In the Lap of the Gods

by Li Miao Lovett

  Aboard her father’s ship was a self-contained world of sweaty men with loose tongues and one well-groomed woman. Fei Fei’s mother combed her daughter’s hair into neat braids and taught her table manners. Don’t let your chopsticks cross others. Say thank you. Let the elders go first.

  Fei Fei made friends wherever they traveled, among humans and other creatures alike. She adored the Catholic priest in Wanxian, who drew her close to the satin folds of his robe and tousled her hair. In Shibao Block, sedan-chair bearers offered to carry her along without charge, claiming they could lift her high on one finger and spin her around and around.

  Her favorite spot was the Little Three Gorges, a majestic set of cliffs in the Daning River, which spun off the Yangtze at the town of Wushan. Colonies of monkeys jabbered and hissed from their perches high above the water. Fei Fei would answer them back and dance around on her thin legs, wishing she could take one by its hairy hands. She knew the verses of Li Po, a wandering poet of the Tang Dynasty, by heart. And then she invented her own songs:The maid fell asleep under the light of the moon

  Till the monkey prince leapt out of the cliff up high

  He sang a little song and roused her from sleep

  They swung round and round with the clouds at her feet.

  At night, she dreamed that she could ride on the back of a dolphin into the Yangtze, and journey to the bottom of Goddess Peak, where she too would become one of the fairy Yaoji’s sisters and weave a spell of safety over sailors and sojourners. She would hurl thunderbolts at pirates and foreign brutes. She would steer the ships of young captains away from treacherous shoals. And when trackers battled the terrible rapids of the Three Gorges, she would lead them to safety.

  As an adult, Fei Fei had, of course, grown out of her fanciful dreams, but her imagination continued to alight in distant places. The Shanghai of Liu’s memory loomed with construction cranes, alleyways filled with sewage, and silent men inhaling their bowls of rice and limp cabbage at the end of a twelve-hour shift. But the Shanghai of Fei Fei’s world beckoned to her, and she yearned to live there amidst the soaring towers, colonial-era brick buildings, and old Russian churches.

  That day never came. If they had moved to Shanghai, perhaps she would still be alive. And so, Liu held on to her fantasies and stories, and in the past year and a half they had become trusted companions.

  ABSORBED IN HIS MUSINGS, LIU HAD NOT NOTICED A MAN who sauntered into the noodle shop and sat down at a table nearby. When Tai brought over the order of noodles, he nudged Liu’s arm, and pointed to the new customer. “Look, he’s got a nice watch. See those little sparkles—they’re really diamond, you know,” Tai said wistfully.

  Liu wasn’t the least bit interested, but he obliged his friend and glanced over.

  The man wore a pale green shirt of linen tucked into trousers that fell in a neat line to his boots. Made of thick leather and coated with dust, those shoes seemed incongruous with his tailored outfit. And when Tai waved to his customer, the man shot back a hand in return, revealing a dark splotch of sweat on his underarm.

  “Mr. Wu, how’s business?” Tai bellowed.

  The man adjusted his shirt cuffs, as if he was quite pleased with himself. “Fine, fine, Ol’ Tai. Will you believe we had ten customers today? A family from Korea, three German girls, and an American lady with her little boy. Oh, the Americans complain! The boy wanted to watch TV. I said, ‘No TV. Watch the river, good movie picture, better than TV.’”

  Liu figured he was in the tourism business, but did not understand Mr. Wu’s broken English. The man bobbed his head up and down and waved his hands in a grand flourish, like an imperious court official.

  “And then the lady complained about the toilets at the tourist stop. She was quite plump. Said she couldn’t squat very well. And then she frowned her plump cheeks and said the flush didn’t work. ‘Why need flush?’ I said. ‘The river take it away.’ ‘But it stinks,’ she said, and wrinkled her nose.” The boatman’s thin lips curled into a smirk. “I wanted to say, ‘You foreigner, eat much meat, too stinky. Stinky foreigner.’ But I just pointed at an incense display and said, ‘Buy this sandalwood, smell good, nice souvenir for nice lady.’”

  The two older men chortled, but Liu remained silent. “You handled that well,” said Tai.

