1992: Starting with the Second Generation of Shipowners

Chapter 17 Typhoon

A typhoon struck Moon Island in June.

The typhoon arrived in the evening. The morning had been sunny, the sea as flat as a tabletop. Around noon, the sky began to change; clouds piled up in the southeast, forming a gray mountain that slowly pressed in. Old Fang squatted on the rocks, watching the clouds for a long time, then stood up, dusted off his trousers, and said, "A typhoon, a big one."

The boat repair shop immediately sprang into action. Four boats were moored in the stone trough, and two more were being supported on the boat racks.

Old Fang directed the reinforcement of all the boats.

The cable was wrapped around the rock pile twice more, and the end of the cable was tied into a knot.

Ding Haisheng reinforced the newly erected bridge on the west side of the boat with two steel cables, running it from bow to stern.

All the tools were put away in the stone house: wrenches and pliers were put away one by one; the welding machine was wrapped in three layers of plastic sheeting and tied tightly with rope; the gas cutting equipment was pushed into the house, and the oxygen cylinders and acetylene cylinders were placed separately against the wall and secured with iron chains.

Ah Hai and Ah Guang gathered the dried mackerel from under the eaves, put them in a snakeskin bag, and stuffed it under the bed. They covered the loquat seedlings with half a tattered basket and weighed them down with stones on all four sides.

Lin Xiu'e ran home to help her mother pack up. The dried shrimp in the yard were put into a vat, covered with a wooden board and weighed down with stones; the chickens were herded into the coop, and the door was locked with wire.

In the evening, the wind came.

It didn't grow gradually; it came crashing down all at once. The sea turned from grayish-blue to grayish-white, wave after wave surging onto the rocky beach, crashing and shattering into white foam, splashing more than two meters high. The rain flew horizontally, stinging our faces.

The people at the ship repair shop were all in the stone house. Lao Fang, Qiu Changhai, Ding Haisheng, Guo Dayong, Ahai, Aguang, and Jiang Haiping, seven people in total, were crammed into a room of about ten square meters. A kerosene lamp hung from the roof beam, its flame flickering wildly in the wind that seeped in through the cracks in the door.

Old Fang squatted at the door, which was left a crack, and looked outside. The four boats in the stone trough were tossed up and down in the waves, their mooring lines taut. Each time a boat was pushed up by a wave, the mooring lines made a muffled sound.

The boat on the western raft was firmly secured to the pulley with steel cables. When a wave hit it, the boat swayed for a moment, but then stabilized.

"It was worth the effort to moor this boat. If it were still moored at that end, the waves would have swept it away long ago." Old Fang widened the crack in the door a little, and a gust of wind blew in, causing the kerosene lamp to sway violently. Ah Guang quickly reached out to steady the lampshade.

"Master Fang, when will the typhoon pass?"

"It's too short, one night; it'll be too long, tomorrow afternoon."

Ah Guang withdrew his hand. Lin Xiu'e wasn't in the house; she was at home with her mother and sister. Jiang Haiping peered through the crack in the door towards Moon Island, but it was pitch black and he couldn't see anything except rain and wind.

The wind is strongest at midnight.

The door of the stone house swayed violently in the wind, the latch creaking. Ding Haisheng stood up and braced his back against the door, while Guo Dayong stood up and braced the other side. The two of them braced themselves for a while until the wind subsided slightly before sitting down.

Ah-Guang was asleep in the corner, leaning against the snakeskin bag that contained dried mackerel. Ah-Hai took off his coat and covered him with it.

Old Fang took out a cigarette, struck a match, but the match was blown out by the wind that seeped in through the crack in the door. He struck another one, covered it with his hand, lit it, took a puff, and the smoke he exhaled was immediately blown away by the wind.

"Back in the 1960s, there was a typhoon that was even stronger than this one. I was still working at the factory then, and a new ship on the slipway almost capsized in the wind. Everyone in the factory used ropes to pull it up, and they did it all night."

Ahai asked, "Did you manage to hold on?"

Old Fang said, "It's been pulled back. That ship was later launched and named Binhai. It's been running for over twenty years and is still running now."

Qiu Changhai leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, then suddenly spoke: "I sewed the seams on that boat."

Old Fang glanced at him: "I know. You hadn't retired yet back then. You were the best seamstress in the whole factory."

Qiu Changhai didn't speak again. The lantern swayed, its flame lengthening and then shrinking back.

As dawn approached, the wind subsided somewhat.

Old Fang opened the door and went out. The rain was still falling, fine and dense, and it didn't hurt as much when it hit his face.

All four boats were still in the stone trough; two of the mooring ropes were worn, but the boats themselves were unharmed. The boat on the western raft was also steady, its steel cable taut, and its pulley stuck firmly on the rail.

