The Sorghum Fields

The feeling of dread passed over me like a cold hand reaching inside me. That cold feeling that means many terrible things are in your future. A part of my mind said one true terrible word, “doomed.” I looked at what I had done. Mr. Ma’s plow, one of his most prized possessions, was now a broken mess, embedded in the dirt, covered with soot and remains of wheat and corn that had unfortunately been in the way of the runaway plow, crashing down the hill, an unstoppable force, that is, for 30 seconds. How had this happened? What had gone wrong? Why was I, of all people, the one to blame? Well, the story starts this morning in the middle of summer.

I woke up to the unmistakable smell of breakfast, that sweet, fresh aroma of shortbread. I got out of bed and went into the living room, where I found mom kneading some dough, and the outdoor oven baking a dozen or so flatbreads.

“Good morning Mao.” Mom said, quickly glancing at me with a smile, then going back to kneading dough.

Mom usually wore a neutral smile, which meant certain things at times. You could usually know her mood by looking at her eyes, calm brown eyes, one of which had a small orange dot in the lower pupil. her hair was a dark brown, put neatly into a bun, and her body straight and powerful, and she was the higher power of the house. She had almost had her feet bound when she was little, but her mother refused, not even thinking of the the idea of her daughters feet being crippled. You wouldn’t want to be on her bad side, mainly because of her stare, which could make even the strongest fighters of the emperor's guards cower with the power of her gaze. I took a look at the dough, which was now well kneaded and ready to prepare for the oven.

“Could I get the flatbread out of the oven?” I asked passionately, hoping to get a look at the pieces of dough, steaming hot and incredibly delicious with honey and rice.

“Of course!” Said mom with a pleasant ring in her voice, which told me she was in a good mood today.

“Sha, Sha!”(that’s what she called me since I was seven. I hate that name. Why does she still call me that)? ”I think we should give some to the Han family! Can you give the batch in the oven to them?” Yes! Now I don’t have to smuggle anything!

“sure!” I said, sounding more cheerful than ever. I went over to the oven and checked the flatbread. After about five minutes it was done cooking, and I opened the door to the clay oven and quickly grabbed the pan of hot flatbread. I was soon at the small shack that the Han family lived in, and Mr. Han Hushang, my friend Nuo’s father, was looking down at me.

I smiled. “Good morning Mr. Hushang,” I said a bit too loud. “My mother Ri wanted me to give these flatbreads to you.”

Mr Hushang stared at the flatbread and then smiled at me. “How kind of her! Tell her that we are very grateful. We could not be honored more.”

Here goes nothing I thought. “I was wondering if your son, Han Nuo could come with me to the sorghum fields?” (Nuo was my best friend. We did all kinds of stuff with each other when we were able to play together.) Mr Hushang’s smile faded. Had I said something wrong? Usually he always let me play with Nuo no questions asked.

“Sorry Mao Shan.” (that’s my full name) “Nuo has disobeyed the rules of the house again. He has broken the father to son law. The most important law of Confucianism. You see, the way of ……….” He then started a whole lecture about how Confucianism was the most important way of connection and power of something called a hierarchy and maintaining the blah blah blah. In my point of view, Confucianism is a way of having those who are older have control of those who are younger (Nuo and I, plus my sister Li), so that they can control our actions. He finally finished his lecture. “So he’s grounded?” I asked (although I already knew the answer).

“Yes” said Mr. Hushang. I decided to end the conversation there. I gave him the flatbreads and sulked home, where I found my sister, my dad and mom all at the table waiting for me. I went to the table where they were all sitting and ate my breakfast slowly and quietly.

After breakfast my mom ruined everything. “Shan, I’d like you to help Mr Way Bin with planting the corn in the fields, today’s going to be hot, and a Fire Ox like you just loves being in the hot weather.” I gave a slight glare at mom. I hated when she related things from the Chinese Zodiac to real life. The Chinese zodiac is a depiction to what your newborn will be like if they are born in that year. I was born on the year of the Fire Ox, and I’ll admit my personality does kinda relate to what the depiction of the Fire ox , but that’s not the point! I don’t mind working on the crops, but I can’t stand working with Way Bin.

Way Bin is a tall, young hardworking man who always works on the crops each morning. He has blueish greenish eyes, and a very direct stare. He is also into the idea of Confucianism. He thinks that everyone should be given buckets of information that almost no one can process. In fact, almost every adult I know believes in the law of Confucianism. Even so, I don’t think my parents like him, But I knew that in my family “I’d like you to” means “You will,” so I had no choice but to go to the crops with Way Bin. I met him in the northern area of the corn fields with two camels pulling a large plow. But not just any plow, Mr. Ma’s most prized possession. An equipment piece that’s a work of art. It has engravings all over the wood and a long rope attaching the camels, a true masterpiece. I had never been so connected to a thing that does not contain life. I had to try it out. “Excuse me Way Bin sir?” I called. He looked up from his work. “Oh hello Shan! I suppose that your mother told you to help me?”

“Yes.” I said mildly enough. “I was wondering if I could use that plow. I am intrigued by its mastery.” Way Bin paused, thinking to himself. Calculating, then he looked back at me.

“Sure why not?” He told me the steps to working the plow and how to keep the camels steady. I was only half listening, distracted by the magnificent plow, which stood there waiting to be used. I was mostly looking at the center engraving on the plow, Which means “Dao” or path. The most important word for taoism. When he was done talking I immediately took hold of the handles and, very stupidly, ran with the plow. The camels, becoming excited, ripped out of their harnesses and ran away, but one camel had one of the harnesses stuck on its foot, and I soon saw the plow being dragged after the camel, going down the slope of the corn field, rolling and rolling, crashing and breaking, until it was at the bottom. Dead, nothing left of it. Only a pile of broken wood. And I, I was doomed.