A Copper Thimble

In the autumn of 1945, the sweet scent of ripe sorghum filled Zhao Family Village in southwestern Shandong. Eighteen-year-old Shuanzhu followed his father, Old Zhao, as they drove their donkey cart thirty li to a rundown market. In a corner, several ragged human traffickers squatted beside a few gaunt young women.

"We'll take this one. Two sacks of sorghum, and not a grain more." Old Zhao prodded one of the girls on the shoulder with his rough finger. She shuddered in fright but didn't dare look up.

Shuanzhu sneaked a look at the girl who was going to become his wife. She was painfully thin, her wrists so slender they looked as if they might snap, but the nape of her bowed neck was unexpectedly fair, shimmering like a pearl in the autumn sun.

"She's sixteen, old enough to bear children." The trafficker grinned, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth. "Her family suffered a disaster. Her parents starved to death, and she's a good, clean girl." And so, sixteen-year-old Chuntao was bought by the Zhao family for two sacks of sorghum. On the journey back to the village, she sat in the jolting donkey cart, clutching her only bundle. Inside was a copper thimble her mother had given her on her deathbed.

"Once you get to the Zhao home, you'll belong to the Zhao family," Old Zhao said without turning around. "Serve your husband well and give us a boy soon. Don't be like those shameless sluts who don't know how to behave." Chuntao bowed her head, and her tears fell silently onto her knees. She remembered something her mother often said: "A woman's fate is like a seed. Wherever she's scattered, that's where she puts down roots." Now she had been scattered on this unfamiliar land.