The orange lamp

It was more than ten years ago.

One afternoon before the Chinese New Year, I went to the outskirts of Chongqing to see a friend. She lived upstairs in the village office in the countryside. I walked up a flight of dark, reversed stairs to a room with a square table and a few bamboo stools and a telephone on the wall, and then into my friend's room, which was separated from the outer room by a curtain. She was not at home, and a note was left on the table in front of the window, saying that she had to go out temporarily and asked me to wait for her.

I sat down at her table and picked up a newspaper to read, when suddenly I heard the door of the outer room creak open. After a while, I heard someone moving the bamboo stool again. I lifted the curtain and saw a little girl, only eight or nine years old, thin pale face, frozen purple lips, very short hair, wearing a very shabby clothes and pants, bare feet wearing a pair of straw shoes, is on the bamboo stool to pick the wall listening device, saw me seem to be taken aback, retracted his hand. I asked her: "Do you want to call?" She climbed off the bamboo stool, nodding her head and said, "I want to xxxx hospital, looking for Dr. Hu, my mother just vomited a lot of blood!" I asked, "Do you know the phone number of the xxx hospital?" She shook her head and said, "I was going to ask the telephone bureau ......" I hurriedly found the hospital's number from the telephone book next to the machine, and asked her again, "When I find the doctor, whose house do I ask him to go to? " She said, "You just have to say that Wang Chunlin's family is sick, and she will come."

I got the call through, and she thanked me gratefully, turned around and left. I pulled her back and asked, "Is your home far away?" She pointed out the window and said, "It's just below the big yellow fruit tree in the nest, just a short walk away." With that, she went downstairs.

I went back inside and finished reading the newspaper before and after, and picked up a copy of "Three Hundred Tang Poems", and halfway through, it was getting darker and darker, and my friend hadn't come back. I stood up in boredom, looked out the window at the misty mountain scene in the fog, saw the hut under the yellow fruit tree, and suddenly wanted to visit the little girl and her sick mother. I went downstairs and bought a few big red oranges at the door, stuffed them in my handbag, and walked down the crooked and uneven stone path to the door of the hut.

I gently buttoned the door and made a crisp "dong dong" sound, the little girl just came out and opened the door, looked up at me, first froze, then smiled and beckoned me in. The room is very small and dark, against the wall on the boardwalk, her mother lying flat with her eyes closed, about asleep, the head is spotted with blood, her face sideways, only her face can be seen in the messy hair, and a large bun behind the head. A small charcoal stove by the door, a small casserole placed on top, faintly steaming. The little girl let me sit on a small stool in front of the stove, and she squatted down next to me, looking me over and over. I gently asked, "Has the doctor come yet?" She said, "Yes, he came and gave mom a shot ...... she's fine now."

She said, as if to reassure me, "Don't worry, the doctor will be back in the morning." I asked, "Has she eaten anything? What's in this pot?" She laughed and said, "Sweet potatoes and rice, our New Year's Eve dinner." I remembered the oranges I had brought and took them out and put them on the little low table next to the bed. She didn't make a sound, but reached for one of the largest oranges, peeled off the top section with a knife, and gently kneaded the bottom half with both hands.

I asked in a low voice: "Who else is at your house?" She said, "There is no one now, my father went outside ......" she did not say further, only slowly pull out a flesh of orange petals from the orange peel, and put it on her mother's pillow.

The faint light of the fireplace, gradually darkened, and it was even darker outside. I stood up to leave, she pulled me, while extremely agile to take a large needle wearing twine, the small orange bowl around the relative up, like a small basket, with a small bamboo stick to pick, and from the windowsill took a short section of foreign wax head, put in the light up, handed me: "dark, the road is slippery, this little orange lamp to light you up the mountain! "

I took it with appreciation and thanked her, she sent me out the door, I did not know what to say, she said as if to comfort me: "Soon, my father will definitely come back. My mom will be fine then, for sure!" She drew a circle with her little hand in front of her and finally pressed it into my hand: "We are all well too!" Obviously, this "everyone" included me. Tears were welling up in my eyes ......

I carried this nifty little orange lamp and slowly walked along the dark, damp mountain road. The hazy orange-red light could not shine very far, but the little girl's calm, brave and optimistic spirit inspired me, and I seemed to feel that there was infinite light in front of me!

My friend had already returned, and when she saw me carrying the little orange lamp, she asked me where I had come from. I said, "From ...... from Wang Chunlin's house." She said in amazement, "Wang Chunlin, the carpenter, how do you know him? Last year in the medical school down the mountain, there are a few students, were taken away as communists, after Wang Chunlin also disappeared, it is said that he used to deliver letters for those students ......"

That night, I left that mountain village and never heard from the little girl and her mother again.

But since then, every Chinese New Year, I think of that little orange lamp. Twelve years have passed, the little girl's father must have returned long ago. Her mother must be well too, right? Because "all of us" are "well"!

Written on January 3, 1957