Excerpt from Cattail

By HAITAO XU

Excerpted from Cattail, a finalist for the Restless Books Prize for New Immigrant Writing 2024. 

1.

Kargh, pzzzs, kargh. Good morning, Revolutionary comrades! The sun is rising;  
Kargh, pzzsz . . . the war drum is beating!

Again, the formidable metal rooster atop the office building of Sunrise People’s Commune Brigade Three shattered the quiet early morning with its violent static coughs and squawks. 

Hearing it, Cattail, a tall and thin girl in a faded purple winter coat, kicked the dirt floor of the kitchen, a lean-to attached to their main dwelling, which consisted of a hut with two bedrooms and a common area. 

She should have the breakfast ready. But their meal, sweet potato soup, the same food they have twice a day in winter, was not boiling yet. The sweet potatoes were like stones. She knew the loudspeaker would soon summon every commune member, all the adult residents of Brigade Three, to report to work.

It was the first time she cooked alone. Mom had just given birth to baby Reed last night and needed rest. Dad was out fetching water from a well a mile away. She hadn’t met the baby yet. When Dad woke her earlier that morning and told her the baby was born in the night, her heart was like the gray sky, a mix of dark and light. I want to see my sister. She had said it over and over in her head. But her legs were no different from the two horns on the head of a snail, venturing out, then shrinking back at anything ahead: scattered corn stalks, a fire fork, or the colder air outside the kitchen. 

Two fears held her in the kitchen. The first one was the baby’s look. Is this baby like me or not? The other was bigger. She was afraid that the baby would put an end to what she loved most right away.

Hurriedly, she grabbed a few damp corn stalks and fed them to the fire in the mudbrick stove. It had snowed two days ago, and snowmelt had leaked into the stack of corn stalks through small holes in the kitchen roof. Although Cattail kept blowing air into the stove, the fire smoldered. The square opening of the stove, like a monster’s mouth, spewed out heavy dark smoke. It stung her eyes, nose, and throat. 

Tears mingled with snot to form streams down her wind-reddened face. Before she could wipe them, the streams found their way into her mouth. A split, a congenital disability running from her nose to her mouth, had provided the streams an entrance. Ew. She spat it out. A thin trace of blood wormed through the spit on the dirt floor. She stamped it with her foot. Her gums always had problems in winter because of the cleft.

Dad walked into the kitchen and lifted the sorghum stalk lid from the belly-shaped black wok. He poked a sweet potato with a chopstick and mumbled, “Hm, still hard.” 

Cattail lowered her head in shame. I’m eleven, a big girl. Her birthday was not for three months, a quarter of a year, but that made her closer to eleven than to ten, so she rounded it up.

“You are not eleven yet,” Dad said. 

How could he read my thoughts? Cattail glanced at her father. Dad’s thinness struck her—his arms and legs were very much like dried sticks, his body a mere plank. The dark brown winter coat, though fastened with a matching cotton strip, still hung loose, as if waiting for a larger frame to occupy it. Every morning, he had to fill the water vat, four times his width and half his height. Cattail yearned to grow faster so she could carry water for the family. 

Dad met her eyes. “I’ll finish cooking. There’s still some time before I report to work. You can have a jianbing for breakfast.” He took Cattail’s place.

But the thin cornflour crepes that Mom cooked in the pan yesterday were for their lunch. Breakfast and supper was always soup. Mom said soup was good enough for your stomach in the morning; at night before you went to bed, you should eat soup, too. “Your belly is asleep,” she explained. Lunch was different. Everybody who had already worked for half a day and had to work till sunset needed to have something solid so their stomachs wouldn’t rumble and digest themselves.

A lot of the time, Cattail’s stomach couldn’t tell day from night. In the middle of the night, it complained noisily about being hungry. Cattail had never told Mom this. When her stomach growled at night, she pressed it with her pillow. 

But somehow Mom knew; one day she said to Cattail, “If we eat solid food three times a day, after half a year, we would have nothing but the north wind to eat.” The north wind always came in winter. It could freeze their tongues.

