Chapter 138: The Cook's Assistant

Mao Shisan had been on the Haitian for many days. Although he had been sailing on the ship all this time, in a daze, he didn’t know where he had gone. After being interrogated when he first came aboard, he was locked in the cabin for a few days. Later, when they docked somewhere, he was scrubbed hard with hot water several times, had his head shaved, and was given a set of old uniforms. Finally, he was allowed to move around freely.

He secretly asked his only acquaintance, Fu Ji—the young man of his own age who had taken care of him when he was unconscious—if this was the “purification” that the soldiers often talked about. Fu Ji said no, purification involved having your buttocks spread and drinking medicine. What he had received was only a preliminary cleaning, so at least he no longer had fleas and lice, and he didn’t have to be locked in the small cabin anymore. However, he still had to eat his meals alone in a small compartment, and after eating, the wooden utensils were thrown directly into the sea. There were still some places he was not allowed to go. Fu Ji told him that the next time they had a longer rest period, the ship’s medic would give him a thorough purification.

A few days later, the Haitian had a “major overhaul” on a small island, replenishing fresh water and cleaning up. Mao Shisan finally tasted the “purification.” Being stripped naked and having his buttocks spread was one thing, but the medicine the medic gave him made him have diarrhea for two days, so much so that he could barely stand up. Just when he thought he was about to kick the bucket, the medic gave him another kind of medicine, and then he was back to normal. His range of activities was also expanded to the entire ship, and he could also use the ship’s tableware for meals.

Mao Shisan had completely fallen in love with this ship where he could eat his fill and wear warm clothes. He wished he could stay on the ship for the rest of his life. Although Fu Ji kept boasting that Lingao was a paradise, he didn’t believe there could be a happier place than this. According to his stepfather, even the generals in the military colonies, even those as high-ranking as the former General Mao and the current General Huang, only ate two meals a day, while the people on the ship ate three meals a day! Mao Shisan thought that probably only the emperor and prime ministers could eat three meals a day. But here, even an outsider like him could eat three meals a day! In order to live in this three-meal-a-day paradise for a long time, his simple thinking told him that he had to be motivated and actively show himself. He spontaneously worked hard, helping the sailors with the sails and ropes, breaking ice, swabbing the deck, and cleaning the cannons. But often, after just a few moments of work, he would be politely refused by the person in charge. They said it was a specialized job that didn’t need others to interfere, and besides, he really didn’t know how to do some things without having been trained or taught.

In the end, he found a place in the kitchen. The Haitian’s kitchen only had the fat cook and Fu Ji, plus a black and white cat named Oscar. They were busy all day preparing food for seventy or eighty people and were very happy to have an extra helper. So Mao Shisan became a kitchen helper, or more accurately, Fu Ji’s helper, and began his career as a cook’s assistant.

“Follow the Chief, and you’ll be waiting to enjoy life.” This was Fu Ji’s first sentence to welcome him as a helper. The cook and Fu Ji originally spoke an incomprehensible “southern barbarian dialect,” but fortunately, they could speak the “new language,” which was the “official language” of the Da Ao people. Everyone on the ship could speak the “new language” with their own local accent. This Da Ao official language sounded quite similar to his Liaodong official language, and they could understand each other well enough.

A boy like Mao Shisan had grown up in hunger and cold. If he had any dreams, it was to have a full meal and a warm place to sleep. If someone told him that these things could be achieved, that would be paradise. If there was a paradise, it must be the Haitian; and if there was a world of bliss in paradise, it must be the kitchen of the Haitian.

Mao Shisan couldn’t say such profound words, but if he were told the general meaning, he would definitely agree with both hands and feet. He, who had almost frozen to death, found that after boarding the ship, he had come to a perfect world he had never dreamed of. Except for the absence of his only relative, his stepfather, he could not find a single flaw.

The Haitian’s kitchen was not large. It had a four-burner stove that burned briquettes with many holes. The stove had many uses, which Mao Shisan still hadn’t fully understood. Most of the kitchen utensils were made of steel and were completely different from anything he had ever seen in his life. There were flat, square frying pans and tall, deep soup pots like pillars. There was also a small kitchen inside the kitchen with a small stove, which was where the Chief’s orderly cooked. It was always locked when he left, which was very mysterious. Although the engine room behind the kitchen was rumbling, Mao Shisan still guarded this small and warm place all day and was unwilling to leave.

The people in the kitchen were also very kind. The fat cook would sit at the door chewing tobacco when he wasn’t busy, teasing the cat and chatting with the two half-grown boys. The mature Fu Ji, although not much older than him, was a warm-hearted and reliable partner, and his cooking skills were good. He often gave him pointers on what to do. The ship’s galley was lit 24 hours a day, and there was always food cooking on the stove. This was because the sailors worked in four-hour shifts. Sailing in cold seas, the consumption of the on-duty personnel was extremely high, and it was necessary to ensure that each shift could eat a hot meal on time. Therefore, whether it was the head cook or the two helpers, they had to take turns sleeping to ensure that someone was always awake to prepare food for the sailors. However, after docking at Duozhi Island, because it was a “short break,” the kitchen was not so busy. The Haitian was changed to two shifts a day, and they cooked three meals a day plus a midnight snack.

