Stretching out her arm, she asked Mrs. Yi to help her stand up. Then she began to inch her way into the yard. Ginger covered her eyes; she couldn’t watch.

Mrs. Yi supported her. Filled with joy, they moved to the long wooden bench and sat down side by side.

“I’m overjoyed,” the old woman whispered.

“Me, too.” Mrs. Yi shivered.

At the same time, they saw a group of people happily passing by outside the gate.

“It’s Grandpa Qin’s relatives escorting him to the mountains. He is eighty-five years old. That’s a long life,” Ginger said.

“He was an experienced fisherman, and he had so many good days . . .”

Saying this, Aunt Yossi fell into a reverie. She paled.

Mrs. Yi motioned to Ginger. They gently lifted Aunt Yossi up, carried her inside, and put her into bed. Aunt Yossi’s body became very light.

Mrs. Yi gave the medicine to Ginger and quietly told her how to use it. The young woman glanced sharply at her. Mrs. Yi felt the hostility and was depressed. Why did she do that? What was going on in her mind?

“I’ll come again tomorrow.”

“Will you still come after she dies?” Ginger asked tartly.

“Of course. That’s what your mother wished. But perhaps not so often.”

“This, this . . . Why? You don’t have to.”

“I do, because you are also my family.”

“Oh, I see. Mrs. Yi, I’m afraid.”

“Of what? Afraid to see dead people?”

“Yes, and I’m also afraid of death. I can’t sleep at night. I think I must have a heart problem.”

“Who’s the doctor here?”

“You are, of course. Do you agree with me?”

“No, you’re wrong. People here love you. I do.”

“My heart is beating very fast. You love me? I need some time to think it over. Will you come tomorrow?”

“I will come.”

Mrs. Yi looked around from a distance, and saw Ginger standing there watching her. Ah, Ginger had been married into Yun Village for so many years, yet her ideas were still very different from those of Yun villagers. Mrs. Yi shivered, she was so worried about this young woman. She wanted to shout at her, “Death is not so terrible, my dear. You’re wrong!”

Walking in the field, feeling the warm south wind blowing, Mrs. Yi recalled something from the past. Once when she was about eight years old and her mother was still alive, some grown-ups were sitting outside, talking. They probably thought she was asleep in the inner room because it was late at night.

“Is she going to get better?” a neighbor asked.

“There’s no cure. We have to let things run their course,” her mother sighed.

She cried loudly.

Mother burst into the room and held her so tight—as if trying to push her back into the womb. “It’ll be all right, it’ll be all right . . . ,” Mother repeated, and put a piece of rock candy in her mouth. Sucking the rock candy, she finally realized that she wouldn’t die soon.