The Boat to Redemption Read Online Free

weren’t. Scabby Seven’s sister watched with a sense of pride as he took big bites. ‘Slow down,’ she said. ‘Don’t eat
     so fast, you’ll choke on it.’
    After a long moment I began thinking logically. This incident was tied up with my father. Since he was not the martyr’s son,
     Scabby Seven was free to steal my bun, and bystanders could look on without lifting a hand. I understood what was going on
     here, but I refused to take it lying down. I pointed at Scabby Seven. ‘How dare you eat my bun!’ I shouted. ‘Spit it out!’
    He ignored me. ‘What are you shouting about?’ his sister said. ‘I don’t see your name on it. Buns are made of flour, and that
     comes from wheat, which is planted by peasants. Our mother’s a peasant, so some of this belongs to her.’ She dragged her younger
     brother over to the wall and used her body as a shield. ‘Hurry up!’ she demanded. ‘Finish it. He won’t be able to prove a
     thing once it’s in your stomach.’ Apparently she was getting worried, though she put on a brave front as she searched the
     faces of the people near the pharmacy. Then she looked at me again. ‘What are you complaining about? You eat a bun every day,
     but my brother has to settle for thin gruel. That’s not fair, it’s not socialism! It gives socialism a bad name.’
    She walked off, dragging Scabby Seven along with her and followed by Scabby Five. I took a few menacing steps towardsthem. ‘Is this a rebellion?’ I said. ‘Well, go ahead and rebel. Eat up. Today the bun is my treat; tomorrow I’ll bring you
     shit to eat!’
    She raised her arm and gave me a threatening look. ‘To rebel is right! Chairman Mao says so! Don’t you dare come over here!
     If you do, you’re thumbing your nose at Chairman Mao. Shit this, piss that. How about cleaning out that filthy mouth of yours?
     See those people? Are they coming to help you? The people’s eyes are too bright for that. Your dad has fallen into disgrace,
     and you’re nothing, a nobody, nothing but a
kongpi
!’
    No doubt about it, that was a big loss of face. But I can’t avoid the fact that, thanks to that girl, I had a new nickname.
     I was now Kongpi. I can still recall the glee on the faces of the crowd that had gathered at the sound of those two syllables.
     In wonderful appreciation of his sister’s quick-witted sarcasm, Scabby Seven burst out laughing so hard he nearly choked.
     ‘Kongpi! Kongpi! That’s right, now he’s a
kongpi
.’ Their glee infected everyone within hearing. People around the pharmacy, early-morning passers-by on the street, and those
     standing beneath the family-planning billboard echoed their gleeful laughter, and within seconds I could hear those two syllables
     swirling triumphantly in the air all over Milltown.
    Kongpi, Kongpi, Kongpi!
    People may not know that
kongpi
is a Milltown slang term that dates back hundreds of years. It sounds vulgar and easy to understand, but in fact it has a
     profound meaning that incorporates both
kong
, or ‘empty’, and
pi
, or ‘ass’. Placed together, the term is emptier than empty and stinkier than an ass.

River
    I N THE winter of that year I said goodbye to life on the shore and followed my father on to a river barge. I didn’t know then that
     it was to be a lifetime banishment. Boarding was easy, getting off impossible. I’ve now been on the barge for eleven years
     with no chance of ever going back.
    People say that my father tied me to the barge, and there were times when I had to agree, since that provided me with the
     justification for a life of sheer tedium. But in the eyes of my father, this justification was a gleaming dagger forever aimed
     at his conscience. At times when I could not contain my displeasure with him, I used this dagger as a weapon to injure, to
     accuse, even to humiliate him. But most of the time I didn’t have the heart for that, and while the procession of barges sailed
     downstream, I gazed over the side at