In the Lap of the Gods

by Li Miao Lovett

  “And how tragic is that?”

  “Well, it could break a poor widow’s heart.” Longshan arched his brow. Clearly, he would allow nothing to threaten his sister’s welfare.

  Fang backed off. “Of course, she must grieve the full forty-nine days. Well, give it another thirty days or so, eh? I’ve waited as many years.”

  THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING CEREMONY, MEI LING PACKED up her things to move into Liu’s apartment. Her roommate Lan had moved out a week earlier, and the good-byes were perfunctory. Matrimony had cast a spell on Lan, although the prince of her dreams spoke only semi-coherent Chinese, and she could croak out no more than a few garbled words in German. It was much harder for Mei Ling to part with her friend Pei.

  “He seems like a good fellow,” said Pei, putting down one of the boxes she had packed for Mei Ling. “I’m happy for you.”

  “I got two for the bargain, including a baby,” Mei Ling replied. “Liu is quite mild tempered. But that child is a hotheaded one, quite willful.”

  “At least you don’t have a mother-in-law to worry about,” Pei chuckled.

  “Thank God, no. My crabby father is enough to handle, and he’s hundreds of miles away.”

  “Well, if my folks start driving me crazy, I may just show up on your doorstep one of these days.”

  They stood in the doorway, surrounded by the few boxes and keepsakes they would take into their new lives. Mei Ling leaned into her friend’s bony shoulder, which had provided her support unfailingly, without question or judgment. The two women hugged in silence; no words would come out of Mei Ling’s lips. At length, she wiped her tear-streaked face and mumbled, “Be well, dear Pei.”

  “Mei Ling, do not hesitate to call, all right?” Pei spoke in her usual, no-nonsense way, but her eyes betrayed a tremulous light. She paused for a moment before adding, “And don’t look too far for happiness, my friend.”

  RISING ON TWO TINY FEET, ROSE BRACED HERSELF AGAINST THE legs of the chair. She wanted to crawl beneath its protective frame, but curiosity got the better of her.

  On the other side of the room lay a stack of cubical brown objects. A flurry of activity had filled the apartment earlier in the day, when Rose was napping. It had disrupted her rest, and now she felt a pressing ache in her temple, but she could not lie down again.The perfumed stranger had shown up in her house.

  She had come in after the last of the boxes, and her powerful scent became intermingled with the dust ushered in from the city streets.The woman seemed to notice her only when Rose sneezed loudly, causing her to lose her balance and land on her padded bottom. A succession of discomforts ensued—a jolt to her sit bones that shot down her thighs, a tinkle of laughter from the stranger, a tightness in her chest swelling like a feverish head or a tummy ache.

  Her daddy scooped her up in his arms, and uttered soothing sounds. His laughter was gentle, familiar. He approached the strange lady and held Rose’s arm toward her.

  The scent of lilac engulfed Rose like a hot mist. The woman’s lips parted into a wide smile. They seemed unusually crimson, like her father’s cheeks when he smelled of something fermented and grainy. Rose allowed her fingers to touch the woman’s cheek, which was cool and smooth, with a powdery layer that smelled of the same perfume, but more muted.

  Rose felt herself lifted away from her father’s chest, and for a moment she was suspended in space as she waited for the woman to receive her. And then she felt herself slipping from the woman’s grasp. She arched her back to stay afloat, her breath coming in shallow gulps. Fussing and soothing noises erupted from her daddy and the woman. When she was settled into the woman’s arms, Rose felt her father’s rough hands stroking her hair, now long enough to tickle her ears and the fretful space above her brows.

  She felt soothed by her father’s touch, but the intimate presence of the stranger confused her. The woman’s bosom was delicately curved, unlike the bulbous mass of the old lady or the smooth, hard plane of her father’s chest. She sensed a restlessness in that bosom, like a cold prickle on the skin. She was afraid she would be dropped again.

  Terror filled her heart, a formless memory of cold and hunger seized her in its grip—the scratch of rough wicker, a damp chill in the air, the straitjacket of musty cloths binding her. She howled ferociously, but could not shake the sensation of aloneness and vast, empty space. Where was the wrinkled woman with the round belly and bosom? The cloth cradle which lulled Rose into slumber against a beating heart? The nose-tingling smells of chicken broth and medicinal bark?

