dognovel Chapter 33 Courtyard Walls
Chapter 33 Courtyard Walls
On February 16th, before dawn, Master Song got up.
There was a noise outside the shed; it was Hong Xiaobing washing his face, splashing cold water onto the rocks with a whoosh.
Master Song put on his work clothes and pushed open the door. The sea breeze rushed in, making him shiver with cold.
Hong Xiaobing squatted at the entrance of the shed, a towel draped around his neck. Hearing the door open, he turned around and said, "Master Song, I'd like to ask for the day off."
Master Song didn't ask why, he just looked at him. Hong Xiaobing pulled the towel off his neck and held it in his hand: "My mother asked someone to tell me that a corner of the courtyard wall has collapsed, and I have to go back and help rebuild it."
Master Song nodded: "Go early and come back early. Leave the filter tool set behind, Xiao Zhou needs it today."
Hong Xiaobing responded, took the wrench out of his tool bag and placed it on the stone block at the entrance of the shed, then slung the snakeskin bag over his shoulder and walked toward the dock.
The morning mist on the seawall hadn't dissipated yet, and his figure hadn't gone far before turning into a hazy gray blur.
Master Song squatted at the entrance of the shed, sharpening his chisel.
The sandpaper scraped across the blade, making a fine, even sound that blended with the distant sound of the tide.
Xiao Zhou poked his head out from the shed: "Master, which boat should I choose today?"
Master Song said, "The third one from the left in the stone trough belongs to Old Zhou's family. Two pieces of the boat's bottom plank are rotten. You and A-Guang will work together on it."
Xiao Zhou agreed, picked up his tool bag, and left.
People from the service station arrived one after another.
Old Fang was the first to arrive. As usual, he wiped the three wooden signs and squatted down at the workshop entrance to light a cigarette.
While cleaning the wooden sign, he noticed that the old corner was a bit warped, so he nailed it back on.
Ah Hai arrived second, holding a maintenance schedule in his hand. He looked at it as he walked, tripped over the threshold at the door, and muttered something under his breath.
Ah Guang arrived third, carrying a registration book. He went into the used parts warehouse, opened the window to let in some fresh air, and then peeked out towards the shed. Seeing that Hong Xiaobing wasn't there, he asked, "Where's Hong Xiaobing?"
Master Song said, "I've gone back to Hongjia Island. The wall of my house collapsed."
Old Fang took the cigarette out of his mouth, said nothing, walked to the stone trough, squatted down and watched Xiao Zhou clean the trough.
Xiao Zhou squatted beside the sampan, the chisel blade wedged at the boundary between the rotten wood and the good plank, cutting at an angle, the rotten wood peeling off piece by piece along the grain.
Old Fang watched for a while and said, "Your technique is faster than last month."
Xiao Zhou's hands didn't stop: "Master Song made me practice independently for a month, and I mastered it."
Old Fang nodded, stood up, and left.
As the sun slowly rose higher, the fog on the sea dissipated.
The sound of fishing boat horns returning to port could be heard from the dock, and someone was shouting out fish prices.
Several boats awaiting repair swayed gently in the stone trough, and the barnacles on their hulls shimmered with tiny sparkles in the sunlight.
After finishing their morning's work at the service station, Ahai and Aguang inspected the gearbox on Old Chen's boat, Ding Haisheng finished welding the batch of hull plates at the entrance of the new workshop, and Qiu Changhai squatted at the entrance of the old parts warehouse and reapplied tung oil to the pine boards used for provincial competition training.
Everyone was busy with their own things, but Hong Xiaobing wasn't there. The figure squatting down to disassemble the filter at the entrance of the shed was missing, and it felt like something was missing.
At lunchtime, Lin's mother brought over a pot of sweet potato porridge and a dish of pickled radishes.
Several people squatted on the rocks and ate.
Ah Hai ate two bowls, and Ah Guang ate one and a half bowls.
After finishing his meal, Xiao Zhou placed his bowl on the rocks and asked, "Master Fang, I'd like to ask, what's the oldest boat our service station has ever repaired?"
Old Fang thought for a moment: "The oldest? Old Sun's sampan. The boat is older than him."
Qiu Changhai squatted down beside him, holding a bowl: "I've been repairing that sampan for twenty years. The barnacles grow every year, and the planks are replaced every few years. I've touched every single plank on the bottom of the boat, and I remember which one was replaced in which year."
Old Fang said, "You have a good memory. I can't remember the ships I've repaired that are more than five years old."