Cattail wondered if she should skip breakfast for this morning.

“Take a jianbing. Give it to me. I’ll steam it for you.” Dad gave her a You-must-obey-your-father look.

Cattail grabbed a golden jianbing and took a bite. Delicious. No need to steam. The thin crunchy crepes, whether cold or warm, were always a treat for her. 

“Hehehe,” Dad chuckled. “With the jianbing in your belly, you’ll concentrate on learning in school.” Smiles smoothed his wrinkled face. 

Again tears stung Cattail’s eyes. School? How many days will I have for that? She wiped the tears away. She wanted to ask her dad but the words didn’t come out. There was no need. She knew her school days would be over soon. Who will watch Reed? She had seen other girls drop out of school when a new baby was out of their mother’s womb. Almost nobody was happy about it, yet none of them voiced a word of complaint.

Why didn’t you stay in Mom’s belly for a few more months and let me finish this school year, so I could graduate from elementary? Cattail thought. She blamed Reed. Finishing elementary was her biggest dream. 

Beyond that? 

Dad said everybody had a fate. The grandparents she had never seen from Dad’s side had cast bad luck over her and her whole family, destroying her chance to go to middle school. Cattail wanted to have a sibling, but the thought of leaving school ripped her heart apart. School was her joy. There, she earned all A+’s, made a best friend, and was cherished by her teacher. Two days ago, she had won first place in both the spelling contest and math contest. In the spelling contest, there were words of nineteen strokes; in the math contest, there were questions that would give an abacus a headache—if it had one. 

“In the old days, you could ace the imperial examination, and

“I just talked to your mom. She is awake,” Dad said. “She said you haven’t been in to see her yet. Go on, she wants to talk to you. And see your sister. A perfect baby. Your mom has some good news, hm, 大喜 (daxi) news for you.” Laughter burst out of Dad. 大喜 means greatest joy.

A perfect baby?

Cattail pressed her finger on the hole in her upper lip as tears spilled from her eyes. Her brain didn’t register the last sentence.

She had been dreaming about the baby ever since she learned Mom was pregnant. Sometimes, in her dreams, the baby had a hole in her lip; sometimes the baby didn’t. Whether the baby had it or not, Cattail always woke up crying.

Her feet didn’t know where to go: Mom’s room or straight to school.

“Cattail!” Mom called.

Cattail’s heart skipped a beat.

She dragged her feet out of the kitchen and shuffled to Mom’s room. Gingerly, she opened the door. 

Beams of bright sunlight came in from a small hole-like window in the mud wall and shone on Mom’s bed. Mom, tall and strong, in her dark green winter coat and red scarf, was like a holly, the evergreen plant she was named after. Cattail sometimes wondered why Mom, who ate food from the same pot, was not as dry and thin as Dad. 

Mom shook a wet diaper in her hand and said, “Ha. Like the smell?” Laughter dazzled her voice.

Cattail wrinkled her nose. “My baby zizter?” /S/ was a hard sound for her to make with a cleft lip.

“Look. She is just like you, big eyes, small nose, two dimples.” Mom tossed the soiled diaper into a wooden basin beside the bed and held the sleeping baby up in her arms. Her eyes were glued to the baby.

Cattail leaned over.

Yes. The baby did look like her: a small nose, two dimples. And eyes? She didn’t know if they were big or small because they were tightly shut. But . . . but . . . She tilted her head and squinted at baby Reed’s lips. 

No holes. She shook her head. A perfect baby. Just like Dad said. No constant gum bleeding. Nobody will make fun of her lip and speech. Happy tears became raging waves: Harelip, Hole-in-lip, Crack . . . How many names had people called her?

Don’t laugh. If you laugh, your lip will fall off. Don’t talk. You sound weird.

As a result, she rarely talked, and kept no mirror in her room.

“When you were born, you were just like Reed,” Mom said, and laughed; her eyes were still on the baby.

What? But Reed’s lips were as smooth as two crescent moons. No matter how closely Cattail looked, the baby’s lips were perfect. Cattail’s heart sank. Reed will have it when she grows up? 

