“From the Miyun Reservoir, the villagers there happened to be coming into the city to deliver fish, so I rode back with them on their tractor. Now I smell all fishy. I’ll go home and change my clothes first. Little Brian, go take a look in the yard—there are lots of big fish!” Brian Carter’s mother didn’t stay long at all; after exchanging a few words with the old man, she complained about the strong fishy smell on herself and hurried home to change.

Because of her profession, Brian Carter’s mother is a bit of a neat freak. She was a little better when she was younger, mainly because conditions were poor back then and it wasn’t possible to be particular even if you wanted to. But as she got older and living conditions improved, her standards for household cleanliness became higher and higher. When Brian Carter got married, his wife once privately made a single request to him: she absolutely could not live with Brian Carter’s parents, as she couldn’t stand living every day as if under quarantine.

“Little Brian, bring out the big basin from the house, the fish are still alive!” came the shrill cry of the younger aunt from the yard. In those days, except for holidays when you might be able to buy ribbonfish, other kinds of fish, meat, and eggs were rarely seen. Her shout not only brought Brian Carter out, but also drew out all the aunts and great-aunts from the yard. They gathered in the center, critiquing the sack full of live fish.

Some discussed the best ways to cook the fish, some argued about what kinds of fish they actually were, and some praised Brian Carter’s mother for her resourcefulness in getting so many live fish—something you couldn’t buy even if you had money. Then they’d complain about their own men, saying they couldn’t even get a single fish scale. After all, it was a big communal courtyard, with both close and not-so-close relationships, and all kinds of talk.

“Dad, they’re all silver carp, not tasty. Only two grass carp are passable!” Brian Carter also leaned at the doorway to watch the commotion. When his aunt and uncle dumped all the fish from the sack into the big washbasin, he immediately recognized that most were two or three jin silver carp—specifically, white silver carp. Northerners basically don’t eat these; they have too many bones, and people in the north are impatient and don’t have the time to pick out all those tiny bones.

“What do you know about fish? Don’t butt in!” Brian Carter’s father didn’t believe a word his son said and didn’t take it to heart.

“Actually, Little Brian is right—these are all unlucky silver carp, just two grass carp. Little Brian, take those two grass carp to your grandpa in the kitchen, and the rest can be divided up. Even if they’re bony, it’s still meat—at least we can get a taste.” Brian Carter’s grandfather stood behind the window with his hands behind his back, glanced outside, and then sent his little grandson to grab the fish. If an adult took all the good fish and left the bony ones for the neighbors, it would seem petty. But if Brian Carter did it, no one could say anything.

“Alright!” Brian Carter finally got a chance to show off. He ran into the middle of the yard on his short legs, reached straight into the mouth of a grass carp that was still gulping for air, hooked its jaw with his finger, and lifted out a fish weighing over three jin. Then, using the same method, he grabbed the other grass carp. Although he was small and not very strong, and couldn’t lift the whole fish off the ground, he could still drag them by the tails, and just like that, he hauled both fish into his family’s kitchen.

“Hey, you little rascal, you’ve got a sharp eye! There were only two fish worth stewing, and you took them both. Didn’t even leave one for your Grandpa Harris!” Among the old neighbors gathered in the yard, a middle-aged man with a face full of pockmarks saw Brian Carter’s move and immediately shouted. This was the old man from the Tai family in the inner yard, a bit younger than Brian Carter’s grandmother. He called Brian Carter’s grandparents “old sister” and “old brother.” Since he was Mongolian, Brian Carter’s grandparents called him Little Dan, and the older folks in the alley did the same.

“You know, Little Brian is really quick at catching fish. I wonder who taught him. Boys should be brave—he even dares to stick his hand in a live fish’s mouth. Old sister, your grandson is worth doting on. So young, and already knows how to look out for the family.” Another man about the same age as Grandpa Harris spoke up. His surname was Zhang, and Brian Carter also had to call him grandpa. He was of the same generation as Brian Carter’s grandparents and lived next door to them.

Chapter 7: Taking the First Step

“Nonsense, this kid is such a scatterbrain. Little ancestor, don’t let the fish bite you…” Brian Carter’s grandmother couldn’t be bothered to look at the fish anymore. She shuffled after Brian Carter, afraid her grandson would get bitten. She had no idea whether the fish had teeth or could bite; to her, if it was alive, it could bite.

“Mom! I’m home! What’s for dinner tonight? I’m starving! …Hey, sis, whose fish are these? There are so many!” At that moment, another young man walked in through the gate, wearing an oversized green army uniform that was almost like a robe, with a blue cloth schoolbag slung loosely around his neck. One look and you could tell he wasn’t a model student. This was Brian Carter’s uncle, who was in middle school.

“They’re ours. Second sister brought them back, and there are sunflower seeds and hawthorn berries too. Where have you been causing trouble again? Look how dirty your pants are!” Brian Carter’s Aunt Bennett treated Brian Carter and his Little Uncle Carter differently. After all, Little Uncle Carter was her own younger brother, and no matter how much trouble he caused, he was still closer to her than her even more mischievous nephew.