dkrc Chapter 111 The Last Stroke
Chapter 111 The Last Stroke
Chapter 111 The Last Stroke
Five days before Qingming Festival, Jiang Haiping woke up before dawn.
The sea breeze came from the southeast, carrying the earthy smell of the receding tide, unlike the dry, hard north wind of the past few days.
The new leaves of the loquat tree have already grown to about two fingers long, a tender yellow color, overlapping with the old dark green leaves.
Yesterday, Ah Guang covered the tree roots with straw again, and the dew still clung to the broken seashells.
He squatted on the rocks and spread his account book on his knees.
The page about the debts on credit is almost worn out from being turned over. It's covered with dense lines drawn in red pen, starting from when Hong Laosan paid off half of his debt before the winter solstice, to when Lao Chen paid it off before the new year, and then to the old debt that Hong Chuandong crossed out with red pen.
The only name left that wasn't crossed out was the last one, with a string of numbers below it, indicating that the repayment date had been changed from before the Lunar New Year to before the Qingming Festival.
He scratched a mark on the name with his fingernail, closed the ledger, and stood up.
Lin Xiu'e had already lit the honeycomb briquettes in the kitchen.
The water on the stove was bubbling and steaming. She picked up an enamel mug from the stove, scooped in half a spoonful of white sugar, poured in boiling water, and carried it to the loquat tree.
She placed the jar on the stone slab and wiped her hands on her apron.
"Go collect the last message today."
"Hmm." Jiang Haiping picked up the jar and took a sip.
The sugar hadn't completely dissolved; there was a single sugar crystal at the bottom of the bowl that hadn't been stirred away.
He pushed his bicycle out of the courtyard gate.
The gravel path on the seawall had been washed into several shallow ruts by the rain a few days ago, making it a bit slippery for the tires.
Two planks were moored at the ferry crossing on Hongjia Island, their bottoms facing upwards beside the stone steps, the barnacle shells cleaned up.
He took the early ferry across the sea, and after landing, he rode eastward for the time it takes to smoke a pipe.
The debtor was called Hong Laowu. On the easternmost boat raft of Hongjia Island, there was a plank with the bottom of the boat facing upwards, and a man was squatting next to it, shoveling barnacles.
The shovel scraped against the bottom of the boat again and again, and the barnacle shells fell onto the sand with a thud.
The man was shirtless, his back tanned a deep reddish-brown by the sun, and the handle of the shovel in his hand was worn smooth and shiny.
"Fifth brother." Jiang Haiping propped up his bicycle under the crooked banyan tree.
Hong Laowu placed the shovel on the boat raft and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
He was thinner than last year, his bones were higher, and the calluses on his hands were thicker.
He saw Jiang Haiping and, before he could even speak, pulled a plastic bag from an old iron box under the boat.
The bag contained money—ten-yuan, five-yuan, and one-yuan notes—stacked neatly.
He placed the plastic bag on the boat raft and wiped his hands on his pants a couple of times.
"Twenty-five more. Not enough now." Hong Laowu's voice was dry. "The boat was destroyed by a typhoon last year, and the money to repair the nets was borrowed. I went fishing twice at the end of the year and paid back fifty to the service station. I was supposed to pay it off before Qingming Festival, but now I'm still twenty-five short."
Jiang Haiping squatted down, opened the plastic bags, and counted them.
The plastic bag contained thirty-five yuan notes, two ten-yuan notes, two five-yuan notes, and five one-yuan notes.
Hong Laowu was still clutching a ten-yuan bill in his hand. The bill was crumpled and a small patch was damp from his sweaty hands.
Hong Laowu then pulled out a few small bills from an old enamel mug under the pile of barnacle shells.
The small bills were crumpled up, so he smoothed them out one by one with his fingers and counted them twice. It totaled nine yuan and fifty cents.
He stacked the small bill and the ten-yuan note together and handed them to Jiang Haiping.
"Here's nineteen yuan and fifty cents. That makes fifty-four yuan and fifty cents. You're still fifty cents short." Old Hong turned the enamel mug upside down and shook it. Three coins fell out, two one-cent coins and one two-cent coin. "Is that enough?"