“Z-z . . . o.” She gave Mom a scared look. “She will hafe it later?” /V/ was a hard sound for her, too. Sometimes, she could get it right; sometimes, she couldn’t.

Mom peeled her eyes from Reed and put one arm around Cattail’s neck. “I meant to say when you were born, you were also this tiny. Reed doesn’t. Reed won’t have it.” She wiped the tears off Cattail’s face and said, “I know, Tiger Plant.”

 Mom liked to say Cattail was a tiger plant because Cattail was born in the year of the tiger. A tiger is the strongest of all the beasts, and cattail is the toughest of all the plants. And you have both, a tiger plant. You never compete for pretty looks but for strength. Those were her exact words.

Cattail wanted to smile for Mom, but she couldn’t.

“Drink some hot water before you leave. I’ve filled a bowl for you.” Dad was speaking from the door, but at first his voice didn’t register.

“Cattail, won’t you be proud to care for her? Heaven has eyes. Finally, it granted us a flawless child. For the first time in my life, I will send red eggs to every family when she’s a month old,” he continued.

Sending red eggs to neighbors at a child’s one-month birthday was an old custom in the region. 

Proud to care for her? First time? Red eggs?

Cattail ripped the Jianbing apart. 

“Cattail, I . . .” Dad stuttered. His eyes were crowded by wrinkles, and his lips were wavering.

Just then, a woman’s knife-sharp voice blasted from the metal rooster. She wished for Chairman Mao, the supreme leader of China, to live ten thousand years, and announced today’s job assignment: 

“Revolutionary Comrades, today our jobs are to catch the root-gnawing worms, our enemies, in the winter wheat fields. Don’t forget to bring a shovel. Whether the enemies hide in the topsoil, in the inner core, or even on the other side of the earth, we’ll dig them out.” 

The woman was Jasmine, Deputy Director of the Revolutionary Committee of Sunrise Commune Brigade Three, or “Crappity Director,” a secret name Cattail called her, because four years ago, Jasmine had assigned Mom the most horrible job: to clean the public outhouses in summer. 

Jasmine had a sharp tongue. Not long ago, she had killed Brigade Three’s old name: Lin Village. Cattail remembered Jasmine saying the name was “spiritless, backward, decayed, reeking of old musty odor, and unfit for the revolutionary era. Sunrise Brigade Three is the best, best, and best! If I hear you say Lin Village again, you’ll be punished.”

“Ay. All of us, fifty families here, have the same last name. Lin.” Mom shook her head and mumbled at home. 

 The woman also stung Cattail with comments like, “Harelip, don’t talk. Your words are too strange for our ears,” or “If you laugh, the crack will be wider than an irrigation ditch.”

Cattail turned her face away from Dad. The jianbing in her hand was like a withered leaf, dropping down, down to the earth.

Mom caught the jianbing just in time.

 

2.

“What are you talking about?” Mom growled. “We didn’t send red eggs to the neighbors for Cattail. We won’t send eggs out this time. Heaven has sent us two good kids.” 

“I . . . I meant, meant . . . Ah . . . I . . . I . . . ” Dad’s words trailed off.

“You what? Go check the sweet potato soup in the kitchen,” Mom said, glaring at Dad.

“Oo. Oo.” When he reached the door, Dad turned around and said to Mom, “Give me the jianbing. I’ll steam it for her.”

No. I don’t need you to steam it for me. Cattail snatched the jianbing from Mom’s hand, sank her teeth into it, and screamed in her heart.

Dad left. Mom placed the baby in bed and pulled Cattail in her arms. Cattail buried her head in them and sobbed. 

 “Listen to me,” Mom whispered, combing Cattail’s hair with her hands. Her warm breath brushed Cattail’s cheeks and ear. “This year is your 大喜 year . . .  and our 大喜 year.”

大喜,Greatest joy? More tears poured out of Cattail’s eyes.

