When the village chief came looking for us, my grandfather and I were drinking tea in the house.
For him to have waited this long to show up, he must have had to swallow his pride.
I had said from the beginning their hopes were unrealistic. Initially, the reservoir did indeed have a lot of water, but my family's well grew shallower by the day until it finally ran dry. Not long after the well dried up, the water in the reservoir also began to disappear. The water vein had been severed, and no one could do anything about it. I possessed no heaven-shaking, earth-shattering ability to find another water source for him.
Seeing that my grandfather and I were ignoring him, the village chief's expression became a little awkward. His sun-darkened face had grown much more haggard in recent days.
I didn't have the right to blame him, either.
"Even if you come to me, there's nothing I can do."
The village chief's face turned pale, and he glared at me with hatred.
"Hmph, the villagers are going everywhere begging for water, yet I haven't seen the two of you leave the house. You still have water to make tea, so you must have pulled some trick," he said, then spat on the ground.
I frowned and said in a low voice, "Think what you want. You were the ones who demanded this well be dug. What business is it of yours if I go and fetch water from somewhere else myself?"
The village chief clearly didn't hear a word I said. He spat again at the courtyard gate and left, cursing under his breath.
I had long since stopped caring about the malicious rumors the villagers spread about me. The chief's words, however, did serve as a reminder. The drought was getting worse, and all the wells in the village were now dry. Most people had chosen to cross the valley to the next village to ask for water. That village had a river; perhaps they could try their luck there.
No one from our house had gone out, so it was no wonder people were suspicious. There was still food in the village for now, but people couldn't survive three days without water; they would die of thirst. These people were so thirsty they were seeing things, and there was no telling when they might turn their attention to my house. They could not find out that the spring on the cliff had its source at my home, or else there was no telling what those people might do.
Before dawn, I called for Fatty Bang. I trusted him as a person, and I had no intention of hiding this matter from him.
When he saw that I wasn't being secretive, his eyes reddened slightly. He clapped my shoulder and said with a choked voice, "Since you trust me, I'll remember this debt. I've heard whispers about this matter. I won't tell anyone, you can rest assured."
Although this man had a quick mind, he was also a true man. My trust in him had not been misplaced.
I personally dug a hidden channel from the rice paddy, along the cliff face, to the outside of the fence. The cliff behind the house was too thick for me to dig through on my own. Other than Fatty Bang and me, no one else could help with this. We had to dig quickly under the cover of darkness. I planned to lead a stream of water through the underground channel, making it seem as though water was seeping out from the cliff face.
When the time came, I'd have Fatty Bang go out and put on a show, saying a few words. Those who believed would naturally come, and those who didn't, wouldn't. I would consider it having done my best.
For several days, Fatty Bang and I were like thieves, leaving early and returning late. Since he wasn't home, there was no one to look after his children. My grandfather brought the kids over to our house. The children played in the front yard, very well-behaved and sensible. Grandfather also enjoyed playing with them.
The afternoon was hot, so I decided to make some cool tofu. The soybeans I had soaked in the morning were ready. I drained the water and set up the stone mill. Our mill was a small, easily movable type. A few soybeans, half a ladle of clear water, a few turns of the stone mill, and white soy milk flowed from the gap, dripping into the wooden basin below. After some huffing and puffing, a bucket of soy milk was ready. The coarse-ground milk wasn't as smooth as that from a machine in the city, so it had to be filtered through a layer of white cheesecloth. The leftover soy pulp, when mixed with some other seasonings and fried, had its own unique flavor.
The filtered milk was poured into a clay pot. He started the fire, and when the milk boiled, I poured in a little white vinegar—this was the "curdling" stage. After a short while, soft curds would form; a little longer and they would solidify into irregular blocks of coarse tofu. Boiling the remaining soy milk would complete our lunch.
I took out some pickled peppers, sliced them into small rings, and added some scallions, crushed roasted peanuts, sesame seeds, and chopped chives. I added salt, seasoning powder, chili powder, and minced garlic, along with a little of my grandfather's homemade fermented bean paste, then drizzled hot oil over it, releasing a fragrant aroma. I also made a garlic eggplant salad and stir-fried some potatoes.
The children huddled by the kitchen door, their eyes sparkling as they watched me. Even Banh Nep was excited. I picked a few tomatoes from the vine for the children to snack on.
The dinner table had rarely been so crowded. He was talkative, his sweet words making Grandfather happy, and the atmosphere was lively. For the first time, I didn't find the noise annoying; instead, I felt a little joyful.
The story of water seeping from the cliff face, embellished by Fatty Bang's telling, had the old men and women of the village rushing over to collect water, regardless of whether it was true or not. The water reservoirs in their homes must have been completely dry. The hidden channel I dug didn't produce a large flow of water, but it was constant, which was enough to solve the immediate crisis.
My house was in a remote location, so most of what I heard about the village came from Fatty Bang. That's why when he came looking for me, I was still a bit bewildered.
Fatty Bang ran so fast the fat on his body jiggled violently. Sweat streamed down his face, and his shirt was so soaked it could be wrung out.
He wiped away the sweat and, without even taking a sip of water, said, "A lot of people have come to the village entrance. I heard they're all from the town. There's nothing to eat up there, so they're targeting the countryside. We don't know which town those people fled from. Every one of them was sallow-faced, dark-skinned and gaunt, completely devoid of vitality."
He paused for a moment, then continued, "The villages around here are all neighbors, and those people are pitiful. The village chief has arranged for them to stay in the empty rooms at the village cultural center. He's calling everyone for a meeting at his house tonight."
He looked around and lowered his voice: "I went to take a look. Something doesn't feel right about that group. I can't put my finger on what the problem is, it's just a feeling…"
His voice grew even quieter.
"I think they look like they're sick with something."