In the Lap of the Gods

by Li Miao Lovett

  THE DAY BEFORE HE LEFT FOR FENGJIE, LIU TOOK ROSE TO PAY Mrs. Song one last visit.

  The landlord had announced that a new apartment in the building would be available, and it was Mrs. Song’s. When her son learned of her dementia, he decided to put her in a senior home in Shanghai, a new facility with the best medical care in the country.

  A nurse answered the door and ushered him in. She had been feeding Mrs. Song, and quickly wiped the old woman’s lips and nostrils as Liu stepped inside. Mrs. Song’s robust face now appeared gaunt, and her plumpness sagged, hanging onto her arms like dumplings. Her round belly was deflated beneath the crinkles of her embroidered vest. Still, she seemed to be in good spirits, and a faint light appeared in her eyes when she saw Liu.

  “Mrs. Song, it’s Liu, your neighbor, and little Rose. You remember Rose?” Liu sat beside Mrs. Song, and Rose leaned toward the old woman, reaching for her bosom.

  “Rose ... what a pretty name.Your child?”

  “Yes. You took care of her for many months. See how she takes to you?”

  “A darling child.” Rose was placed on Mrs. Song’s lap, and she held onto the child with limp hands. Somehow, though, her hands seemed to hold a glimmer of recognition, and she repeated, “Darling child. She has a good appetite?”

  “Yes, you were a big help in fattening her up. She was a skinny thing just six months ago.”

  “What does she like to eat?”

  “Why, she likes your custard, and the mashed peas and carrots, and porridge with shredded pork.”

  “Well, let’s make her some.” Mrs. Song turned to her nurse, and in a moment of lucidity, she asked for her purse and coat for a trip to the market.

  The nurse looked uncertainly at her charge, then at Liu. “She’s not supposed to go out.”

  “It’s the last chance she’ll have before they take her away,” Liu said. “It’ll be all right. There’s two of us to watch her.”

  That afternoon, the four descended a long series of stone steps to Wushan’s main street, stopping often for Mrs. Song to rest. The nurse held onto Mrs. Song, and Liu carried Rose with one hand and braced his neighbor’s arm with the other. At length, they arrived at the open market in a side alley. Here, tucked between the gleaming modern storefronts that rumbled with pop music, was a vestige of old Wushan.

  The market bustled with the morning activity of shoppers. A long row of vegetable vendors streamed down the middle of the alley, their wicker baskets overflowing with bai chai, onions, and lettuce. The gnarled surfaces of bitter cucumber and green pepper glistened in the hazy winter light. Fragrant smells of fried bean curd wafted from stalls to their right, and on the other side, the little shops overflowed with wrapped candies and peanuts. Liu pulled his daughter’s hand away from a mound of chestnuts, where a customer was haggling with the irate seller. An old woman hefted two large baskets of oranges on her carrying pole, giving her the appearance of a weighing scale as she crossed the alleyway, steadfastly keeping her balance. Porters looking for work sauntered down the main street with their bamboo poles slung over their shoulders, the tangle of carrying cords hanging loose like an empty fishing net.They reminded Liu of his days hustling for work in a town that no longer existed.

  “Stop here!” cried Mrs. Song. “I want to get some cabbage and snow peas for supper. And a cut of pork ribs.” She pointed to two shanks of cured meat hanging off a vendor’s pole. “I’ll make a stew tonight. My husband will enjoy that.”

  The nurse looked at Liu, and they gently pulled Mrs. Song away, saying that it was still too early to shop for supper.

  “Where’s Ol’ Jing?” Mrs. Song turned toward a shop, slipping out of their grasp. “He sells the best baijiu in town, and my husband likes a glass of it with his cigarettes in the evening.”

  “His shop is closed,” Liu said, thinking better than to tell her that the rest of the old town had sunk with it into the Yangtze.

  When they returned to the apartment, Mrs. Song waved her guests off with a cheerful, “Come visit me soon.” Liu grabbed little Rose, who seemed reluctant to leave, and with a nod and forced smile, he shuffled away, only to linger in the hallway long after the nurse closed the door.