Mom patted Cattail’s shoulder and continued, “Our white meat pig has a good appetite and grows fast. We bought it in the spring and now it’s already about 100 jins.”¹

 Cattail wiped her face. The white pig was her pride. Last spring, she had helped Dad choose it. Without her, Dad would’ve picked a black one. Mom and Dad didn’t have time to pick weeds to feed the pig, so every afternoon, after school was over, Cattail would carry a basket to look for nutritious weeds for it.

 “Dad and I have a plan. We’ll sell it next month: four maos² and six cents a jin, that’s the current price. You know how much money we’ll get? We need you to do the math for us. Your dad and I have never been to school for a single day in our life. Reed is just a baby. We don’t know Multi-multi—what? Cattail, can you tell me?”

What’s this about? Cattail groaned.

“You are fast, like a little abacus. Hm. You can figure it out in a second. For me, it will take days. Suppose one jin is four maos first. One hundred jins will get us . . . ” Mom counted on her fingers. “Oh, forty yuans. Then I’ll add six cents to each jin. Is your mom worse than a first-grader? It’s faster to use multi-multi—. My tongue is as stiff as a stick. I cannot say the word.”

Humph. She is trying to cheer me up. Cattail tossed out the answer to Mom: “Multiplicadon. 46 yuanz.” 

“Yes.” Mom sighed. “It’s almost as good as raising a sow.” 

Raising a sow was a better deal than raising a meat pig. If you raised a sow, you could sell piglets for years. But the commune had a regulation: only one in every twenty families could get a sow permit. Dad said that good luck could never be theirs.

“You know what we’ll do with the money? We’ll buy a new piglet.” Mom paused for a moment. “And sacks of corn, wheat, and rice. Nothing else. What do you think we’ll use the grains for?”

“Jianbing for breakfazt and zupper!” Cattail raised her head. Having jianbing for every meal was her dream. As soon as the words were out, she was mad at herself: She had wished for a mosquito net for a long time. Every summer, swarms of mosquitoes invaded their hut. She should’ve asked Mom to buy one this time.

“Hah. You can never forget your stomach. But Teacher Yang tells me you are  smart.” 

Smart or not, what difference does it make? Cattail thought. There are no reading or math questions on a soiled diaper. She knew Mom had to return to work for the commune in a month.

Mom held Cattail tight. “This is your lucky year, Cattail. Yesterday, Teacher Yang said to me, starting from this year, Central Middle will save twenty spots for the best kids, no matter what kind of families they are from. One from each elementary. She said she would pick nobody but you.”

Cattail’s eyes shone like two diamonds and her heart drummed at a faster beat. Never, not even in her wildest dream had she imagined attending Central Middle.

Sunrise Commune had twenty brigades, each with its own elementary school for first to fifth grade. Cattail had attended Sunflower Elementary, a one-room school in Brigade Three, for more than four years. Teacher Yang was the only teacher in the school. In the morning, she taught the older kids who were nine years old and above. In the afternoon, she taught the younger kids aged six, seven, and eight. After fifth grade, the kids from the families that the Revolutionary Committee deemed “most reliable” could go to Central Middle in Sunrise Town, where the headquarters of Sunrise People’s Commune was located. Unfortunately, Cattail’s family was not one of them: There was a rumor that her grandparents had fled to the United States, the arch-enemy of the greatest Socialist China. 

Mom sighed. “I told Teacher Yang our family is revolutionary. What she heard about your grandparents is just a rumor. They are dead.” 

Cattail remembered what she had heard behind Dad and Mom’s door one night: Mom had whispered “They are dead,” while Dad simply said, “That’s what we’ll say.”  She raised her head and gave Mom a long look. 

Mom put her hand on Cattail’s head and sighed. “Don’t eat a hot soup or it will burn your throat. It’s better to wait till it’s cool. Seeds break the soil when the time is right.” 

Is there a right time? What if the rumor is true? Cattail thought. The metal rooster said all the Chinese people who lived in America were traitors. The revolutionary people should spit into the faces of the traitors’ families in China till they were drowned in an ocean of saliva. 

Cattail shivered.