Qiu Changhai said, "You repair machines, I repair wood. Wood has grain, and every piece is different. You can change the parts of a machine, but if you change the planks, it's no longer the same boat."
Xiao Zhou asked, "Is the boat with the new planks still the same boat?"
Qiu Changhai did not answer.
He placed the bowl on the rock, stood up, and walked to the stone trough.
Old Sun's sampan was leaning against the innermost part of the stone trough, its bottom facing upwards. The newly replaced planks were a lighter color than the old ones, and could be clearly seen in the sunlight.
He squatted down and touched an old plank on the bottom of the boat: "This one was the boss's twenty years ago. The one next to it was replaced the year before last. The one next to that was replaced last year. Despite all these replacements, Old Sun still calls it the old sampan."
He stood up and rubbed his back: "The name of the ship outlives the planks of the ship."
After speaking, he slowly walked back to the workshop, took the chisel off the tool wall, and rubbed it in his hands for a while.
There wasn't much work to do in the afternoon, so Lao Fang asked A Guang to renumber the batch of old gearbox shells on the scrap rack.
Ah Guang squatted at the entrance of the used parts warehouse, with the register spread out on his knees, while Zhou Haisheng handed him labels.
The courtyard was quiet, with only the sound of Master Song sharpening his chisel at the entrance of the shed, the sandpaper scraping against the blade with a soft, rustling sound.
The leaves of the loquat seedlings swayed gently in the sea breeze. The larger tree had more than a dozen green fruits hanging on it, while the smaller one had five or six.
In the evening, Hong Xiaobing returned. He didn't come alone; his father came too.
Hong Xiaobing's father was in his early fifties, his face roughened by the sea breeze, and his hands covered in cracks.
He stood at the gate of the courtyard without coming in, carrying a snakeskin bag in his hand.
Hong Xiaobing went inside, picked up the filter tool from the stone block, checked it to make sure nothing was missing, and put it back on the tool wall.
Hong Xiaobing's father stood at the courtyard gate and called out, "Is Master Fang in?"
Old Fang came out of the workshop, glanced at him, and asked, "Are you Hong Xiaobing's father?"
Hong Xiaobing's father said, "Yes. Xiaobing caused you trouble at the service station."
Old Fang said, "It's no trouble at all. They're hardworking and learn quickly."
Hong Xiaobing's father placed the snakeskin bag he was carrying at the gate of the courtyard: "These are sweet potatoes we grew ourselves, they're not worth much, just buying some vegetables for the service station. The courtyard wall collapsed, and his mother was frantic. There was no man at home, and she couldn't rebuild it after trying for ages. Xiaobing went back and helped all morning, and only left after it was finally fixed."
Old Fang invited him in to sit down, but he waved his hand and said he had to catch the ferry back.
"I didn't notice it when Xiaobing was home, but it's become much quieter after he left." Hong Xiaobing's father glanced into the workshop, where Hong Xiaobing was squatting in front of the workbench, disassembling the old gearbox that he hadn't finished taking apart before he left.
"His mother said to let him work hard at the service station. The wall can be rebuilt if it collapses, and a skill is something you can learn for a lifetime."
He paused, then lowered his voice, "She doesn't say these things in front of the soldier, afraid he'll worry about home." With that, he turned and left.
Hong Xiaobing chased after him and escorted him to the seawall. When he returned, his eyes were a little red.
A-Guang asked him what was wrong, and Hong Xiaobing squatted down and took out the wrenches one by one from his tool bag to clean them: "Nothing. This is my dad's first time at the service station. I'm usually the one who goes to him."
He wiped the wrench clean and put it back in his tool bag. He stood up, took two steps toward the workshop, then stopped and turned back to Guang, saying, "Brother Guang, I went over the old bearing model you taught me to recognize last time in my mind while I was building a wall at home today."
Ah Guang chuckled: "You're still thinking about bearings while building a wall."
Hong Xiaobing said, "The joints between bricks in a wall are similar to those in mortar; one layer overlaps another, and they are stacked in an alternating pattern to make the wall sturdy."
Old Fang heard this at the workshop entrance, took the cigarette out of his mouth, glanced at him, and didn't say anything.
As darkness fell, the staff at the service station gradually returned home.
Ah Hai and Ah Guang were the last to leave, closing the windows of the old parts warehouse and tucking them tightly in with plastic sheeting.
Hong Xiaobing sat at the entrance of the shed, lost in thought.
Master Song finished sharpening the chisel to the last edge, wrapped it in cloth, and asked, "Did your father come today because of something?"
