Chapter 013: The Proper Posture for Catching a Turtle

After the meal, Grandma began tidying up the dishes.

Originally, Wang Qiang had intended to stand up and take his leave, but Grandpa pulled him back for a chat.

“When I was your age,” Grandpa reclined in his chair, reminiscing about the past, “I used to go into the water every summer day to catch fish. It was mostly because I craved meat and wanted something savory, but I never had your cleverness to sell them—and certainly never made so much money.”

Old age brings a touch of loquaciousness. When Wang Qiang was young, he often listened to Grandpa’s stories about Second Uncle’s days in the army: tales of machine-gunning planes, comrades blown up and left with just one leg. Grandpa was a gifted storyteller, making every tale captivating. Wang Qiang shifted his little stool forward and said, “My dad told me you were a great swimmer when you were young.”

“That’s right,” Grandpa’s eyes sparkled as he gently tapped the armrest of his chair. “I’m not bragging—I could swim across the Tonghai River and back.”

From the kitchen, Grandma chimed in, “Not bragging? Who was it that nearly drowned in the Tonghai River back then?”

Grandpa protested, “Who’s bragging? Who? That was just because I got a cramp! Otherwise, with my swimming skills, how could I have drowned?”

He was really unwilling to concede.

Wang Qiang knew Grandpa’s stories always had a hint of exaggeration, but as a grandson, one had to give him face and just listen.

Trying to regain some dignity, Grandpa shifted the topic. “Back then, the Tonghai River was teeming with fish and shrimp. You could catch a handful just by reaching in. There were lots of turtles too, but those beasts were hard to catch—we always used hooks, and every time we’d catch one for sure.”

Grandma interjected, “How many turtles did you ever bring home? After I married you, I only ever ate turtle once.”

Grandpa, now embarrassed and angry, said, “Just wash your dishes, I’m talking to Qiangzi. What’s it to you?”

The old couple began to squabble. Though Grandpa held authority in the house, their daily banter was a source of amusement.

Usually, Wang Qiang would watch with a smile, but upon hearing Grandpa mention catching turtles, his heart stirred. He quickly interrupted their quarrel, asking, “Grandpa, you said you caught turtles?”

“That’s right! Ignore your grandma, she doubts me all day long.” Grandpa couldn’t resist a jab at Grandma and turned to Wang Qiang: “Unless the turtle comes ashore, you can’t catch it easily in the water. So the only way is with a hook.”

Wang Qiang pursued, “How do you hook them?”

“Use a sewing needle—hammer the end flat and sharpen it. Then bait it with frog entrails, and you’ll definitely catch one.” Grandpa spoke lightly; “frog” was a local term for green frogs.

Hearing this, Wang Qiang grew puzzled. He’d followed Grandpa’s instructions to catch a turtle, but the pig liver was gone and he hadn’t caught anything.

That didn’t add up.

Was there some trick involved?

He sensed he’d overlooked something and said, half-jokingly, “A few days ago, I saw turtle tracks at West Ditch Beach. I made a hook just as you said, but the frog entrails were gone and no turtle took the bait.”

Grandma scoffed, “See? I told you he was bragging and you wouldn’t believe it.”

“What did you say?” Grandpa glared.

“Fine, fine, keep bragging,” Grandma shook her head.

Grandpa, eager to prove he wasn’t boasting, shifted his gaze to his grandson. “Tell me, what size needle did you use?”

Wang Qiang thought carefully, demonstrating with his hand, “About half a finger’s length.”

“I knew it!” Grandpa slapped his thigh, waving his hand dismissively. “Wrong needle, wrong needle.”

So there was more to it.

Seeing Grandpa speak with conviction, Wang Qiang asked, “So what size needle should I use?”

“The smallest sewing needle,” Grandpa smacked his lips and explained, “Think about how big a turtle’s mouth is. With a needle half a finger long, it couldn’t swallow it.”

A single remark illuminated everything!

Wang Qiang instantly understood. Of course—the turtle’s mouth is so small, and he’d used such a long needle? There was no way he’d catch one.

He couldn’t help but feel excited; he was glad he’d chatted with Grandpa today.