  “Yes, and I made 250 yuan today, not including tips.Think about it, big boss! When I was a farmer, I slaved in the fields from dawn to dusk, and barely saved a fen. Now I can pay for my son’s education. The other day, I even bought him a Nin-ten-do, one of those newfangled toys all the kids want. Make him smart like an American.” Wu straightened his shirt cuffs again. Liu noted the irony in his words, but kept a blank expression on his face.

  “Ol’Wu has done well for himself,” Tai remarked to Liu.“When he got the resettlement money, he bought a 45-foot skiff, fixed it up, and now he takes tourists around on the Daning River.”

  Liu did not know what to say; he did not like the man’s airs. Liu could see from his leather-brown hands and the lines etched in his face that he came from peasant stock. When Tai introduced Mr.Wu, Liu reluctantly shook his hand; it was rough like splintered wood.

  “What do you do?” Mr. Wu asked. His eyes flickered up and down, appraising Liu as he would a tied-up pig on market day.

  Liu felt a prickle of heat beneath the simple collar of his shirt. “I’ve been . . . uh . . . dealing in antiques. But business is not so good now. Everyone wants new things, you know.”

  “True, true. That’s what I always say to you, Tai, that you should get with the times. Give your shop a facelift, my good man!” Mr. Wu looked intently at the noodle-shop owner. “Put some good luck charms on the walls; they’re too plain. And your tables—you could use some real ones, not these rickety sticks.”

  Indeed, the furniture had been transplanted from Tai’s old eatery in the Wushan of bygone days. A certain staleness and grime clung to the interior of the shop, along with the fusty smells of fried onion cakes, simmered fish, and pickled cabbage. The tables were chipped and stained with cigarette burns and spilled hot sauce.The walls cried for a new coat of paint, although the patina of cooking grease was less than a year old.

  “I’ll tell you from experience,” Mr. Wu continued, “appearance counts for everything. Get yourself a new sign out front. Put up some glossy photos of your menu items; things that tourists will eat. Take it from me, they’re fussy.”

  Tai nodded. “You’re right, Mr. Wu. But a new sign—it’ll cost money.”

  Mr. Wu rapped his knuckles on the table. “Money! My friend—don’t you see? You’ve got to put out money to make money. You don’t get rich by hiding in a mouse hole. Remember what Deng Xiaoping said when he opened up the country? ‘To get rich is glorious.’”

  Liu was repulsed by the man’s crass manner, but as he walked back to the apartment in the evening, he kept thinking about Mr. Wu. Liu did not want a diamond-studded watch, or a crisp linen shirt and smooth pair of slacks. He preferred being a scavenger, answering to no one. He couldn’t imagine catering to the whims of foreign tourists, who seemed awfully scornful and demanding. Nevertheless, Mr. Wu’s prosperity held up a small mirror to his own circumstances.

  “Now I can pay for my son’s education,” Mr. Wu had said.

  That night, after Liu picked up Rose from Mrs. Song’s apartment down the hall, he began wondering about Rose’s future. Little Rose, perhaps only six months out of her mother’s womb. She could want more, need more, than Liu. And if she were smart, had more education like Mr. Wu’s boy, she could have whatever she desired.

  The baby was quiet tonight; she had already fallen asleep by the time Liu came for her. Rose stirred a little as Liu held her and rocked her, the way he’d seen Mrs. Song do, with the baby cradled between her sagging breasts and apple-round belly. Rose turned her head, heavy with sleep, rubbing against an old gash on Liu’s arm. He stroked her velvety head, and laid her down at the foot of the cot. She was no longer a foundling at the brink of death. And
maybe, if fate smiled upon her, she would have a future that her ancestors could never have dreamed of.

  8

  MR. WU’S ADVICE HAD A CURIOUS EFFECT ON TAI. OVER THE NEXT three weeks, the proprietor of the noodle shop applied a fresh coat of paint to the walls, and brightened up the place with decorative hangings and table centerpieces. The paintings were really paper replicas pulled out from a large calendar of classical art, depicting lush chrysanthemum blooms, mountain landscapes with tiny people and houses in the foreground, cranes soaring over feathery treetops and streams. The roses on the tables were made of cloth and plastic, and the slim vases were purchased on clearance. Some of the tablecloths were slightly soiled, but Tai was happy to get them at a discount from a manager at one of Wushan’s three-star hotels.