Hong Xiaobing picked up the dry grass stalks that had fallen to the ground, broke them into pieces between his fingers, and then rolled them into a ball. He said, "It's nothing. I just came to check on where I work."
He paused, then continued, "My dad used to forbid me from learning ship repair. He said ship repair was a dead-end job, and it would be better to stay home and fish. My uncle had to persuade him a lot before he finally agreed. Today he came to take a look himself, and when he came back he told me, 'Master Fang said you're a hard worker.' My dad has never praised me in his life. Just now at the dock he suddenly said, 'Work hard, don't embarrass your uncle.'"
Master Song put the chisel into his tool bag.
After a moment of silence in the shed, Hong Xiaobing asked, "Master Song, does your father know you're repairing boats here?"
Master Song said he knew.
Hong Xiaobing asked, "What did he say?"
Master Song didn't answer. He stood up and walked to the door of the shed, looking at the scattered fishing lights on the sea.
The crescent moon hung in the sky, a curved hook.
Master Song said, "He's been bedridden for three years and can barely speak. Every time I go back, he looks at me. I know what he wants to say. He wants to tell me not to lose my skills."
Jiang Haiping walked out of the workshop, carrying two cups of tea.
One cup was handed to Master Song, and the other to Hong Xiaobing.
Hong Xiaobing took the drink and sipped it: "Brother Ping, do you think anyone will want to learn ship repair in the future?"
Jiang Haiping looked down at the row of broken seashells in the crevices of the rocks, the two loquat seedlings glistening slightly in the moonlight, and said, "When the service station first opened, there were only three people: a retired fitter, a retired seamstress, and me. More than two years later, there are now more than a dozen people. A craft is something that one person learns and can pass on to the next."
Hong Xiaobing held the cup without saying a word. Master Song placed the cup on the stone stool, got up, and went back to the shed.
Hong Xiaobing also stood up, spread out the quilt, and turned off the lights in the shed.
Jiang Haiping sat alone on the reef, the cup of tea in his hand had gone cold.
The waves gently lapped against the stone trough, and the crescent moon shone on two wooden plaques, one old and one new.
A few fishing lights were visible in the distance, pointing towards Hongjia Island. Hong Xiaobing's father should be home by now.
The next morning, Hong Xiaobing was the first to get up.
He moved the stone block from the shed entrance to the old parts warehouse entrance, and then moved another one.
When Lao Fang arrived, he saw two stone blocks neatly arranged there and asked, "What's this for?"
Hong Xiaobing said, "Uncle Sun will definitely come again today. Let's put a stool for him. The stone stool is cold, and his back is bad, so I'll get an old boat plank to put under it later."
Old Fang took the cigarette out of his mouth and said, "You're more thoughtful than your father."
Old Sun did indeed arrive.
Still empty-handed, still at the same spot.
He noticed an old ship plank on the stone bench at the entrance of the old parts warehouse, paused for a moment, and then sat down.
Hong Xiaobing disassembled the filter to clean it, while Lao Sun watched from the side.
After observing for a while, he asked, "Young man, are you new here?"
Hong Xiaobing said, "I've been here for over a month. My name is Hong Xiaobing, and I'm from Hongjia Island."
Old Sun said "Oh," and then added, "I've been to Hongjia Island. I went there by boat when I was young. The reefs there are higher than those on Moon Island."
Hong Xiaobing applied engine oil to the filter seal, tightened it diagonally, and said, "The soil on Moon Island is more fertile than on Hongjia Island, and the two loquat trees in the service station yard are bearing more fruit than mine."
Old Sun looked back at the two loquat saplings behind him. The larger one was covered with green fruit, and the smaller one had five or six. He said that he had lived on Moon Island for more than sixty years and had never paid attention to whether the soil was fertile or not. He then turned back to ask Hong Xiaobing, "How is your father's health?"
Hong Xiaobing was halfway through installing the filter when he said his legs were still okay, but his hands were cracked and bled in the winter.
Old Sun took a small box of clam oil out of his pocket and handed it over, saying that it was bought from the town's supply and marketing cooperative. His wife used to get cracked hands in the winter, and this helped. He told Hong Xiaobing to take it back for his father to try next time.
The morning sun shone on the entrance to the old parts warehouse, warming the stone ground.
Hong Xiaobing installed the filter, wiped the outer shell clean with cotton yarn, and placed it on the repair rack.
He picked up the clam oil and looked at it. The lid of the tin box had a picture of an open clam with its edges polished to a shine.
He carefully put the clam oil into his work bag, patted it, and then squatted down to remove the next filter.
The sea breeze carried the smells of diesel fuel and tung oil ash.