  The stranger’s frame felt hollow and light. Rose remembered a feminine body like hers, whose milk ran thin like water, and then ran dry. Rose had displeased her mother somehow, at a time when memories were but wisps of sensation. Without warning, the warmth of that bosom, and its shelter from wind and cold, were snatched away one day.

  She began to wail. She sensed hungry birds about her, circling with great beaks and bloody eyes pointed toward her cold flesh.

  Rose was inconsolable. Her perch in the woman’s arms became precarious. She twisted about, and as she began to slip once more, she allowed her weight to become heavy, sinking to the ground. Her father took her back and stroked her chest with his big, bony hands. His eyes twinkled with light, and his liquid voice broke through her misery. She soon fell asleep, but when she awoke, the apparition of a gaunt, barren-breasted figure hovered in the room. It evaporated with the taste of rubber and milk, but her anxiety lingered. The perfumed woman had taken its place.

  THROWN INTO THE DUAL ROLE OF WIFE AND MOTHER, MEI Ling found comfort in filling her mornings with projects to beautify their little home. She found new drapes with a grainy, thick weave that allowed in light, but disguised the hideous views of Wushan’s less seemly parts. She filled the one-room apartment with light, covering the table, bed, and crib in vibrant colors. New towels graced the kitchen and the little sink by the bed. She bought a lovely set of plates and bowls etched with ornate borders. In the center of each piece of china was a blue carp, like the ones her father used to catch in the Yangtze. Strangely, this seemed to upset her new husband a great deal, although he had not shown any displeasure toward her, or a finicky sense of taste until then. Liu mumbled something about the shape of the rice bowls, too delicate for his clumsy hands. Blinking furiously, he picked up a plate and traced the image of the carp as if he could divine some message in those lines. Mei Ling did not know what to say, but figured it was prudent to take back the china set without pursuing the matter further.

  Aside from the dishes, Liu was generally easygoing about household matters; the baby’s mercurial moods, however, occupied much of Mei Ling’s attention. At best, Rose was curious and eager to touch Mei Ling’s hair or tug on her sleeves, as if she were a play-thing for the baby’s enjoyment. But when Mei Ling attempted to pick her up, or feed her, or act in any way like a parent or caretaker, little Rose would revolt against the attention. One day, while Liu was out, she threw a small plate of peas to the floor, chattering like a monkey as Mei Ling wiped up the mess. “Little Rose, what’s the matter? Why do you act like this?” Mei Ling sighed, exasperated.

  The infant squirmed to get off the wooden chair, her legs fluttering like kite tails. Mei Ling caught her under the arms to prevent a fall. Rose struggled to free herself, and tottered two steps forward before falling on all fours. She waddled toward the crib, then sat down beside it on her haunches, sucking her thumb. Mei Ling noticed the infant’s eyes following her, trained like a hawk’s on every movement. As she cleaned up the last of the peas, she felt weariness in her legs. She missed the freedom of her life before marriage. She wondered why she had not learned more about this insolent child before she had accepted Liu’s proposal. Mei Ling felt reduced to the nanny she had once been, except this time the jealousy was manifesting in the child. She wondered if she could learn to love the child, one that wasn’t her flesh and blood. Yet Liu himself was not the father, but an uncle, as he had explained, who adopted her in the wake of her parents’
death.

  Mei Ling washed her hands, and sat in the chair that Rose had vacated. “Little Rose, I’m not your mother, but you’ll have to learn to live with me.”

  The infant stared at her with round, innocent eyes. She jingled a bell on her crib, thumping her legs in delight. Mei Ling sensed that the girl felt safe at this distance.

  When Liu came home, Mei Ling told him about the incident. A look of worry flashed across his face, and he reached out to console her. “Give it time, Mei Ling. She’s not afraid of strangers, but you’re more than that now. You’re her new mother.”

  Was that a role she had chosen to take on? Mei Ling was torn by the sense of duty, and a simmering, nameless desire that stirred in her bosom. It confused her, but she did not want to alarm Liu by telling him. They were still getting acquainted, yet somehow expected to share the intimacies of married life. “Well, she doesn’t want me to come near her,” Mei Ling said quietly.

