lived in, squeezed into an old courtyard with gray bricks and tiles, the walls still covered with patches of winter snow.

The mother, clutching the family photo, stepped down the stairs first. Her six daughters followed behind: Song Chunyan carried the heaviest cloth bag, Song Xiahe supported her mother's arm, Song Qiuling straightened her clothes, Song Dongxue held a small suitcase, Song Xiaoman carried a water bottle, and Song Xiaoya tugged at Chunyan's clothes, her eyes sparkling as she stared at the big locust tree in the alley, just like when she was waiting for her father at the Yunnan camp.

Pushing open the creaking wooden door, I found the yard swept clean. Half a basket of frozen autumn pears sat in the corner, and two strings of red peppers hung under the eaves—leaves my mother had specially asked a neighbor to leave for her before she left. Inside, the earthen kang (heated brick bed) was warm, the mat laid out neatly, and a cloth pillow my mother had sewn overnight sat at the head of the kang. On the corner of the table was a dish of pickled vegetables given by a neighbor.

"We're home, kids." The mother gently pasted the family photo on the wall above the kang (a heated brick bed), facing the kang table. "From now on, the seven of us will live in this house."

Chunyan was the first to walk to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), reached out and touched its temperature, then turned to her mother and said, "Mom, this kang is quite warm, much more comfortable than on the train." She put her cloth bag down by the kang and began rummaging through things—first taking out her mother's sewing basket, then neatly folding her sisters' clothes and arranging them by size in the corner of the kang, her movements as nimble as if she had practiced on the Yunnan road.

Xia He, though stubborn, secretly divided the dried fruit she brought from Yunnan into seven small portions and stuffed them into everyone's hands: "Dad asked me to bring these, saying we should eat them on the way. Now we're dividing them up so they don't spoil." Qiu Ling quietly wiped the table, cleaning the dust off the corners, and then lined up the rough porcelain bowls her mother had brought. Dong Xue, with her sweet tongue, called out to the old locust tree in the yard, "This will be our home from now on," making Xiao Man laugh. Xiao Man squatted on the ground, counting the bricks in the yard, and then helped Chun Yan fetch water. Xiao Ya leaned against the window, glancing at the alley entrance and touching the edge of the kang (heated brick bed), whispering, "When is Dad coming back?"

The mother didn't speak, but simply patted Xiaoya's head and looked at the family photo on the wall. In the photo, Song Changshan was wearing a military uniform, smiling, with his mother standing beside him, and their six daughters huddled together, all beaming. She turned and took out a pot of rice porridge from the stove—cooked by their neighbor, Aunt Zhang; the rice was soft and mushy, with a few red dates floating on top.

"Have a bowl of porridge to warm yourself up first, you'll get chilled on the way." Mother ladled out seven bowls of porridge, and then took out the stewed chicken legs from her cloth bag that afternoon—it was brought by a comrade-in-arms, stewed until very tender, with a savory aroma.

Chunyan first served her mother a bowl, then served each of her younger sisters, and finally served herself a small bowl, placing a piece of chicken leg meat in her mother's bowl: "Mother, eat this to nourish your body." Xiahe followed suit, giving the chicken leg meat to Xiaoman; Xiaoman picked out the red dates from her bowl and gave them to Xiaoya; Qiuling quietly gathered up the leftover porridge bowls from her sisters, preparing to wash them in the yard.

Dinner was spent amidst the warm aroma of porridge. The dim light illuminated the family's faces. The porridge was comforting, and the chicken drumsticks were fragrant but not greasy. The sisters passed the porridge around, one serving to the other, without a word about the hardships of the journey or the sorrow of missing their father.

After dinner, Chunyan took the lead in clearing the dishes, Xiahe helped start the fire, Qiuling wiped the stove, Dongxue swept the yard, Xiaoman helped her mother mend her torn clothes, and Xiaoya sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), holding up a family photo and pointing out the people in the picture to each of her younger sisters: "This is Dad, this is me, this is eldest sister..."

As night deepened, the earthen bed grew warm, and the sisters huddled together, quickly falling asleep. Chunyan woke up early, getting up just as dawn was breaking. She first heated the bed even more vigorously, then went to the yard to fetch two buckets of water and cooked a pot of millet porridge. When their mother woke up, seeing the clean clothes on the windowsill, the porridge warming on the stove, and the yard swept spotless, her eyes immediately welled up with tears.

And so the days went by, one after another.

Chunyan went to work at the small factory run by the neighborhood committee, leaving early and returning late every day to save money to buy coal and grain for her family; Xiahe studied at school, and after school she would help with housework and secretly go to the river to dig wild vegetables to add to the family's food supply; Qiuling was skillful and learned needlework from her neighbor Aunt Zhang, sewing clothes and making insoles for her sisters; Dongxue was sweet-talking and went to the yard every day to chat with Aunt Zhang and Aunt Li, helping with whatever chores she could, and soon became familiar with everyone in the alley; Xiaoman was meticulous and helped her mother cook and feed the chickens every day, keeping the house in good order; Xiaoya was still young, and every day she carried a cloth schoolbag made by her mother to the village primary school, and after school she would run home to cling to Chunyan and Xiaoman.

Every day, her mother stayed home, feeding the chickens, sweeping the yard, and sewing clothes. Occasionally, she would sit by the kang (a heated brick bed), looking at the family photo on the wall and touching the military uniform left behind by Song Changshan. She felt both worried and at ease. She knew that Song Changshan was protecting the country on the front lines, while they were guarding their home in the Northeast. As long as everyone in the family was safe and sound, there would always be a day when they could be reunited.

Once, Aunt Zhang, a neighbor, came to visit. Looking at the yard full of girls, she smiled and said, "Sister Song, your six daughters are really outstanding. Chunyan is sensible, Xiahe is clever, Qiuling is skillful, Dongxue is sweet-talking, Xiaoman is thoughtful, and Xiaoya is cute. Just like you, they are all wonderful people."

The mother smiled, her eyes crinkling, but then sighed softly, "They're all unfortunate children, suffering because of me, without a father to take care of them."

"What suffering?" Aunt Zhang waved her hand. "Look at this yard, it's cleaner than anyone else's; look at these girls, they're all so united. When Comrade Song comes back and sees how well you're doing, he'll be so happy!"

Just then, Xiaoya ran back from outside, holding a maple leaf in her hand, and threw herself into her mother's arms: "Mom, the teacher praised my handwriting at school today!" Chunyan also came home from get off work, holding a piece of cloth, and said with a smile, "Mom, I bought you a new piece of cloth, I'll make you a new jacket." Xiahe carried a basket of vegetables, calling out, "Mom, I dug up a lot of wild vegetables today, we'll have wild vegetable pancakes for dinner!"

The mother looked at her daughters, at the family photo on the wall, and then at the old locust tree outside the window. Sunlight filtered through the branches, falling warmly on the family. She knew that no matter how hard life was, as long as the seven of them were together, there was no obstacle they couldn't overcome; no matter how far apart they were, as long as they thought of each other, they would always reunite one day.

Life was like the black soil of Northeast China—simple, profound, and full of slowly growing hope. Song Changshan's merit certificate was carefully kept at the bottom of a cloth bag by his mother, and the family photo was pasted in the most conspicuous place on the kang (a heated brick bed). As the six daughters grew up day by day, the mother's smiles became more and more frequent.

From Yunnan to Northeast China, the long journey home is both a farewell and a new beginning. The mother and her seven children live in a small courtyard in Northeast China, tending to their home and waiting for their loved ones, making their lives warm and fulfilling, like a bowl of simple rice porridge—plain, yet warming to the core.