Nine-year-old Min followed his uncle along a rugged path. Brimming with excitement, he anticipated the reunion with his family. Since before he turned five, his parents, dodging the family planning policy, had entrusted him to his grandma’s care. They retreated to a remote mountain area, a lengthy eight-hour drive from their hometown, Motang Village. Each summer became his cherished opportunity, a time he eagerly awaited all year. Before dawn broke today, he had set out with his uncle, enduring a tiring journey to reach the mountains. Just as the mud house came into view in the distance at the end of a small slope, a white dog emerged, growling with raised hackles.
“Stupid dog! Get lost!” Min yelled.
The dog responded with a menacing growl. It bared sharp teeth, and poised to attack.
Min stared at the dog. He crouched down and picked up a large stone. Yet the dog maintained a hostile posture.
Father came out of the house. “Go away!”
The dog gradually stopped barking but continued to watch Min.
“Dad!” Min ran towards his father but paused at his solemn expression.
“Today isn’t the best time,” his father said, his voice heavy. “Your mother took your sisters, Lan and Shan, back to Motang Village early this morning. With the recent crackdown on family planning nearby and her baby due soon, she felt safer there. She planned to tell you in person, Min. This summer, you’re needed back home, not here in the mountains.”
His uncle headed back to his home. It was across the small stream, not far from the mud house. Min followed his father into the house. Despite the sunshine outside, the room was dimly lit, with a wooden dining table in the center, simple beds on either side, and a clothing rack nearby.
Father placed Min’s small bag next to a bed. “I’m going to water the crops.” Then, he left.
Min approached the door, where numerous ants crawled, struggling to move a beetle’s corpse. The dog lay under the kitchen roof across from the door. To the right of the kitchen was a storeroom, and to the left were two pigsties. To the right of the mud house was a duck shed, next to a cowshed. On the left was the outhouse, and opposite it was a chicken coop, forming a semi-enclosed rectangular structure.
Min was assailed by various strong smells, a mixture of earth, feed, and animal excrement, creating a pungent odor that hung in the air. He went to the storeroom, and the dog stood up and barked, but he paid it no mind. He picked up a plastic bucket and walked where the vegetable garden was; his father was watering the crops in the distance. The sunlight cast his silhouette onto the vegetable garden, and a stream flowed by its side.
Min reached the stream, dipped the bucket, feeling the cool water between his fingers. He then poured it evenly onto the vegetable beds. He enjoyed helping his father.
The dog eagerly dug in the garden’s soil, exploring, and sniffing the earth. Occasionally, it stopped, tilted its head, and gazed at the glistening water droplets in the vegetable garden.
***
As the sun dipped below the horizon, darkness engulfed the mountainside, reducing visibility to near zero. Time in the mountains flowed at a languid pace, like thick, black syrup. After having dinner, Min and Father climbed into bed.
Suddenly, the stillness of the night was shattered by a dog’s frantic barking, jolting both Min and Father awake. Father fumbled for a candle, illuminating their dim room. With caution, he opened the door, its asphalt paper surface producing a faint noise. Min followed closely behind.
At the door, the dog stood with bristling fur, barking furiously. Father, candle in hand, peered through the crack and spotted a snake that had slithered beneath the door, its tail wriggling in the dark. Father grabbed a stick from behind the door. The dog rushed into the room, barking on the other side of the door.
Min and Father approached, their gaze fixed on the snake, its forked tongue darting out. Father cautiously moved closer to the snake, Min standing at his side.
The snake’s head shot up, attempting to strike Father. With a powerful swing, Father deflected the snake’s head with the stick. The snake writhed but did not fall. The dog leaped forward, biting into the snake’s body, a guttural sound emanating from the encounter.
With another forceful strike, Father targeted the snake’s head, producing a resounding thud that echoed through the room. The snake ceased its struggle, its head lying still on the ground. Min breathed a sigh of relief, casting a thankful glance at the dog. Father dragged the snake outside, and they returned to bed.
As dawn began to break, the rooster crowed. Min, half-asleep in bed, sensed movement. Father must have risen, and he drifted back to sleep. He felt someone patting his face, and as he opened his eyes.
“I am off to pick lychees to sell. I won’t be back until late tonight,” Father said. “I’ve prepared some porridge; make sure to heat and eat it.”
Min sprang out of bed. By the time he had put on his shoes and reached the door, Father was already on his way. As he watched Father’s figure disappear around the bend, he turned and saw the dog standing next to him, barking twice.
***
Min entered the kitchen, serving himself a bowl of porridge. Self-sufficiency was his way of life; by the age of five, he could heat up porridge and serve it on his own. His grandma, a figure of sternness, spoke in scolds more than words. He had to keep quiet when she slept; even a whisper could set off a storm of harsh words, or worse, a slap. Their relationship lacked warmth and intimacy as her caring for him was more of a duty than a desire. In the mornings he often tiptoed out to school while she still slept, his stomach echoing with emptiness. Hunger’s sharpness subsided into a habitual numbness and it became a familiar friend. His ability to withstand the hunger pains increased as the days turned into weeks.
