Chapter 4
Grandma led Mom out into the yard and went to grab the feather-plucking tools right away.
"The chickens are already dead. We can't just let them go to waste," Grandma said. "We only ever kill one for holidays, but now let's just use them all.
"We are doing it for Peter and ourselves. Maybe seeing all these chickens, the villagers will feel for us and help out a little more."
Mom was still in a daze. But even then, she blurted out, "Grace, if the chickens ate those poisoned potatoes, is it really okay for people to eat them?"
Grandma replied without a hint of worry, "Don't worry about it. Chickens aren't like people. Chicken blood keeps evil spirits at bay, and their meat drives away bad luck. It's perfectly safe to eat."
Her voice rang out, strong and certain. She spoke like she was making a solemn vow, absolutely convinced.
And just like that, it was settled.
I picked up some firewood and started a fire.
Grandma plucked the chickens' feathers and let the blood spill out.
That evening, the villagers came over for the reception just like they said they would.
Bowl after bowl of steaming chicken soup was slurped down, filling everyone's stomachs and warming them from the inside out.
For these farmers who rarely tasted meat, it was like fuel for their bodies. Suddenly, they felt a surge of boundless energy.
Some mourned, some chatted, and others offered comfort.
The farmers here were thrifty to the bone. Not a single scrap of meat or drop of fat was left behind.
Every last drop of those big pots of chicken soup ended up in the villagers' stomachs.
Grandma couldn't bear to take any of the meat for herself. She just had a little chicken soup.
Mom was busy tending to the guests and didn't have time to eat herself.
Justin hadn't tasted chicken soup in ages, so he ladled himself a big bowl. But Mom snatched it away before he could even take a bite.
Mom scolded, "This is your dad's funeral, not a time to feast. Why are you eating so happily? Come with me and pay your respects to your uncles. With your dad gone, we'll rely on their help in the future."
Justin grumbled as he followed her, not even getting a single sip of the chicken soup in the end.
I quietly stayed by the stove and just kept feeding the fire with more wood.
David scooped me a bowl of chicken soup.
He reminded me to drink it while it was hot.
I took the bowl, put it away on the table, and said, "Mom and Justin haven't had any yet. I'll save this for them. I'm fine, not craving it."
David patted my head and said, "If only my daughter were as good as you. That stubborn girl just loves to argue with me."
Most folks around here always favored sons over daughters.
David had two daughters, but so his youngest son could go to a good school, he sent both girls off to work at a factory.
When one of his daughters got bullied there, David just shrugged and married her off to some punk, taking the opportunity to ask for 3 thousand.
The villagers all thought David had it good.
They wished something like that would happen to them, too.
Before long, lots of girls who'd quit school were packed off to that factory as well.
I was really curious what went on in that factory.
Someone told me it was a brothel.
If I hadn't ended up disabled in my previous life, I probably would've been sent there, too.
Once the reception was over, everyone finally left.
Mom and Grandma were worn out, and even Justin was tired out too.
I was the only one left, cleaning up.
I kept scrubbing and washing until it was way past midnight.
By the end, my hands were swollen and ghostly pale from all that soaking.
Suddenly, I heard Justin groaning, the sound coming from inside the house.
Mom didn't hesitate. She hoisted Justin onto her back and hurried out of the courtyard.
Grandma, clutching her stomach in agony, struggled to keep up behind them.
"Justin, don't be scared, you'll be fine," Mom said, trying to comfort him. "We'll be at the hospital soon, just hang in there. Your stomach just hurts because you didn't eat anything tonight. That's definitely it."
Her face was pale as a sheet as she disappeared into the darkness.
Just then, the whole quiet village was suddenly in a stir. All the neighbors turned on their lights.
Cries and groans mixed with the sound of hurried footsteps, sometimes coming closer, sometimes fading away into the night.
The next morning, folks from the clinic came by.
And some cops in uniform came along with them.
They stopped by our place, asking for any chicken bones and soup left over from last night.
I handed them the slop bucket I'd already set aside.
They kept the samples as evidence and tested them right on the spot.
It turned out to be rat poison again.
The cops asked me what happened to the potatoes.
I said, "Grandma fed them to the chickens."
They asked, "When your grandma handled the chickens, were they dead or alive?"
I replied, "They were already dead."
Then they asked, "Did your mom know the chickens had eaten the poisoned potatoes?"
I said, "She knew."
My three simple answers led Mom to be sentenced to ten years in prison.
The charge was "poisoning."
Grandma should've been punished just like Mom.
But the villagers and the cops all thought Grandma was just too old, and didn't mean any harm, so they let her off the hook.
So, Grandma came back home.
But in the end, only Grandma came back.
That night, a few folks in the village lost their lives, and Justin was among them.
Justin had eaten too much of that tainted chicken, and even after they rushed him to the hospital and tried to pump his stomach, they still couldn't save him.
When the doctor pronounced Justin dead, Mom just couldn't accept it.
"I didn't give Justin any chicken at all. How could he die because of chicken?" Mom cried, her voice trembling with disbelief.
Mom never knew I'd secretly saved a bowl of chicken just for Justin.
She also had no idea that Grandma, out of love for her grandson, had secretly saved an entire chicken for Justin.