Jiang Haiping picked up the three coins and placed them on the boat raft.
He took the ledger out of his pocket, flipped to Hong Laowu's line, and added up the numbers from beginning to end.
At the beginning of the year, I bought a computer repair service on credit for 90 yuan. I paid back 55 yuan in three installments. Today, I paid back 19.5 yuan plus 4 mao, so I still owe 15.1 yuan.
He read the numbers to Hong Laowu.
Hong Laowu was stunned for a moment.
He picked up the enamel mug and shook it, but nothing fell out.
I bent down and dug around in the sand where I was shoveling barnacles with my fingers. I pulled out a two-cent coin. The coin was covered in dried seaweed, and even after wiping it with my sleeve, it was still green.
"I'm still short thirteen dollars and ten cents." Old Hong squatted on the sand, placing the enamel mug on his knees.
The shovel rested on the raft, barnacle shells piled up at his feet, and the sampan was still under repair.
After cleaning the barnacles, you need to apply a coat of anti-rust paint, and let it dry for two days before putting it in water.
You can only earn money after you go into the water and catch a fish.
Jiang Haiping closed the ledger and took out the half-sheet of old newspaper from his pocket.
He had filled the old newspaper with notes for almost a whole year, then turned it over and wrote two lines on the back: "Fifty-four yuan and ninety cents before Qingming Festival. Thirteen yuan and one cent remaining. To be returned before the Beginning of Summer."
"Before the start of summer, it was thirteen yuan and ten cents." He folded the old newspaper, put it back in his pocket, stood up, and turned his bicycle around.
"Hai Ping." Hong Lao Wu was still squatting on the sand, clutching the green two-cent coin in his hand.
Jiang Haiping turned around.
"If I can't pay it back before the start of summer, I'll give you that boat as collateral." Old Hong pointed to the boat row.
It wasn't the plank he was repairing; it was another one under the crooked banyan tree.
The boat was larger than a sampan; it was an old tugboat with a faded blue paint on its hull. It was lying upside down on the sand, and there was a crack on the side of the boat that ran from the hull edge all the way to the hull.
The crack was stitched up with wire, but the wire has rusted, and the tung oil putty applied to the seam has dried and turned white.
"That boat was left to me by my father. It was damaged in a typhoon and repaired once, but it cracked again after the repair. I tried to fix it twice but couldn't, and it's been sitting there for two years." Hong Laowu put the enamel mug on the sand, stood up and walked to the old tugboat. He ran his palm over the cracks in the hull twice. "The keel is good."
Several planks are rotten, but they can be used after being grouted again. If you think it's worth thirteen dollars and ten cents, take it. If not, I'll pay you back before the start of summer.
Jiang Haiping walked over to the old tugboat and squatted down. He ran his finger over the cracks; the wire was badly rusted, but the keel was intact.
The seams on the hull plates have aged and cracked, and several hull plates have rotted, but the frame is still in good condition.
This ship isn't scrap metal; it can be repaired.
He took out his ledger and wrote a line in the remarks column for Hong Laowu's entry: "The remaining amount shall be repaid before the start of summer. If not repaid, the old tugboat shall be used as collateral, at the mutual consent of both parties."
After finishing writing, turn the notebook over to show Hong Laowu.
"Okay." Hong Laowu pressed his finger on the remarks column, his finger still covered with bits of barnacle shell.
Jiang Haiping pushed his bicycle toward the ferry terminal.
The sea breeze was blowing from the southeast, and it was even softer than in the morning.
He took a few steps and looked back. Hong Laowu was squatting down again, shoveling barnacles. The sound of the shovel scraping against the bottom of the boat was incessant.
The shadow of the old tugboat under the crooked banyan tree was bleached white by the sun, and the crack on the side of the boat stretched from the hull edge to the bilge, the trace of the wire sewing it had left behind looked like an old scar.
He watched for a while, then turned his bicycle around and rode back to the service station.
The waves lapped gently against the rocks, one after another.