The plastic sheeting on the welding machine was lifted by a corner by the wind. Ding Haisheng went over and wrapped it up again, then tied it tightly with a rope.

The loquat seedlings were covered under the broken basket, and A-Guang lifted it up to take a look.

Two tender leaves are still there, with water droplets clinging to them.

After the typhoon, Moon Island was left in a mess.

The pier was littered with seaweed and broken planks blown ashore. Several small, poorly secured sampans had been overturned by the waves and were now upside down on the rocky beach.

Old Sun's sampan was also inside; the seams on the hull were still Lin Xiu'e's work, and they were exposed to the sky. The roof tiles of several houses on the island had been torn off, and half of the courtyard wall of one house had collapsed.

The damage to the ship repair site was minimal: the four boats in the stone trough were safe and sound, and two new ropes were replaced; the stone house leaked a little, so Lao Fang used a basin to catch the rain; Ahai's notebook for registering old items got a corner wet from the rain seeping in through the drawer, so he quickly took it out to dry, unfolding it page by page on the reef and weighing it down with small stones.

Lin Xiu'e's chicken coop collapsed, and three chickens escaped. Lin Xiu'e and her two younger sisters searched the island for a long time, finding two chickens, but the third was still missing. The lid of the shrimp tank in the yard was overturned, and the shrimp were soaked in rainwater, ruining the entire tank.

Lin's mother squatted by the vat, scooping out handfuls of soaked shrimp shells and putting them into a winnowing basket, saying, "I'll dry them to feed the chickens." Her back wasn't fully healed yet, and she had to stand up and lean on the edge of the vat to recover after squatting for a while.

Lin Xiu'e said, "I'll do it." Her mother stopped her, saying, "You can't do this little bit of work."

Jiang Haiping helped rebuild the chicken coop.

It was built with rocks from the reef, topped with an old ship plank, and weighed down with stones. The two chickens that were found were locked inside and huddled in a corner, motionless.

At noon, Wang Cunzhi arrived on his Jialing 70 motorcycle.

The motorcycle got covered in mud. After entering the ship repair shop, I first walked around the stone trough, then looked at the ship rafts to the west. After that, I squatted on the reef and lit a cigarette.

"The county held a meeting and said that the typhoon caused considerable damage to the entire county. A section of the fishing company's dock collapsed and is currently under repair."

Old Fang asked, "Will the ship repair shop's work be affected?"

Wang Cunzhi said, "The fishing company's four boats scheduled for the second half of the year may have to be delayed until the dock is repaired. The aquatic products company's dock is fine, everything is normal."

He finished his cigarette and stood up: "You didn't suffer much damage here?"

"Two cables broke. The stone house is leaking," Jiang Haiping said.

Wang Cunzhi nodded, got on his motorcycle, and drove off.

In the afternoon, a stranger arrived at the Moon Island pier.

He was in his thirties, wearing a dark blue work uniform with oil stains on the cuffs. He rode a dilapidated bicycle with a canvas tool bag strapped to the back seat.

He parked his car by the dock and squatted down to look at a sampan that had been capsized by the waves.

That belongs to Old Zhou's family on the island. There's a crack in the bottom of the boat, which runs from the bow all the way to the middle of the boat.

He squatted there for a while, then took out a chisel and a hammer from his tool bag, along with a ball of hemp fibers and a jar of prepared tung oil putty.

Old Sun came running from the dock, and this time he wasn't going to get away: "Hey! Wait a minute! Where are you from?"

The man looked up: "From Hongjia Island. My surname is Song."

Old Sun said, "Hongjia Island is twenty li from here. You came all the way here just to repair the boat?"

Master Song didn't answer, and lowered his head to continue cleaning the groove.

Old Sun squatted down beside him and watched him work, then fell silent after a while.

This man's chisel cutting technique was exactly the same as Qiu Changhai's: the chisel blade was placed at the junction of the deep and shallow sections, and when it was struck, the rotten wood would crack, while the good board would remain still.

Old Sun stood up and ran towards the boat repair shop. When he ran into the yard, Qiu Changhai was squatting next to the sampan, sewing.

"Master Qiu! A new guy has come to the dock, and his ship repair techniques are exactly the same as yours!"

Qiu Changhai paused for a moment with his chisel: "Understood." He didn't move.

Old Sun stood there for a while and then left. Qiu Changhai continued sewing, the chisel striking the hemp fibers, the sound heavier than usual.

After dark, Master Song repaired Old Zhou's sampan.