  ALONE WITH THE BABY, MEI LING WONDERED HOW SHE COULD endure four days with the fussy child. Little Rose was an impish, peevish baby, and she managed to get into enough mischief in their tiny apartment to sully her baby clothes quite often. She crawled across the kitchen while Mei Ling was getting dressed for work one afternoon, and the sleeve cuffs that were clean in the morning now had a fresh coat of cigarette ash and food crumbs.

  “Oh goodness.” Mei Ling grabbed a fresh pair of sleeve cuffs. As she pulled the soiled ones from the baby’s elbows, the creature struggled and kicked with all her might. “Now hold still.” Rose yelped in protest, shaking her head in a fit of defiance. Mei Ling grabbed her tiny wrists and gave them a hard shake. “Stop it! Your daddy’s not here, and you’d better behave.”

  The baby howled, her half-drawn sleeves flapping like ragged kites in the wind.

  Mei Ling lifted the creature, a writhing mass of displeasure, and set her down in the crib.

  Sinking to the floor, Mei Ling buried her head in her hands. Once again, she was no better than a servant to the whims of others. She was caught in a hopeless situation, rejected by a child who wasn’t hers. And what if she had wanted to have one of their own? A second would incur a hefty fine, and in the city, there was no escaping the government’s notice. In the countryside, at least one could give the unwanted offspring to relatives.

  Mei Ling flashed upon an idea. The girl was adopted after Liu’s brother died. Perhaps she could be passed on again, even if she was a girl.Yet it was clear that Liu adored that child, and with the reception coming up, now was not the time to bring up such a proposal. In the meantime, Mei Ling was going to find a way to make peace with the little devil.

  The next day, Rose tottered into the kitchen as Mei Ling was getting dressed. Her steps were rather unsteady, so she fell on all fours and scampered into the recesses of the counter. A jungle of wondrous objects surrounded her—a hulking sack of rice, a large jar of pickled vegetables, and dried anchovies with a briny smell that tickled her nostrils. On the floor was a small bone, a tendon-covered joint of pork, no more than two days old. It was the kind Mrs. Song used for making broth. Rose stuffed the bone in her mouth. She rolled it around, her teeth not quite able to grasp its rubbery contours. And then, in the next instant, the bone slid down her throat and lodged against her trachea. Rose opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. In vain she tried to suck in air, but could only flail her body against her cramped surroundings.

  When Mei Ling heard the commotion, she rushed into the kitchen, and upon seeing the pallor in Rose’s face, she scooped up the baby and tapped her briskly on the back. Not a peep of sound came out. “Oh dear,” Mei Ling muttered. She stuck her finger into the child’s mouth, wincing as she ran into the nubs of new molars. Mei Ling thought of her brother; a similar thing had occurred many years ago when he was a baby. A wise old man in the village had rushed over, seized the boy by the ribs, and given several sharp thrusts with his fists. Bracing herself against the wall, Mei Ling administered the same treatment, although with less force. A heave, and the baby’s head lurched forward. Another, and then another, and out came the offending bone. At last, Rose could cough and fuss like her old self. Mei Ling exhaled a deep sigh, and sat with the baby against her bosom, until she remembered she was due at work.

  Mei Ling hoped that their domestic life would be a little easier now, and perhaps somewhere in the child’s young brain was a glimmer of gratitude. The creature now settled down whenever Mei Ling held her, as she did that afternoon, against her bosom. And yet, while she was perfectly willing to let go of the battle of wills, Mei Ling could not as yet surrender the deeper stirrings of her heart to motherhood.

  THE PORT OF FENGJIE WAS BUSY THIS TIME OF YEAR, AS MANY migrant workers, students, and traveling businessme
n were returning to their families for the lunar New Year. Liu carried a small black bag with some overnight provisions for his stay with Wang Ma, the fellow he had met on his foray into the ghost town of Fengdu. That trip, Liu had sworn, would be the last of its kind.

  Besides paying respects to Fei Fei, he hoped to find prospects for work in town. Yet his body was no longer youthful, and his muscles had lost suppleness, if not strength. Liu wondered if his unorthodox life in recent times had made him too soft.