  Liu could not go to Tai’s for supper during this time, since Mrs. Song was laid up with the flu. It was nearing the end of June, and despite the sultry heat, he was anxious to get out of the apartment. With Rose in his arms, Liu slid past the smoky Internet parlors where video games hummed, and descended onto the main square. Before he could take the last step, a plastic buggy in camouflage colors whizzed by, with a young boy in the driver’s seat and his sister shrinking into his coat. As the little daredevil rounded a corner, other buggies followed suit, a bright yellow one resembling a cartoon cat, a flaming red fire engine, a bulbous gray whale. The children steered their way across the smooth tiles of the square with gleeful and wicked grins, while their parents nodded and smiled on the sidelines. The older children zipped along in smooth contrails, while the younger ones moved in staggering drunken lines. One little dumpling, who was no more than two, had her father guiding her pink Cadillac from behind with a remote control.

  Liu held the baby close to his chest, moving with the steady stream of locals and sightseers across the square. Little Rose seemed quite curious and alert to the commotion around her. She stretched out her little fingers, almost grabbing a blond tourist’s hair until he swiped her hand away. As Liu pressed on, he felt a sudden thrust, like a small fist, against his thighs.

  “Oh, so sorry!” A young woman smiled, pulling her child’s wrist away. The boy giggled, stuck his fist in his mouth and stared up at Rose.

  “Not a problem,” Liu said. “Is it always this crowded?”

  “I guess so.” The young mother looked at Rose. “How old is your baby?”

  “Uh, well, she came along when I... we moved from the old town.” Liu felt a surge of heat rising up his spine. He found lying uncomfortable, but necessary, even though she was a stranger.

  The woman wiggled her fingers at Rose, who shook her tiny arms and gurgled excitedly. “You’re a good husband to help with the baby.Wish mine would.”

  “It’s not so bad. Besides,” Liu gave a stilted laugh, “this is better than changing diapers.”

  The mother looked surprised. “Well, you are a diligent father.” She bade them farewell and disappeared in the meandering crowd.

  Liu leaned against a lamppost and thought about what he’d said. This time, it wasn’t Fang who had concocted an identity for him. He was a husband; certainly that had been true at one time. He was a father now. But what did that mean if he had no blood relation to little Rose, nothing binding him to a father’s duty, to the endless cycles of diaper changing, feeding, and baby soothing? Liu wondered if he was responsible for her future, like the peasant boatman was for his own son’s.

  If Fei Fei were alive, would she love this child as her own? Then again, if Fei Fei were still in this world, would Liu have kept the baby? He might not have found her in the first place. His life would have been transplanted elsewhere, to new Fengjie, or even Shanghai. When his wife was alive, he had neither the time nor inclination to ponder such things. Now, with a baby in tow, his mind drifted down these troubling channels.

  Perhaps he needed to go scavenging again. He would have to get those maps from Fang to find prospective sites that hadn’t been flooded.

  But maybe, he thought, this wasn’t a real job. And he wasn’t a real father.

  Liu shifted his weight uneasily. The heat rose from the cement through the soles of his shoes. He had no answers at the moment. Liu turned back, eager to retreat with Rose to his humble apartment.

  When Liu showed up again at the noodle shop, he noticed how business had picked up. Tai rushed over, his limp leg in tow, and greeted his friend with an extra hearty slap. “Liu, pretty soon I should put a little reserved sign on your table, eh?”

  Liu looked around at the small crowd of diners. Amidst the native chatter he could hear a foreign tongue that sounded like the pop music blaring out of clothing stores.

  “Well, Tai, you might just do that. Then again, I might not be able to afford to come here anymore.”

  “No, my friend, I’ll always keep the noodles on the menu for you.” Tai beckoned his friend into the kitchen. “Come here, Liu, come see the new sign I’m going to put up.”

  Tai pointed to a sign lying beside the freezer unit. Red letters etched into the dark wood spelled out “TAI’S RESTAURANT” across in English. Black, gold-trimmed characters “FAN DIEN” ran down one side, upgrading it from a noodle shop, while “TAI HAO” proclaimed it to be really good, playing on the owner’s name.

