The people from the tribe complained that the fire that we set on the mountain for reclamation of land might burn the sacred mountain of the tribe and demanded that the mountain fire be extinguished immediately. The Commissioner wouldn't listen. He didn't seem to compromise in the slightest and only thought about the reclamation quota. He said that based on his experience in previous years, the fire should have been naturally extinguished by rain within a few days.
Donna translated his words to Kerte and the others. Kerte retorted, "This time is different. It's too close to us. What if the fire reaches the sacred mountain?" My father had long objected, pointing out that the burning area was too close to the village's settlement, which affected the villagers' living environment, but the Commissioner got the final say.
The Commissioner rudely replied to Kerte, "What sacred mountain? They are all mountains of the state!"
Donna didn't dare to translate his words and looked at me helplessly. She knew that the mountain was the home of the mountain god. He was hidden in the jungle. The holy spirit should not be offended. I approached Donna and quietly gave her an idea, "If you say this, the leader will find a way as soon as possible to ensure that the mountain will not be burned."
Kerte listened to Donna's translation, worried, and looked at me as if to get corroboration. I nodded. Kerte shook the hunting gun in his hand and led the men out of the office.
The Commissioner stopped Donna and me and asked what we were up to. I said, "Donna told them that you are a good leader and will come up with good tricks to stop the mountain fire from burning to the sacred mountain."
"Oh, what can I do? Wait for the rain!" said the Commissioner.
"Commissioner, I read it in a book," I said to him, "you can create a protective zone to stop the wildfire from spreading."
"Ha, we used it when at war," he mused. At this time, the affiliated company commander, Zhongwei Gao, came with a dozen armed militiamen. The Commissioner told him, "Put the guns away and arrange for the militiamen to go up the mountain to open firebreaks."
Donna and I caught up with Kerte and the others. She took her uncle's arm, and her uncle took my shoulder. He asked us, "Aren't we asking too much?"
I looked at the dark clouds of smoke in the sky, the shadows of forests and mountains blurred in my sight, the flock of birds flying by, screaming above my head, and I inhaled the burnt smell in the air. I replied, "I won't burn a tree."
"Children, if you consider this place your home, you will cherish every grass and tree on the mountain," he replied. We sent them to the river and watched them cross the drawbridge, still feeling their loss.
Donna said she was going up the mountain to look after her "children," which she meant by the rubber trees. She took a few steps, turned around, and said, "Xiaofeng, you will be a good battalion commander!"
"I don't want to be a battalion commander," I blurted out.
"Oh, what do you want to do then?" she asked curiously, standing a few steps away from me.
"I don't know yet, but I'm not going to be the same as my father."
"So what will it be then?" She tapped a finger on her chin childishly. I thought this look could fit into a painting.
While she was happy, I gathered up my courage and asked her, "Donna, are you free this Sunday?"
"Why do you ask about this?"
"You saved me. I want to draw you a sketch to thank you. Can I?"
"I've moved from home to the women's dormitory. Come on Sunday afternoon." A blush floated across her face. She smiled sweetly at me and hurriedly disappeared behind the banana bushes. As I walked to the school, I recalled Donna's smiling face, pure and warm. I couldn't think of anything to be afraid of such a girl.
I changed into a clean white shirt and grass-green military pants on Sunday afternoon, combing my hair by hand. I picked up my drawing board, and when I was going out, I ran into my mother. She asked, "Where are you going?" I lied, "I will sketch by the river."
The women's dormitory was a row of long, neatly-thatched cottages. The walls were formed of bamboo pieces, which couldn't block the wind and light. Everyone pasted some old newspapers on the walls, at least to stop the eyes of passersby. Donna's door was open, and she was already waiting for me. Unlike in the past, she did not braid her hair. Her neat, long hair was draped over her shoulders like a waterfall, and she had a little purple hairpin on one side of her forehead, which made her look extra lively.
She invited me to sit at the desk, handed me a cup of tea, and said, "I'm sorry, I made you jump into the river last time. Not this time. My mother took the family to my uncle's place. You can take time to have the tea, then draw whatever you want, but don't draw too ugly."
"Donna, you can't trust me?"
"I mean, if you spot something ugly," she covered her cheeks with her hands as if to hide something, "You have to be merciful in the drawing."
I laughed when I heard this. It turned out that people, beautiful or not, were not confident. I promised her, "Don't worry, I got it, and the ugly parts will be covered with hair."
I saw a high school math textbook on the table, reached out to pick it up, and flipped through it, but Donna snatched it back. She put the book back on the table, opened it gently, and let me see what was inside, two dried kapok specimens. She must have made it carefully because the flower posture and the fiery red color were still there. I couldn't help but sigh, "How can it be more moving than when it was alive?"
"It makes sense. When it was alive, it was in our eyes. Now, it is in our memory, right? If your drawing makes me satisfied, I will give you one!"
I took a sip of tea, which was bitter. The cup was filled with half of the tea leaves. Donna must have grown up drinking cold water like my sister, not knowing how to serve tea. I pointed to the larger specimen and said, "This is the one I want." She readily agreed.
I asked her to sit at the desk in front of the window and turn her face to the side. "There!" She remained still and quietly looked at the old newspapers mounted on the bamboo wall and the dusty guitar hanging there.