  Liu turned toward the baby, who was anxious to be picked up. “Little monkey, can’t keep still, can you?” He lifted her high in the air, and she screeched as she came down. “Now when you see this woman, what do you call her?”

  A jumble of syllables spilled from Rose’s lips: ba-ba-ga-ga-ma-ma.

  “See here.” Liu sidled close to Mei Ling. “Ma Ma. This is Ma Ma.”

  Perched in Liu’s arms, the baby flashed a smile revealing several crooked teeth. “Ba Ba!” little Rose cried, hitting her palm against Liu’s shoulder.

  Mei Ling’s chest heaved. Soon she would be going to work. As she hopped on the mini bus, pulling her winter cap down around her ears, she wished that she were traveling to a warm, convivial place far away from her new home.

  SEATED IN THE LIVING ROOM, LIU STARED AT THE LARGE PORTRAIT of Fang’s parents while his host served tea. The old broker had a fancy couch, but it was hard on the sit bones. Liu took a deep breath, irritated once more with the meaningless gestures of hospitality.

  “Liu, ol’ boy, what great treasures have you brought for my appraisal?” Fang lit his pipe in a leisurely manner.

  “Well, Fang, you know we’ve made a deal over the jade. You remember, right?”

  “Yes. Anything else? Anything from Emerald Gorge?” A hint of eagerness tinged the old man’s voice.

  “I did find a few trinkets during the flood several months ago. Almost forgot about them.” Liu tried to sound nonchalant, although he had less than two months to generate enough cash for the wedding banquet.

  A lacquered box emerged from Liu’s knapsack, containing an embroidered pouch. He lifted out the gold pendant and handed it to Fang. “This is clearly an heirloom, left behind by one of the villagers on the river bank.”

  Fang seized the pendant and twirled it in his fingers, mesmerized, as if it were an amulet with magical powers. “This would have been given to the parents of a newborn, yes? Fantastic.” Fang was talking to nobody in particular and no longer seemed to notice his guest. Liu fidgeted with his teacup.

  “Okay, Fang, what will you pay me for it? I’ll take it to Chen’s if you—”

  “My dear man, you have produced a fount of good fortune. For you and me both, that is, for my friend who is looking for this very piece of metal I’m holding in my hands.” Fang peeled his gaze away and eyed the lacquered box. “And what else did you find?”

  “Nothing, really. Just an old photo.”

  “Let me see it.”

  When Liu handed over the photo, he noticed a curious change in the old man’s countenance. As Fang fingered the worn edges of the photo, his breath came in short, raspy bursts. All traces of cynicism, etched over the years into his brow and jawline, disappeared. Instead, a strange light glowed in Fang’s eyes, and his mouth hung slightly open, vacillating between a nervous twitch and a smile. Liu did not think Fang could be capable of such a smile, one that radiated pure, guileless joy.

  “You like that photo?” Liu asked.

  “I suppose you could say that,” Fang answered at length.

  “Do you know them?” Liu pointed at the faded image of the man and his wife seated next to him.

  “I knew this woman, a long time ago, before you were even born.” That strange glow lingered in Fang’s eyes, and Liu sensed that if something could hold the crusty old man in its grasp, it had to be the love of a woman. He did not want to pry. And yet, for the first time, he knew that Fang did not have the upper hand.

  “So you want the picture. I might be able to throw it in. But I’ve got a wedding reception to pay for, and perhaps I’ll get a better price from Big Chen for this pendant. No middleman costs.” Liu put the pendant back in its pouch, and reached for the photo.

  Fang leaned back in his chair, guarding the photo with his hands. “I’ll take the whole package. Just name a price.”

  “That’s not like you, Fang. Come on, I know you too well.”

  “Try me.”

  “Okay, 1200 yuan for the gold. And 400 for the bracelet.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Liu could not believe his ears. The blood rushed into his temples, roaring in his ears like waves cresting and falling. He fidgeted with the pouch as Fang went into the study, still cradling the old print in his hands. When the old broker returned, he counted out sixteen bills in crisp, 100-yuan denominations, and handed them over with a playful slap. “For your lovely bride. It’s a joyous occasion all around.”