He set the bowl down on the table while the dog gazed him from his feet. He scooped some porridge onto a plate for the dog, and they both sat down to eat.
A commotion erupted from the chicken coop. When Min hurried outside, he discovered an enormous rat holding a tiny chicken in its mouth. The rat darted past him. Min tried to catch up, but he was not as quick as the rat. The dog took the lead in the chase. As it descended farther, the rat dashed into the fields.
At the field’s edge, the dog pounced, locking its teeth on the rat’s neck. The rat screeched, putting up a fierce fight, its tail lashing against the dog’s head in a desperate bid to escape. Min shouted, “Silly, don’t let go!” The dog held firm. Blood oozed from the rat’s wound, staining them both crimson. The ground beneath them became splattered with mud as the dog’s body trembled, struggling to maintain control. The rat’s resistance waned until it finally ceased. The chicken’s lifeless body lay nearby.
“Good job! Silly!” he exclaimed.
The dog barked. Min made the decision that he would name the dog Silly.
They headed back. Behind the mud house stood a grove of fir trees planted by Father. He dared not venture in, knowing it was infested with green bamboo snakes. Further beyond was rugged wilderness and untamed mountains. He reached the source of their water supply, where water gushed up from underground, encased by bricks. Min bent down and drank directly from the spring, Silly lapping alongside him.
Min’s attention sharply turned to the pulsating ache in his knee. This pain traced back to two months ago, during a spirited chase with his friends, when he took a nasty fall. Sharp stones had embedded themselves in his knee, forcing him to hobble home.
His grandma’s cold gaze met him with harsh words: “Can’t you watch where you’re going? You might as well fall and die!”
Min bore the pain silently; the wound gradually reddened and swelled, eventually seeping pus. Even now, he felt the wound flare up with heat and sharper pain. Gathering his strength, he rose and began a slow journey back. Silly was at his side.
As he returned to the yard, a hen rushed towards him, clucking loudly. Min followed the hen until it came to a corner, where a chick was trapped in the muck. Min went over to the chick and helped remove it from the mud, cleaning it and making sure it was unharmed. He ran his fingers through its soft feathers.
After getting a bag of chicken chow, he made his way to the coop. The dog trailed behind. As he sprinkled the feed on the ground, chickens became enthusiastic and began to peck and chirp. He then moved on to the duck shed, carrying a brimming bucket of feed. The floor was covered in straw, and the ducks gathered eagerly, their bills wide open. The air filled with their lively quacking as he scattered the feed.
He grabbed a wicker basket from the storeroom, slinging it over his shoulder. Min strolled alongside the brook. The water murmured, and the breeze rustled through the leaves, creating a soothing hush. Not far off, his uncle tended to the vegetable gardens and fields. As he ventured towards the woods, the dog stayed by his side. He retrieved fallen firewood and placed it in the basket. The sun climbed higher, casting dappled light through the leaves onto him and Silly. The chirring of cicadas filled the air.
When he returned home, his uncle had prepared a pot of steaming pig feed. The bubbling mixture emitted a gurgling sound. Min helped him carry the feed to the pigpen, where the pigs scurried to the trough and gorged their meal. His uncle was reticent and went about his tasks, as there was much work to be done.
In the afternoon, a massive banana tree in the front yard swayed in the strong wind, its broad leaves dancing. The air resonated with the low grunts of pigs, the quacking of ducks, the constant clucking of chickens, and the occasional mooing of cows, their voices intertwined.
As a mass of dark clouds loomed, signaling an impending storm, Min sat on his bed with the dog nestled at his feet. Rain poured down, the roof’s asphalt paper creating a rhythmic drip-drip sound, with occasional raindrops landing on the wooden beams overhead, producing crisp notes. The wind pushed the door partly open, letting in a little light and the smell of rain and animal feces. The mud-caked walls resembled wounded skin, with mud rivulets erupting and resonating with every song of drips.
A thunderous clap split the sky, but Min remained unafraid. The previous summer, a typhoon had struck with ferocious winds, scattering branches and debris. Min rushed outside, gathering bundles of branches for his mother. Lychee trees filled his village, but they were communal property, rigorously guarded to prevent theft. While collecting lychees that had fallen to the ground was allowed, daytime competition was fierce. When the lychees ripened, nightly dew often made them drop to the ground. Min sneaked out at midnight with friends to pick them. In the pitch-black darkness, he’d crouch, relying on touch to locate the fruits under the trees, placing them into a basket on his back. By daybreak, he would sell them.
As the rain stopped, the sky darkened. Min reheated his porridge and had dinner with Silly. He sat on the bed, waiting for his father’s return, but as time passed, his eyelids grew heavier.
“Silly, when my father returns, please bark and wake me up,” he said.
The dog barked twice in response. Min lay down on the bed, gradually slipping into a dream.
