Chapter 9: Little girl, which one do you want?
There was no work at the construction site on Saturday. When I got back from my early shift at the courier station, my mom had already left. There was a bowl of porridge and a note on the table: “Mom went to the market. The porridge is cold, so heat it up yourself. There’s hot water in the kettle. Don’t wait for Mom, eat first.”
The handwriting was crooked and the strokes were heavy, clearly written with force. My hand, which hadn’t written properly for twenty years, was indeed rusty.
I heated up the porridge and drank half a bowl. Then, after thinking about it, I decided to go to the market anyway. I wasn’t comfortable leaving her out alone. Her face was too conspicuous, and she completely lacked the self-awareness of a twenty-year-old woman.
The Jianshe Road vegetable market is located 50 meters to the left of the residential area. It is a semi-open-air shed with dozens of stalls crammed inside, selling meat, vegetables, seafood, and tofu. The ground is wet with vegetable leaves and fish scales, and the air is full of fishy and earthy smells.
As soon as I walked in, I heard a familiar voice, full of energy and with great penetrating power.
”How much are your spare ribs, boss?”
Following the sound, I found my mother standing in front of the pork stall. She was still wearing that bright red cotton-linen shirt, but now she wore dark cotton trousers underneath, rubber slippers, and a large woven bag slung over her shoulder. She was bending over, rummaging through the meat on the counter, pressing a piece of pork rib between her fingers. The way she was bent over caused the fabric of the cotton-linen shirt to stretch from her back, and the outline of her hips drew a rounded curve under the dark cotton trousers. Her waist was very thin, and her hips slightly widened the side seams of her trousers.
The butcher was a fat man in his forties, wearing a greasy apron and holding a boning knife in his hand.
He watched as the young and beautiful girl in front of him used the techniques of a middle-aged woman to examine the meat on the ribs, and his expression was quite subtle.
”Twenty-two per jin, young lady, which piece would you like?”
My mom straightened up and raised her eyebrows.
The words “little girl” made her pause for about two seconds. I stood five meters away behind a bean sprout stall watching this scene, and I could almost see the gears in her brain snap.
”Twenty-two?” She came to her senses. “Boss, these ribs look like they were from the day before yesterday. The meat is dark and the surface is a bit sticky. Fresh ribs today are worth at most eighteen. Give me a discount of two yuan, twenty, and I’ll take an extra pound.”
The shop owner was taken aback. The incongruity of hearing such bargaining techniques coming from a twenty-year-old girl made him blink several times.
”This, this was indeed delivered this morning…”
“The ones delivered this morning won’t have any mucus on them.” My mom flicked the surface of the ribs with her finger, making a “pop” sound. “Look at the elasticity. Fresh ribs bounce back immediately when you press them, but this one took three seconds to bounce back halfway. Twenty, that’s the most I can give you.”
Five meters away, my lips twitched. She’d practiced this method of testing pork freshness at the market for twenty years; no vendor, high or low, could fool her. The problem was, the image of a twenty-year-old girl with the face of a school beauty, wearing a bright red cotton-linen shirt, squatting in front of a pork stall, pressing the ribs with her thumb to test their elasticity was just too surreal.
The vendor finally gave in and bought two pounds of ribs for twenty yuan a pound. My mom, carrying the plastic bag of ribs, turned and went to the vegetable stall next door to start picking out greens. Her movements were natural as she squatted down to rummage through the leaves; one hand held the bag, while the other quickly rummaged through the pile of vegetables, throwing back any with wormholes or yellowing leaves. Her speed was so fast that the old lady at the vegetable stall was dumbfounded.
”Girl, you pick vegetables faster than I can,” the old lady exclaimed.
My mom didn’t even look up: “I’ve been picking vegetables at the market for twenty years, I’m very skilled at it.”
As soon as she said it, she realized something was wrong and paused for a moment.
”Oh no, I mean what my grandma taught me. She’s been doing this for twenty years.”
The old lady looked at her with some skepticism, but didn’t ask any further questions.
I sighed, walked out from behind the bean sprout stall, and squatted down next to her. She looked up and saw me, startled at first, then her eyes widened: “Why are you here? Didn’t I tell you to stay home, eat your porridge, and wait for Mom?”
”I was worried about you.” I took the woven bag from her. “You let it slip, didn’t you?”
Her face flushed slightly, and she turned her head away to continue picking at the vegetables: “No. I just said one wrong thing.”
”Speak less when you go out in the future.”
”Can’t I even talk while buying groceries?” She handed the old lady the vegetables she had chosen to weigh, then whispered in my ear, “And that butcher called me ‘little girl,’ it gave me goosebumps. Mom’s been alive for forty years, and this fat guy who looks older than Mom calls me ‘little girl’…”
”You are a young girl now.”
I didn’t hear what she mumbled, but it probably wasn’t anything nice.
After buying the groceries, we went back together. On the way, she carried the ribs and vegetables, her steps steady rather than those of a twenty-year-old; she looked more like a middle-aged woman returning home from the early morning market. When we passed the alley entrance, she suddenly stopped and stared at the price list in front of a breakfast stall for a long time.
”Two yuan and fifty cents for a fried dough stick? I bought it for only one yuan and fifty cents five years ago…”
I stood next to her, the woven bag digging into my shoulders and making them ache. The sun was already high, and the back of my neck was burning hot.
The way she stood in front of the price list, muttering to herself, reminded me of when I was a child and we’d go to the market together. She was always like that, walking a few steps, stopping every now and then, commenting on everything she saw, saying the prices were outrageously high. Back then, she was in her early thirties, wearing a faded floral shirt, holding my hand as we squeezed through the market.
She’s twenty now. I’m twenty-two. She doesn’t hold my hand anymore; I’m the one carrying her bags.
”Let’s go, Mom, the sun is too strong.”
”Okay, Mom will make you some pork rib soup when we get back.”
At noon, the aroma of pork rib soup filled the entire rented room. She had been busy in the kitchen for over an hour, huddled in front of the two-square-meter stove, chopping radishes, blanching pork ribs, and simmering the soup, her forehead drenched in sweat. The gray apron tied around her waist accentuated her slender figure, and the two bulges on it formed a rather imposing arc above the elastic band. Beads of sweat trickled down her temples, dangled briefly at the tip of her chin, and then fell into the pot.
She brought out two bowls of pork rib soup, one for me and one for herself. The pork ribs were stewed until tender, the radish was cut into large chunks, and the soup was milky white. I took a sip, and it was so hot that my tongue went numb.
”How is it?” She stared at me, holding the bowl in both hands, her expression a little nervous.
”Too much salt.”
Her expression fell.
”But the ribs are stewed well.” I took another sip, not saying anything nice, but I didn’t put the bowl down. “The radish would be even more flavorful if it were cut into smaller pieces.”
She didn’t reply, and lowered her head to drink from her bowl. After taking a couple of sips, she secretly glanced at my bowl, and seeing that I had already drunk most of it, the corner of her mouth curved slightly, and she quickly lowered her head to cover it.
”Do you want more? There’s more in the pot.”
”Another half bowl, please.”