In Wuhan, the last ten days of every June are always a time of torrential downpours. It’s as if their frenzied nature has offended the Dragon King; the relentless rain shrouds the city for more than ten days straight.
A thousand years ago, Hankou was still a marsh. In the rainy summers, the wild ducks were happiest. Back then, there was endless rain from the sky and an inexhaustible supply of small fish in the lakes. As all of nature flourished, all the wild ducks had to do was dart about, twisting their nimble necks and eating nonstop. When full, they would nap under the shade of a tree. Waking at dusk, they would rush into the ponds and continue eating. The wild ducks in the Hankou marsh grew fat and plump, their feathers glossy and sleek.
Today, you no longer see people rowing boats on the streets. The avenues and alleys no longer flood, and mothers no longer have to take their children to stay with relatives and friends on higher ground.
When he was still in elementary school, Lin Song had always seen the city’s floods as a happy time. Every year, just as the high summer was beginning, he would start to long for the downpours to arrive.
When the city was submerged in water, the schools would close. The teachers wouldn’t even have time to assign homework before the rain had already flooded the school’s athletic fields. There were no phone calls, no text message alerts.
Freed from school, Lin Song would wade through waist-deep water to the chemical plant, drag over two floating oil drums, and lash a springboard made of bamboo across them. In half a day, his doomsday battleship was complete. In the days that followed, he would pilot his battleship, roaming the flooded streets. Only when the waters receded and his ship was stranded on the muddy sidewalk would he reluctantly sling on his bookbag and go back to school.
Forty-some years later, the same kind of downpour arrived right on schedule.
In the morning, Lin Song looked out his window at the spray kicked up from the rear of the cars on the elevated highway. The rain was too heavy. Going far for guozao—breakfast—was out of the question today. Slippers were the reliable choice.
Most of the people still running around in the rain were the young guys delivering food and packages. Who is born to be a delivery driver? Lin Song mused to himself.
Even with an umbrella, he couldn’t shield his long legs. The moment he stepped out of the building, the rain instantly soaked his shoes. Lin Song had seen on his phone that a Ph.D. in biology who had switched careers had also joined the ranks of delivery drivers. No wonder the SF Express courier, who used to be all smiles, now wore a face like a day-old bitter melon when they greeted each other.
He had just picked up his bowl of hot dry noodles and hadn’t even mixed them when the phone, lying on the table, began to vibrate.
“Boss Lin, we’re out of coffee beans.”
“Send over another six bags.”
“Okay, I’ll arrange for it to be sent on Monday.”
“Can you do tomorrow?”
“We’re all out today.”
“I have some samples on hand. I can bring them over this afternoon.”
“Ah, thank you for the trouble!”
Well, that settled it. After breakfast, Lin Song would have to brave the pouring rain to deliver coffee beans to Boss Li.
Boss Li’s shop was on the third floor of a deserted commercial complex. The parking spots near the elevator were all full, so Lin Song had to park in a much more distant spot.
The rain showed no sign of letting up. If he waited any longer, he would have to pay for parking when he left. Lin Song clutched the three bags of sample coffee beans in his left hand, stuffed his phone into his pants pocket, and ran toward the elevator bay, headlong into the deluge.
The icy rain was coming down in sheets, piercing his T-shirt and lashing his shoulders. He controlled himself, careful not to take strides that were too large. A soaked shirt would dry quickly enough, but a fall on the wet ground could mean broken bones and torn ligaments. He no longer had the privilege of enjoying the pleasure of a carefree run in the rain.
A BMW pulling out of the underground garage brushed past him with no intention of slowing down. Its wheels sliced through a puddle, and the splash of muddy water mixed with fine gravel pelted Lin Song’s ankle bone.
Fuck, that hurts. You son of a bitch, Lin Song cursed inwardly.
Boss Li’s wife sat behind the counter, playing on her phone. Standing to one side, Boss Li took the coffee beans from Lin Song and turned to ask his wife, “How did you sleep last night?”
“I was shivering from the cold. It’s like a fake summer.”
Lin Song had once told a friend from Shanghai that he ate hot dry noodles because he liked the leisurely air exuded by the sesame-paste-covered noodles.
Now, Lin Song still went to Dehua Lou for a bowl of hot dry noodles at 6.50 RMB, adding a freshly fried egg on top. This breakfast combination was still considerably cheaper than a McDonald’s breakfast combo. When he had the freedom to choose, Lin Song chose cheap.
In the pouring rain, Lin Song opened the umbrella Boss Li had lent him and walked out the door. This was a gesture of sincere respect for the business deal he was about to complete.
Yesterday was the Summer Solstice.