He was so tired and in agony that his body temperature soared. Waves of unbearable heat washed over him, drenching him in sweat, only to be replaced by chilling tremors. His head throbbed relentlessly, each pulse like a hammer blow. He awoke frequently and had fits of sluggish sleep interspersed with numerous awakenings with no evidence of his father’s return. This nightly ordeal of feverish bouts, stretching over several months, had become a grim routine. Often, he would wake in sweat-soaked clothes, facing another day at school with hunger gnawing at his belly.
***
When Min woke again, the day had brightened. His father was still absent, and he went into the kitchen to find a pot of freshly cooked porridge. Silly wagged its tail.
Min kicked the dog. “Weren’t you supposed to wake me?”
Tears welled up in his eyes, which he wiped away with the back of his hand, but new tears kept flowing. Silly nudged Min with its body, licking his hand with its warm tongue.
Sniffling, he said, “Do you want to go on an adventure with me?” The dog barked.
Not far behind the mud house, a hill rose sharply, cresting in a cliff that plunged twenty or thirty feet. Its face, cloaked in dense banyan trees, lay draped in wild, untamed weeds. Atop this lofty perch, Min and Silly sat, with Min’s legs dangling over the edge as he gazed into the vastness. There, with the world stretched out before them, Min’s imagination took flight. He envisioned himself as an eagle, wings spread wide against the azure sky, embarking on grand adventures to distant lands. Perhaps, he mused, even soaring far enough to reunite with his father.
At noon, the scorching sun distorted the air, making the courtyard mud sizzle. Min kicked off his shoes and leaped around barefoot like a frog, with the dog excitedly following, both leaving crooked footprints.
In the afternoon, he picked up a shovel from the toolshed and walked to the fields, the dog trailing behind. He pruned the long sweet potato vines, leaving only a small portion at the base, and lightly loosened the soil while digging inwards. As he dug, the earth revealed sweet potatoes one by one. The dog dug alongside him.
In a small pit, Min crafted an earthen oven, igniting a fire that turned the soil a fiery red. He nestled sweet potatoes in the heat, cloaking them with earth.
As the sun peeked through heavy clouds, a crimson canvas unfurled across the sky. Min crouched, pulling out earth-cradled roasted sweet potatoes. A gentle breeze wafted over, carrying a fragrant, not-too-sweet scent.
He laughed, “Catch, Silly!” and tossed one to his four-legged friend. Silly, giving the sweet potato a playful sniff, nudged it. There, under the vast sky, Silly met Min’s gaze and wagged its tail. Min locked eyes with the dog.
Silly’s joyful barks punctuated the quiet. A warmth, unlike the potato’s heat, bloomed in Min, melting a hidden, icy loneliness. Min had a warm rush of sensation that filled his heart, as though something long dormant within of him had been awakened. He felt bonds between them.
***
In the weeks that followed, Min’s glimpses of his father were fleeting. He departed in the dim morning light and returned only under the cloak of night. Once his chores were done, Min and his dog would venture into the wilds. Together, they chased butterflies, grasshoppers, and beetles as they discovered hidden trails and secret ponds. Min made whimsical bows and puppets out of twigs. They played in the creek and went on swimming adventures.
Throughout all of these explorations, Min yearned to go fishing with his father. Even if it was just for a single outing. When exhaustion set in, he’d sit at the cliff’s edge, lost in thought, while Silly lay down beside him, exposing its belly for a gentle rub.
In the afternoon sky, a white moon, distinct from its nightly golden glow, emerged. Its stark contrast against the soft blue, its tranquil and mysterious allure, offered a serene reprieve from the sun’s blaze. There, undisturbed by the world’s hustle, Min wondered: if the moon could brighten the day, could he too one day live with his parents again and bring an end to their separation?
Father woke him up one morning. “Your uncle is returning to the village today, and you should go with him.”
Min felt a lump in his throat, his nose tingling. “No, I want to stay here with you.”
“I’ve been very busy lately,” Father explained. “You’ll have your mother to take care of you, and you can play with your sisters and friends.”
Min opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. He outstretched his arms, longing to embrace his father. However, Father had turned away and left. He wanted to follow but found his legs rooted to the spot. He knew he would have to leave sooner or later. Yet he felt the pain of parting, as if a piece of him had been pulled away, leaving behind a void.
Min got up and packed his clothes into his small bag. Silly barked. He ladled out some porridge and had breakfast with the dog. Then he sat on a wooden stool, waiting for his uncle. Min’s throat still felt constricted, his breath slightly ragged. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white, hoping to hold on to the fleeting moment.
As he walked away with his uncle, Silly trailed behind.
Min turned. “Silly, don’t follow me. I’ll return next year. Remember me.”
Silly barked twice, rested its front paws on his chest, and licked his face. He hugged Silly. “Goodbye, my friend. Remember to keep my father company and ensure he doesn’t feel lonely.”
Min walked on with his uncle, never looking back. The dog continued barking, fading into the distance.