Wang Qiang spent a few more distracted moments with Grandpa before asking Grandma for five or six of the smallest sewing needles and hurried off.

There were only a few small needles in Grandma’s box; otherwise, he would’ve taken more.

…

Back home.

Wang Qiang couldn’t wait to repeat his previous process, first tossing the fish trap into the river.

Then he returned home to make turtle hooks.

With last time’s experience, he was much more proficient, and in an hour he had made six hooks. The pig liver was used up, so he planned to buy more at the market in the afternoon. As for Grandpa’s suggestion of frog entrails, Wang Qiang wasn’t going to bother.

He’d once loved catching frogs as a boy, even slicing them open, but now, with maturity, he knew frogs were beneficial creatures; plus, they were slippery and unpleasant to hold, and their entrails were rather disgusting. It was easier, and not expensive, to just buy pig liver.

He was just about to leave when the clang of a bicycle bell sounded outside.

Wang Qiang wondered who it was. Looking up, he saw his mother, furious, pushing her bicycle inside. She scolded, “Where did you go so early this morning?”

Mother was angry.

He quickly smiled apologetically, “Mom, I wasn’t up to anything, I…”

“Not up to anything?” She parked the bike, hands on hips, her voice sharp. “I searched for you around the village three times. You were nowhere to be seen! Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?” Her eyes reddened with frustration. “Your father and I work so hard to earn money and send you to school. Instead of studying at home, you’re out playing? How can you justify this? Tell me, how?”

She was on the verge of tears.

Wang Qiang, a filial son, couldn’t bear to see his mother cry. He hurried to reassure her, “Mom, don’t cry, listen to me—I went to sell fish to earn tuition money!”

He hadn’t said anything earlier because he wasn’t sure he could sell the fish.

Now that he had, he decided not to hide it and simply told her.

Mother was still angry. “How much did you make? Show me.”

Knowing she was speaking out of anger, Wang Qiang grinned and pulled the money from his pocket, placing it on the table. “A little over a hundred and fifty.”

“A…” Mother, about to continue scolding, stopped short, stunned. “You really sold fish? A hundred and fifty?”

Wang Qiang pointed to the money on the table. “Count it and you’ll see.”

Mother hurried to the door, peered outside, then closed and barred it. Returning to the table, she began counting the money. Her face, pale with anger, flushed rosy as she counted, as if she’d just had two shots of white liquor.

Wang Qiang understood her actions. Rural folks never flaunt wealth. No matter how much they boast, real cash is never shown to outsiders. She must have feared neighbors might come by, and so closed the door.

“So much?” Mother finished counting and looked at him in astonishment.

Wang Qiang nodded. “Yes, I caught dozens of pounds of fish.”

Mother, still uneasy, asked him how he’d caught them.

He explained everything in detail.

Mother was silent for a long time, then, half annoyed, half amused, tapped his head with her finger. “You little schemer, hiding a hundred bucks. I’m confiscating this money—I’ll keep it for your tuition.”

Wang Qiang protested, “Don’t! Leave me a bit—I need change for tomorrow when I sell fish again.” In any case, he’d intended to give the money to her to pay off debts, so he didn’t mind.

“You still want to catch fish?” Mother shook her head like a cartwheel and pleaded, “It’s not safe in the water. Better not.”

Her concern warmed Wang Qiang’s heart. No matter how good others were, nothing compared to his parents. He comforted her, “I don’t go into the water. I just toss the fish trap and collect it the next day. Don’t worry.”

Mother said a few more words, but couldn’t sway Wang Qiang’s resolve.

At last, she handed him fifty yuan in small bills. “Here, use this for change.” She started toward her room, then turned back, “Tomorrow morning when you collect the trap, call me—I’m not at ease.”

Wang Qiang nodded vigorously, “Alright,” and stuffed the fifty yuan in his pocket. He asked, “How much do we still owe?”

“Two thousand five hundred,” Mother replied offhandedly. “Counting the six hundred you gave me, there’s still one thousand nine hundred. Don’t worry; your dad and I can pay it back.”

A bit less than he’d imagined.

Wang Qiang responded with an “Oh,” and quietly set himself a small goal: to help his parents pay off the two thousand five hundred as soon as possible.