Early in the morning, before the sky was bright, the two half-grown boys were kicked awake by the fat cook. They sleepily opened the air vent, cleaned the coal ash, swept the kitchen, and pumped up the gasoline lamp. The rice porridge that had been simmering in the soup pot all night was bubbling, and the fat cook was putting mixed-grain buns into the steamer. The buns were made of a gray mixed flour of unknown composition. They were hard to swallow when eaten dry and had to be eaten with a kind of reddish sauce that burned the mouth. At first, Mao Shisan was so spicy that he kept drinking water, but over time, he felt that he couldn’t eat without a little “chili sauce.”

The rice porridge was mixed with various miscellaneous grains. Today, it was cut sweet potatoes. According to the regulations, it was required to change every seven days: sweet potatoes, potatoes, sorghum, millet, green beans… all kinds of miscellaneous grains were rotated. Fu Ji said that this would prevent “beriberi.”

At 5:30 in the morning, the soldiers who had finished their morning routine and were preparing to go on duty walked into the kitchen, talking and laughing, and lined up at the window to get their food. The Haitian was not a large ship and did not have a dedicated soldiers’ dining room. They could only take their food and eat it in their cabins or on the deck. Fu Ji was responsible for putting two scoops of rice porridge into each person’s enamel lunch box, while Mao Shisan was responsible for putting pickles and half a salted egg on the lid of the lunch box. The salted eggs were cut in half lengthwise with the shell on, which was said to distribute the protein and yolk most evenly. The soldiers took the buns from the basket themselves, as many as they wanted.

The swaying gasoline lamp was surrounded by rising steam, and the sound of chewing and talking formed a blurred wave of sound, which always made Mao Shisan feel like he was dreaming.

Just as the day shift soldiers who had finished their breakfast left, the sentinels from the late-night shift also came down for their meal, covered in frost and snow. As they were distributing the food, an orderly in a white apron, preparing to make breakfast, ran over and urged, “Why haven’t the eggs come yet?”

The fat cook bowed and said with a smile, “Coming, coming,” while turning his head and calling, “Shisan, go get the Chief’s eggs…”

Mao Shisan quickly put down his chopsticks, picked up the gasoline lamp, lifted the hatch of the lower deck, and went down.

Leaving the warm kitchen, a wave of damp, musty, cold air hit him in the face. Mao Shisan shivered, held up the gasoline lamp, and carefully descended the stairs. The lower deck was the kitchen’s territory. He passed through layers of bean sprout racks, and the breeding cabin was on the left. The five hens were awakened by the light and were clucking. Mao Shisan rummaged in the cage and found four eggs.

“Not bad, good job,” Mao Shisan praised. “The weather is nice today, I’ll let you out for some air…” He moved the chicken coop to the open porthole, hung it outside to air out, and put in a few handfuls of feed before leaving.

This odd job was originally Fu Ji’s. Since Mao Shisan came, it had become his. Feeding the chickens, collecting the eggs, and cleaning the chicken coop were all his jobs now.

The orderly took the eggs with a sullen face and didn’t even say thank you. He took them directly to make breakfast. Mao Shisan was very curious about what delicacies the “Chief,” who was revered by everyone, ate. He took the opportunity of working to sneak a few glances.

He found that there was nothing special. The breakfast for the two Chiefs on the wooden tray was just a bowl of cabbage and potato noodles—the noodles were curly. Fu Ji said this was called “yi mein” and could be stored for a long time. Because it was made of white flour, it was considered a “high-grade food” on the ship. Generally, only the Chiefs and the sick could eat it. There were just two poached eggs on top of the noodles.

Although eggs were rare, they were not considered a precious food. Mao Shisan was slightly disappointed: he hadn’t seen anything new.

The orderly took the two bowls of noodles away. After a while, he came back with a small bowl and returned the two poached eggs. “The Chief said one each is enough. Give the other one to the sick.”

“Alright, I’m just making noodles for the sick,” the cook replied.

The sick person’s breakfast was also yi mein, but there were many people and few eggs. The cook had to cut the egg into several pieces and add a piece to each bowl.

“The Chief is really kind-hearted,” Mao Shisan thought to himself as he carried the noodles to the sick bay.

When he returned from the sick bay, all the breakfast food had been swept away. Fu Ji scraped for a long time and only managed to scrape a bowl of porridge dregs for him. There were no side dishes either. The salted eggs were rationed per person, and Mao Shisan didn’t get any in the first place. As for the pickles, it was impossible to open another jar. Before Mao Shisan could say it didn’t matter, Fu Ji smiled apologetically, “There are no side dishes. Try some sugar porridge.” He took the sugar jar and put in a spoonful of snow-white sugar. Before Mao Shisan could even blink, he added another spoonful. Seeing Mao Shisan’s surprised look, Fu Ji raised his eyebrows and, with lightning speed, added another spoonful, as if to say, “Look! This is how beautiful our Fubo Army’s life is.”