He carved a groove in the crack in the bottom plank, inserted a new plank, stuffed it tightly with hemp fiber, and smoothed it with tung oil putty. He put his tools into his canvas bag, stood up, patted his trousers, and pushed his bicycle toward the seawall.

I paused briefly as I passed the entrance to the boat repair shop. I looked up at the wooden sign: four boats were moored in the stone trough, and another was propped up on the western side, with two tender loquat leaves peeking out from the circle of broken seashells. The door to the stone house was closed, and several basins of prepared tung oil putty, covered with damp cloths, sat on the windowsill.

He stood there for a while, then pushed the cart and continued walking.

After walking a few steps, Qiu Changhai came out of the stone house.

"Come in."

Master Song stopped and turned around. Qiu Changhai had already turned and gone into the house. He propped up his bicycle at the gate and went inside.

Inside the stone house, a kerosene lamp hung from the roof beam. Old Fang squatted in the corner smoking, while Jiang Haiping sat beside the iron-framed bed. Qiu Changhai sat on the edge of the bed, holding a chisel, not looking at Master Song.

"When did you get back?"

"last month."

"How many years did you work in the South?"

Three years.

"What are you doing?"

"I've worked in a shipyard. I've done caulking, welding, and main engine work."

Qiu Changhai put down his chisel: "What are you doing back here?"

Mr. Song was silent for a moment: "My father had a stroke. He's paralyzed. I'm his only son."

The room fell silent. Old Fang stubbed out his cigarette. Qiu Changhai picked up the chisel and then put it down again.

"Is the stitching technique frequently used in shipyards in the south?"

"There are few wooden-hulled boats. We spend most of our time welding. We only do the grouting work when regular customers specifically request it."

Qiu Changhai nodded: "Come to work tomorrow. Meals will be provided, and the salary will be the same as Ding Haisheng's."

Master Song stood for a moment, then turned and walked out. But when he reached the door, he turned back. "Master, I also repaired Old Sun's sampan after the last typhoon. I replaced the plank that cracked at the bow. As for Old Zhou's sampan, I cleaned the crack in the hull. You taught me all the techniques, I haven't forgotten them."

I pushed open the door and went out. The sound of the bicycle chain gradually faded into the distance.

Qiu Changhai sat on the edge of the bed, not moving for a long time.

Old Fang lit another cigarette: "Your apprentice is better than your son. He's been away for three years, but he hasn't lost his skills. He's even learned welding and computer hardware."

Qiu Changhai didn't speak. He stood up, walked to the windowsill, lifted the damp cloth to look at the tung oil putty that Lin Xiu'e had mixed, and then covered it back up.

"Make him crack a hole in the ground for me to see tomorrow."

Master Song arrived early the next morning.

As dawn broke, the old bicycle was already parked at the entrance of the ship repair shop. He was squatting on the rocks, his canvas tool bag beside him. He stood up when Qiu Changhai came out.

Qiu Changhai led him to the stone trough and pointed to a sampan that needed repair: "Three planks at the bottom of the boat are rotten and need to be replaced. Twist them. I'll watch."

Master Song squatted down. He took out a chisel from his tool bag and began by chipping away at the rotten wood. He placed the chisel blade at the junction of the shallow and deep grooves, and tapped down. The rotten wood split open, but the good board remained still. One tap, then another. The groove was chipped smooth and to the perfect depth. The new board was then inserted, fitting perfectly.

He tore the hemp fibers evenly, stuffed them one by one into the gaps, and tamped them down with a blunt chisel. He brought the tung oil putty himself, scooped it out of a jar, mixed it to the right consistency, applied it to the hemp fibers, and smoothed it out.

After finishing the seam, Qiu Changhai squatted down to examine it. He didn't say anything. He stood up and left.

Master Song remained squatting in place. Old Fang walked over, squatted down, and looked at the crack: "If your master doesn't speak, then he's gone too far."

Master Song cleaned the chisel and put it back in his tool bag.

In the afternoon, when Lin Xiu'e came to mix the tung oil putty, she found a jar on the windowsill. Inside was a perfectly mixed tung oil putty.

She asked Qiu Changhai, "Who arranged this?"

Qiu Changhai said, "The one surnamed Song is in charge. From now on, you'll work with him on the sewing."

Lin Xiu'e was taken aback for a moment: "What about me?"

"You mix the tung oil putty for him. Watch him mortar and seal the joints. He's faster than me."

Lin Xiu'e didn't say anything. She squatted down, scooped out some tung oil residue from the jar, and rubbed it with her fingers.

It was mixed perfectly; the ratio of lime to tung oil was just right, and it wasn't sticky or rough when rubbed on her fingers. She put the tung oil mixture back and put the lid back on.