  New Fengjie was not too different from where he lived. On the hill were endless rows of high-rises; below, the river town bustled with the activity of merchants, porters, and shoppers. Liu climbed into a small minibus, already crammed with half a dozen passengers. Whenever it lurched to a stop, the impossible would happen. Another fellow would pile in, scrunching his elbows and ribs; another load would be shoved in the back, already overloaded with rice sacks and boxes of merchandise. Fengjie seemed to be more prosperous than Wushan. If the place reminded him of Fei Fei, it was in name only. He figured the old town had really died with her; indeed, it had found a resting place downstream beneath the tamed Yangtze.

  The minibus headed along a highway and across the bridge to Baidicheng, the White Emperor City, where the famed temple stood on a small peninsula. From the side of the road, Liu made his way down the overgrown hill, past peasant homes that dotted its steep slope. After climbing the long stairway to the temple’s front entrance, he was told he needed to pay 50 yuan to enter.

  “But I’m not a tourist,” protested Liu.

  The gatekeeper stared at him. “You’re the first one to show up today. And you expect me to let you in free?”

  “I’m paying respects to my wife. She died not far from here.”

  The man squinted his eyes. A soft breeze rustled the trees inside the compound. Liu said nothing more, enduring the agony of silence. At last, the man gestured him through the gate.

  Inside the grounds, Liu wandered past stone tablets of ancient writings, a grove of bamboo, and a fetid pond surrounding a nearly life-sized statue that had seen better days. He remembered the name, Liu Yuxi, a venerable poet of the Tang Dynasty. “From the Liu clan,” Fei Fei had once told him, smiling. In the inner square, past idle vendors playing cards, Liu found the sanctuary where a monk greeted him languorously. He, too, seemed to be off duty and enjoying the absence of human traffic.

  “Sifu,” said Liu, “I have come in the memory of my wife, who passed away two years ago.”

  “Ah, your sorrow must be great,” replied the monk. “Come, light three sticks of incense and kneel before the Buddha.”

  At the monk’s direction, Liu bowed three times, and placed the incense in a large urn.

  “Arise, and follow me,” said the monk, leading him to a small table, where they sat. The monk gazed at Liu’s countenance, and began to pontificate in words he could not understand. Liu was neither devoted nor educated, as Fei Fei had been. It was Fei Fei who found comfort in the chants and ritual prostrations when she was alive.

  At length, the monk began to speak to Liu’s situation. “You must learn to let go of the past. Only then will you find peace, and be free from suffering of the heart.”

  Liu nodded. Indeed, he had come to grips with Fei Fei’s death, and the anguish of knowing that he could have prevented it—if he had been more stern with her, if he had kept her from venturing out in her eighth month of pregnancy.

  “What you once had is gone. And you must not be apathetic, for this world is impermanent. What you find comfort in will be taken away, and where you seek solid ground the earth will always be shifting. In the ways of work, you must be diligent, so that you can provide for those in your immediate circle. In human relations, you must be wary, as no person is to be fully trusted when they have their own selfish motives at heart.”

  “What about those close to me? I am married again,” Liu added, feeling somewhat ill at ease.

  “You have chosen to share your fortunes with another, and for both to prosper, both must also suffer loss.”

  Liu started, unsure what the cryptic words meant. “But I have lost already,” he cried. “I lost a wife once before. Please tell me, kind master, that I won’t have to go through such terrible loss again.”

  “As the Taoist masters have said, ‘Praise and blame, gain and loss, are all the same,’” the monk replied, his demeanor placid and unwavering. He seemed oblivious to Liu’s growing distress. Finished with his sermon, the monk stood up and pointed to the donation box before ushering Liu out of the sanctuary.

  Liu stumbled outside, trembling as he fell to his knees. His intuition had been to do his duty, out of loyalty and love, and the upwelling of grief caught him by surprise. Surely, he had honored her, spared her more suffering, forgiven her, and sought her forgiveness.What more was needed?

  Still agitated, Liu pulled himself up the high wall that sheltered the temple compound. He peered over the edge into the swirling eddies of the river. He could see how Fei Fei had died. She had gone to visit a friend in Shibao Block, and on the way back the ship entered Xiling Gorge, where the rapids had been treacherous.