“Don’t worry.” Mom stroked Cattail’s back.

“You’ll zend me to middle zchool?” Cattail’s looked at Reed by Mom’s side. “But . . . but who’ll watch Reed?”

“Not you, but me. This word-blind woman is better suited for the job.” Mom chuckled. She often said she was “word-blind” because she couldn’t recognize a single word except her name, even if they were written as big as a basket. “We’ll use the rice, wheat, and corn we buy to help fill our stomachs. I will take a year off, stay home, and watch Reed. We can afford to send you to school.”

Cattail smiled. All her anger and sadness disappeared.

Just then, Reed opened her eyes, shiny and black. Cattail loved them at once.

“Oh. You want to see your big sister, don’t you? Reed, do you know your older sister is a scholar?” Mom tickled Reed’s cheek.

In response to Mom’s tickle, Reed closed her eyes.

Ha. Little baby. Cattail laughed.

 Dad popped his head in. “Cattail. Don’t be late for school.” 

“Just give us a minute,” Mom said. “Quick. Close your eyes.” She pulled Cattail onto the bed and removed her old shoes.

What? Cattail opened her eyes wide.

“Close your eyes. I don’t think you’ll send jianbing to your nose.”

Cattail closed her eyes. She heard gentle rustles. She felt Mom pull one foot and push it into something. Her shoes were old. But there were no holes. She didn’t think it was time for her to have new ones.

“Don’t you dare peek.” Mom’s voice was stern.

“Okay,” Cattail murmured, and let Mom pick up her another foot.

“Now, look,” Mom said.

New shoes! 

“Don’t open your eyes like two big lanterns. Do you like them?” Mom asked.

Like? No. Love was the word.

They were the best shoes Cattail had ever seen. The uppers were made of the finest black corduroy. The soles were cut from the sturdiest rubber board. Inside the shoes were thick layers of soft cotton pads that would keep her feet warm in the coldest winter months ahead; the shoe tops were embroidered with lively green scallions.

“葱聪 Cong Cong,” Mom laughed and said. “Smart Shoes!”

Scallion was a homophone for “smart” in Chinese. 

“Mom, were they for zale?” Cattail asked. 

“Yes. Zero yuans for a girl who won the first place in math and reading—free for a student who has always earned A’s and above. We wanted to have a surprise for you on the day when you have a new sibling. Your dad bought the corduroy last month.” 

“Dad?” Cattail murmured.

“Yes. He did.” Mom nodded.

“When summer comes, I’ll pull out the pads inside, so you can wear them as summer shoes, All A’s Girl.”

All A’s. Suddenly, Cattail remembered something: there would be a big oral reading assessment soon. She had overheard Patriot, a girl in her class, say it on the playground. Patriot’s mom happened to be Jasmine, the crappity director.  If I fail the test, can I still go to Central Middle? 

“Hop down to the ground. Walk around and see if the Smart Shoes fit the Smart Girl,” Mom said.

 Slowly, Cattail got up.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked. 

“Nothing,” Cattail whispered, not wanting to worry Mom on this special day. Besides, she was hoping Teacher Yang would help her come up with some strategies to prepare for the test.

“Your friend is in the yard, waiting for you to go to school.” Again, Dad poked his head in. “Cattail, I . . . ”

“Go.” Mom echoed Dad.

“Yes.” Cattail ran out.

 

Notes

1. 1. 1. 1. 1 Yuan=0.14 U.S. Dollars
         2. 1 Jin= 0.5 Kilogram= 1.10231 Pounds (lbs)

 

Haitao Xu was born and raised in a poor rural town in southeast China during the Cultural Revolution. Her childhood was shaped by hunger, political slogans, and the ingrained belief that “girls are useless.” Attending college in Beijing became her awakening. At thirty-seven, she moved to the United States, where, after more than a decade of teaching in a public school, she began pursuing a career in writing. Her dream is to share the untold stories of brave Chinese village girls with the world.

Read more from the Restless Books Prize for New Immigrant Writing 2024 Finalists.