As they finished work in the evening, Ahai came over and asked, "Master Song, Hongjia Island is twenty li from here. Do you ride forty li round trip every day?"

Master Song said, "Hmm."

Ah Hai then asked, "Where are we having lunch?"

Master Song said, "I brought some dry rations."

Ah Hai stopped asking.

During lunch, Master Song squatted alone by the rocks and took out an aluminum lunchbox from his tool bag.

Inside was cold rice and pickled vegetables. Lin Xiu'e brought over a bowl of fish ball soup and placed it next to him. Master Song looked at the fish ball soup, then lowered his head and drank it.

At the end of May, a new face arrived at the ship repair shop.

He wasn't there to repair the boat; he was looking for Master Song. A young man in his early twenties arrived on a red Jialing 70 motorcycle. He parked at the gate and took off his helmet.

"Is Master Song here?"

Master Song crawled out from under the sampan. Seeing the newcomer, he paused, surprised. "Little Zhou? What brings you here?"

Xiao Zhou propped up his motorcycle: "Master Song, after you left, the shipyard had several wooden-hulled boats needing lacquering work done, and the clients specifically requested you. I told them you went back to your hometown, so they found someone else. The boss asked me to come and see how things are going with you. If it's alright, he'll recommend you for any future lacquering work."

Master Song was silent for a moment: "My father is paralyzed. He can't walk."

Xiao Zhou said, "I know, I didn't come here to tell you to go back."

Jiang Haiping walked over. Master Song introduced him, "This is Jiang Haiping from the Moon Island ship repair shop." He then pointed to Xiao Zhou, "This is my former apprentice at the Southern Shipyard, Xiao Zhou."

Xiao Zhou nodded to Jiang Haiping.

Jiang Haiping said, "Go in and sit down."

Xiao Zhou said, "I can't ride anymore, I have to rush back." He turned the motorcycle around and said, "Master Song, I'll talk to the boss. If there's any work, please refer me." He then got on the motorcycle and rode away.

Old Fang squatted on the reef, watching the motorcycle drive away: "Your apprentice talks more than you do."

Master Song didn't reply. He squatted down and continued sewing.

That evening, Jiang Haiping sat in the stone house doing accounts.

Fourteen boats were repaired in May, with a gross profit of just over three thousand. Master Song arrived in less than ten days, and the sewing work doubled in speed.

Old Fang pushed the door open and came in: "Master Song is a skilled craftsman, a man of few words, and hardworking. But his father is paralyzed, so he can't walk. Hongjia Island is twenty miles from here, and he rides his bicycle back and forth every day. He can manage for a day or two, but not year after year."

"Master Fang, are you suggesting that he stay here?"

"The only place for people to live at the ship repair site is this stone hut. There's a metal bunk bed, enough for two people to squeeze in, but not enough for three. If we're going to let him live here, we'll have to build another one."

Jiang Haiping thought for a moment: "When the rocky beach on the west side is leveled, there will still be an open space. We can build an asbestos-roofed shed that people can live in."

Old Fang said, "Okay." The two of them squatted on the rocks and drew on the ground with chalk—the asbestos tile shed didn't need to be too big, just enough for a bed and a bedside table. It would be against the rocks on the east side, with a door on the west and a small window on the south. The materials would be asbestos tiles, wood, and broken bricks, so it wouldn't cost much.

Old Fang stood up, dusted off his hands, and said, "Construction will begin the day after tomorrow."

Master Song was unaware that a shed was to be built for him.

He arrived at dawn as usual the next day. He propped his bicycle up at the gate, placed his canvas tool bag on the rocks, and squatted down to begin sewing. Lin Xiu'e had already prepared the tung oil putty and placed it on the windowsill.

Three basins, neatly arranged, covered with a damp cloth.

She arrived early today as well. She laid out the tung oil putty and squatted down to watch Master Song sew the seams.

After watching for a while, he asked, "Master Song, how many years have you been learning sewing?"

Five years.

"Do they also do seams in shipyards in the south?"

"Twisting. Wooden-hulled boats are rare; most of the time it's the welders."

Lin Xiu'e then asked, "How long does it take to learn to be a welder?"

"Two years."

She lowered her head and drew a line on the rock with her finger: "Master Qiu said that my skills are good enough to graduate. But all I know is how to sew."

Master Song paused for a moment with his chisel: "If you can do one thing well, and master one thing, that's enough."

Continue twisting the hemp fibers. The chisel strikes the hemp fibers, again and again.

A sea breeze blew in, lifting a corner of the damp cloth on the windowsill. Lin Xiu'e reached out and pressed it down.

Three basins of tung oil putty stood there quietly, waiting to be scooped away spoonful by spoonful and sifted into the cracks of those wooden boats.