The lights in the center office came on.
Lin Jianguo was pushed inside and made to stand in the middle of the room. Behind the desk sat someone—not Director Zhou, another cadre named Li, in charge of logistics. He wore a cotton jacket over his shoulders, still sleepy-eyed, looking at Lin Jianguo and yawning.
"What's going on?"
Old Zhang threw the pliers on the desk. "Caught this kid. He was cutting wires behind the warehouse."
Cadre Li picked up the pliers, looked at them, looked at Lin Jianguo, frowned. "Why were you cutting wires?"
Lin Jianguo kept his head down, silent.
"Answer when you're asked!" Old Zhang shouted beside him.
Lin Jianguo remained silent.
Cadre Li waved his hand, signaling Old Zhang to stop shouting. He stood up, walked over to Lin Jianguo, bent down, trying to see his face.
"You're Lin Dasuan's kid?"
Lin Jianguo nodded.
"Does your father know you're here?"
Lin Jianguo shook his head.
Cadre Li sighed, straightened up, and said to Old Zhang, "Go get Lin Dasuan to come claim him."
Old Zhang hesitated. "At this hour? It's the middle of the night."
"Any hour. The kid's here, the parents need to know." Cadre Li walked back behind the desk and sat down. "Go."
Old Zhang muttered something and left.
The office fell silent. Cadre Li lit a cigarette, leaned back in his chair, studying Lin Jianguo. Lin Jianguo stood there, staring at his toes, motionless.
After a long time, the door pushed open.
Lin Dasuan walked in, wearing an old cotton jacket covered with snow.
Lin Jianguo looked up and froze.
It was snowing?
He looked out the window—it really was snowing. Fine snowflakes drifted in the light, a thin layer of white already on the ground.
Lin Dasuan walked over, glanced at his son, said nothing. He approached Cadre Li, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offered one.
"Director Li, the kid's young, doesn't understand..."
Cadre Li waved it away, didn't take the cigarette. He pointed with his chin at the pliers on the desk: "This isn't about understanding. Your kid comes in the middle of the night to cut wires behind the warehouse—that's sabotaging production, you know that?"
Lin Dasuan's face stiffened.
Those two words—"sabotaging production"—in that era, were no joke.
He lowered his head, his voice dropping even further: "Director Li, the kid really doesn't understand. Please, be lenient..."
"Lenient?" Cadre Li stood up. "Lin Dasuan, it's not that I don't want to give you face. Your kid comes during the day talking nonsense about a mountain fire on December 20th, then at night he's cutting wires. If this gets to the director's ears, how am I supposed to explain it?"
Lin Dasuan's head dropped lower.
He stood there, in that old cotton jacket covered with snow, shoulders slightly hunched. The lamplight fell on his graying hair, on his rough hands, on his bowed back.
Lin Jianguo looked at his father's back, his throat tightening as if something was stuck there.
He remembered, many years later, dreaming of this back countless times. At the fire scene, his father had also had his back to him, rushing into the flames. He'd shouted "Dad!" His father hadn't looked back. He'd shouted again. Still no looking back.
Later, there was no more Dad to shout to.
"Director Li." Lin Dasuan's voice brought him back.
Lin Dasuan bent down and bowed to Cadre Li.
Not a nod, not a stoop—a real bow, ninety degrees, his back arched like a drawn bow.
"I apologize to you on behalf of my kid," he said. "Please be lenient, don't report this up. I... I'll come tomorrow to carry water, fill all the center's water vats. All winter, I'll take care of it."
Cadre Li was stunned.
Lin Jianguo was stunned too.
Carry water. The forestry center was on the slope, the well at the foot of the mountain—a two-li round trip. A strong man carrying one load of water up had to rest three times. Fill all the center's water vats? How many loads would that take?
Lin Dasuan was still bent over, not yet straightened.
Cadre Li looked at him for a moment, sighed, waved his hand: "Alright, alright, get up."
Lin Dasuan straightened up, a conciliatory smile on his face.
Cadre Li pointed at Lin Jianguo: "Take the kid home, discipline him well. Next time, I really will report it."
"Yes, yes, of course, of course." Lin Dasuan nodded repeatedly, walked over, took his son's hand. "Let's go."
That hand was still rough, still hard, but now, holding Lin Jianguo's hand, it trembled slightly.
Not from cold.
From anger, or fear—Lin Jianguo couldn't tell.
He followed his father out of the office, into the snow.
The snow was falling harder now. Large flakes landed on their shoulders, on their heads, quickly turning them into snowmen. Lin Dasuan walked ahead, pace quick, silent. Lin Jianguo followed behind, staring at his father's back, at the snow accumulating on his shoulders.
They walked a long way. Suddenly Lin Dasuan stopped.
He didn't turn around, just stood there in the snow, back to his son.
"Why did you do it?" he asked.
His voice was muffled, pressed down by the snow, a bit indistinct when it reached Lin Jianguo.
Lin Jianguo said nothing.
Lin Dasuan turned around and looked at him. Snow fell on his eyebrows, on his stubble, making him look like a white-bearded old man.
"I'm asking you, why did you do it?"
Lin Jianguo looked at his father's face, watched the snowflakes land on it, melt, turn into droplets, flow down the wrinkles.
He didn't know what to say.
Tell him it was to save them? That they would both die in that fire? That he'd come back from sixty-five years in the future?
He couldn't say it.
He could only stand there in the snow, letting the flakes fall on him, turning into a small snowman.
Lin Dasuan looked at him for a long time.
Then he sighed, walked over, and brushed the snow off his son's head. His hand was cold, a bit icy against the scalp, but Lin Jianguo felt warmth.
"Let's go home," Lin Dasuan said.
He turned and continued walking, his pace slower now. Lin Jianguo caught up and walked beside him.
The snow continued to fall, covering their shoulders.