  It had been a strangely windy day, with the gale coming from all directions. The waves sloshed around the small boat, pushing it toward the naked outcropping of rock close to shore. The wind picked up and the waves danced in unison, lifting the boat high in the air. Hollers from the crew forced the passengers inside. She clutched her seat and chanted silently to herself, beseeching the Buddha of infinite wisdom. “Ami tuo fuo. Ami tuo fuo. Ami tuo fo.” The boat struck rock, and the splintered wood and passengers fell away. The ancient dragon of the Yangtze swallowed them all. That day, when Liu was expecting her return, Fei Fei and their unborn child were taken away. The bodies had drifted toward shore, but her spirit remained beyond the grasp of his sorrow and his futile hopes.

  Staring into the murky waters, Liu cried out, “I lost my family. I cannot bear to lose again.”

  He wondered if any attempt had even been made to rescue Fei Fei. It was considered bad luck to go after a drowning person, even if she was pregnant and close to bringing a child into the world.

  “What a cruel world this is.” Liu sank his head into the folds of his jacket, and rocked himself until his trembling body could not cast off any more layers of grief. He drifted into a delirious slumber, and when dusk fell, he roused himself and clattered down the ancient stone steps to return to Fengjie.

  THE NEXT DAY, WANG MA TOOK HIS VISITING FRIEND TO HIS favorite hot pot restaurant in Fengjie. He sensed that Liu was in a despondent mood, and did not ask him about his visit to the temple in Baidicheng.

  The two ate in silence for some time, as Wang Ma added more slices of raw beef and tofu to the bubbling pot on their table, encouraging his friend to eat. “Ah, being an electrician isn’t so bad after all,”Wang Ma said, “now that my hair no longer stands on end.”

  “Any prospects for a fellow like me? Not much schooling, just willing to work.”

  “There’s not much industry here in Fengjie. The cement factory shut down. All the state-owned businesses, as you know, have failed. Why, I worked for a linen factory for fifteen years, always thinking that the government would take care of me in my old age, like a good son takes care of his father. When it tanked, we were given a small amount of severance pay, and turned out to the streets.”

  “I could never stay in jobs working for some big boss,” said Liu. “How does someone like me find decent work? I’m not good at being a cog in a big wheel.”

  “A big wheel it is. See all those men carrying loads? They’re really not necessary. If this town could afford new technology, they’d be gone in a heartbeat. That’s why there aren’t any more coal-hauling jobs for us; highways and trucks are better any day than a hundred men scampering about the dock. And if enough people could afford electric and propane stoves, who would have any use for these dirty blocks of coal?” Wang Ma pointed to the kitchen where a woman shoved a pan of coal nuggets into the
stove.

  “I suppose we’ll never be able to keep up,” said Liu. “The world changes too quickly. And then there’s the rich people who come to a poor city like Wushan, to ride in a peasant’s raft up the Little Three Gorges.”

  “That must be where the jobs are, in tourism.”

  “I suppose so. My friend Tai has done quite well catering to that crowd.”

  Wang Ma leaned back and lit a cigarette. “You gotta keep up with the times. Can’t hold onto the old ways. I’ve got pictures of my great-grandfather. He wore his hair in a long queue. Who could ever question the Manchu rulers? They’d get their heads chopped off. Nowadays, only a rebel would sport a pigtail between the ears. China’s come a long way, my friend. Our clothes are modern, our cities light up at night thanks to the wonders of electricity. We have TVs and computers, comfortable hotels. See how the foreigners come to us?”

  Liu thought of Mr. Wu, the farmer who turned into a ferryman, boasting of his newfound success. He shuddered to think of catering to foreigners; they must look down on Chinese folks, just as Mr. Wu looked down on them. But the man was making a good living going up and down the Little Three Gorges, and perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  20

  FANG COULD NOT BELIEVE HIS EARS. “SHE REFUSES TO SEE ME? I’m not asking much. I’ve laid my hands on the Chu family’s jewels, and all I want is to take ’em to her. What other man would go to the trouble of turning up the relics of a woman’s dead husband?”

  Chu Longshan stared into his teacup. “Fang, I cannot account for my sister’s behavior. All I can think is, the past is the past, and she doesn’t want to dig it up.”

  “What did I do to wrong her? What burns in her memory still after thirty-five years?” Fang paced up and down the length of the room, clutching the pendant that Liu had scavenged. He knew Chu Sulin to be a determined woman, and a stubborn one who would harbor no regrets. His desire, fervent as it was, would consume him before she ever relented.