  Liu was impressed. “Well, this will really bring good fortune to your door.”

  “It cost me 400 yuan. But that fellow Wu was right.You’ve got to put out some money to make more. Don’t we all want to do that?”

  Liu gave a perfunctory nod. “I guess Wushan’s not an old, run-down town anymore.”

  “No sir, and it’s high time for an old fart like me to keep up with the new generation.”

  The cook hollered to Tai, who excused himself, saying a waitress would be out to serve Liu. A waitress, Liu thought. He’s really changed his cheapskate ways.

  Soon after Liu sat down at his old table, a young woman dressed in a pale blue blouse and skirt appeared at his side. She had graceful legs, a pretty face shaped like a watermelon seed, and large eyes. Black eyeliner lifted them up at the corners, giving her a coy expression. She handed him a menu and returned moments later. “What would you like, sir?”

  “My usual . . . uh . . . the beef noodle soup, spicy.” Liu found himself stammering, and noticing this unsettled him more.

  “Anything to drink?” The waitress scribbled onto her pad and brushed her long hair back, revealing a small mole on her chin. A beauty spot, the envied mark of movie actresses.

  Liu shook his head. Again, he felt an uneasy flutter in his chest, and his voice trembled a little. “You’re new here?”

  “Yes, does it show?” she asked, with a slight curl of her lips.

  “No, no . . . I mean, Tai must be glad for the help.”

  The waitress reached out for the menu, another feature of Tai’s jazzed-up restaurant. Liu fumbled to give it back to her, almost knocking over the jar of hot sauce on the table. Her movements were brisk yet graceful, and her skin smelled like plum blossoms.

  His eyes drifted in her direction as she served the other customers. He felt uncomfortable, as if he’d been caught spying on an exchange between lovers. The waitress was quite friendly with several of the patrons, as if they were lifelong acquaintances. Liu found the changes in Tai’s noodle shop a bit hard to swallow. He decided to leave earlier than usual, slipping out after he finished his noodles.

  That evening, as Liu was rocking the baby to sleep, he thought about Fei Fei much as he did every evening, but images of the young waitress at Tai’s intruded on his thoughts. It unnerved him to think about her. The nagging thoughts, insisting that he should move on and find another woman, alighted like bats. They hid in the shadows and flitted out unexpectedly, just as he was tucking little Rose into her cradle, which he had fashioned from salvaged wood.

  When Rose had fallen asleep, Liu turned on the television and lit a cigarette. His stomach rumbled; he had been eager to leave the noodle shop and hadn’t finished his meal. He felt a vague sense of unea
se and needed some distraction.

  The local evening news featured a special report on peasants who had resettled with the building of the dam. The reporter’s tone was measured but somewhat critical, as if he needed to tow the party line but the truth revealed itself anyway. “The residents of Xianghuamen village only had to move fifteen kilometers, and forty families have been successful in establishing their new plots. Higher up in the mountains, the farmers must find new ways to improve the crop yields.”

  The camera panned to a peasant couple with their young son. “We are grateful to obtain this parcel of land,” said the husband, “but we have to make do with what we have. We lost our orange grove, and without the extra income, we may not be able to send our son to high school when he gets older.”

  “We had a daughter,” the wife said, “but she died a few years ago, so we had another child without penalty.” Liu wondered if the little girl had really died, or if she had become one of those roadside orphans.

  “How have you dealt with these hardships?” the reporter asked.

  “Well, for one thing, I have a devoted wife and a good son. I almost lost them a few years ago.” The man did not smile, but merely pulled his son closer.

  “My wife almost died in that flood,” the man continued, looking away from the camera. “She was pregnant with our boy at the time. But tien bao γo, with a neighbor’s help we carried her to safety.”

  “Yes, the gods were watching over us,” the wife added, clutching their son by the collar. The boy broke free from her grasp and disappeared from view.

  Liu turned off the news, and lit another cigarette. He drummed his fingers on the table, letting the ashes fall to the floor. He regretted watching the news, because a new emotion overtook him like a typhoon, and there was no warning.