  As he escorted Liu to the foyer, Fang added, “Even an old bachelor like me can find happiness again.”

  19

  SIXTEEN HUNDRED YUAN WAS A LOT OF MONEY IN LIU’S eyes. In his coal-hauling days, that kind of money would have taken at least four months of backbreaking labor to earn. And now, through a stroke of luck, and some twist of fate that Liu did not fully understand, he had come to possess this windfall of money through relatively little effort.

  Yet the money did not put Liu at ease. What started as genuine passion, as the reawakened desire for a woman’s love and touch, had somehow become weighed down by the obligations of marriage and family life. Of the 1600 yuan, 200 went toward repaying Tai for the gift to Mei Ling’s father. Rose had fallen ill again, and another of those bills went toward medicines. She had not taken as well to Mei Ling as he had hoped, and between keeping peace and tending to Mei Ling’s desires for upgrading their home, he could not even think about long-term work. Mei Ling did not ask about the source of his funds, and Liu was content to keep this a secret. Still, as he sat in Tai’s restaurant in the evenings with little Rose beside him, Liu felt ashamed that his wife was the industrious breadwinner and he had become the de facto househusband, and his skills at keeping house were quite poor at that.

  Although he and Mei Ling were now joined as man and wife, Liu could not forget a certain unfinished task. It nagged him, dragged him back to the past, to his life with Fei Fei. He still had to pay respects to the deceased, and it was the fortuneteller Seh Yen who had admonished him to keep this obligation. The previous year, his scavenging work had taken him far and wide, but not to Fengjie. And besides, old Fengjie no longer existed. No, that was no excuse. He had to admit that his grief had actually kept him from Fei Fei, from the murky realms of the departed, until his ordeal in Fengdu opened that door. It took imprisonment to free him, to kindle his hopes for a second chance at life.

  Liu had told Mei Ling that he was a widower, but it would be a delicate matter to broach his intended visit to Fengjie with their wedding reception so near at hand. It was unspeakable to convey happiness and sorrow in the same breath. And it was unthinkable to pay regard to glorious beginnings and tragic endings all at once, and so close to the lunar New Year. For days he waited for the right moment to approach Mei Ling about the matter.

  One Saturday, Liu brought home half a dozen steamed buns and smoked sausages made by one of the local peasant families. “Liu, these sausages are my favorite.What’s the occasion?” Mei Ling asked.

  Liu had few qualms about shading the truth to avoid friction, particularly in explaining his adopt
ion of Rose, but the matter at hand was too urgent. “I’m glad you like them. Mei Ling, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something, but since we’ve been caught up in all these preparations, I haven’t asked—”

  “What is it?” Mei Ling bit into a plump sausage, spiced with dried red chilies and star anise.

  “The anniversary of my wife’s death is approaching, and I must pay my respects. I’ll need to go to Fengjie for a few days.”

  A cloud passed over Mei Ling’s countenance. She threw down her chopsticks. “What do you mean, your wife? I thought I was your wife.”

  “I mean my old wife; she’s been gone for two years, and I’ve not had the time to do my duties, to help ease her journey as a departed soul. Might be good for us, too.”

  “I see.... ” Mei Ling’s jealousy, which had flared so quickly, frightened Liu, but she seemed to be reassured by his explanation. “Perhaps you can pray for her. Let us do that in church tomorrow, shall we?”

  “Yes, but in keeping with her practice, I should visit the temple by Fengjie.”

  “And how will we take care of Rose?” Mei Ling asked, a pensive look flitting across her eyes.

  “Well, it may take some time for Rose to get used to things around here, but she’s been sick lately, so I don’t think I should take her along.” He made a silent wish that she could warm up to Mei Ling while he was away.

  “I don’t know how she’ll handle your absence. Why, you go out for half an hour, and she gets fussy and starts to throw a tantrum unless I give her a little toy or treat. I can’t just keep bribing her to keep her quiet for a whole week.”

  “It’s too bad that Mrs. Song can’t take care of Rose anymore, much less herself,” said Liu. “Don’t worry, we’ll find someone to care for her while you’re at work. And I’ll only be gone for a few days.” At this, the baby screeched, as if she understood that her father was leaving her behind once more.