Liu held his breath, waited for her to continue. But impatience overtook him, and he said, “Was she happy in Chongqing?”
“I do not know. Mei Ling had been such a radiant presence in our parish, with her youthful energy. The woman who returned from Chongqing that winter seemed to have the light snuffed out of her.” She glanced at Liu. “Do not fear. The Lord provides a beacon to even the most troubled of souls.”
Liu did not want such reassurances. He knew that something had gone awry in the big city, but he felt little sense of victory in his wife’s defeat, if there had indeed been another man. Instead, he was seized by a paternal wave of concern. “She is okay now?”
“From what word we have received, yes. She sends occasional cards from Guangdong. Her mother has died, and her father relies on her now that he, too, has fallen ill.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” Liu glanced down at his feet, and in a fervent heartbeat his fantasies unleashed. He would find his way to Guangdong where Mei Ling would welcome him with open arms, and Rose would seek the bosom of her adoptive mother, so that their lives would be stitched together again after such unraveling. And then the night wind sobered him, brought his attention to the cold grip of his hands on the railing, the clawing of his daughter’s fingers at his hip. Sister Liang stared contemplatively across the canvas of the darkened city, her hands tucked into her sleeves.
As quickly as the futile hope had arisen, it scampered resolutely back into the shadows. He could offer her no prospects for a better life. And the idea of living under the same roof as her father was rather unappetizing. No, Liu and Rose had established their little nest outside of Fengjie. It was not to be.
The little girl’s tugging became more insistent. “I’m cold, Ba Ba. I want to go eat.”
“We must leave,” said Liu. “Thank you for indulging my questions. I’m afraid that Guangdong is too far for us to travel, but please let Mei Ling know that I wish the best for her.”
“Sir ... before you go.” The nun cleared her throat again. “Your wife had spoken to me about her situation shortly before she left. She expressed her great sorrow at having wronged you. Said that if you were ever to return, you might hear those words and forgive her.”
Liu stared into the woman’s eyes, honey-colored in the light beneath the silent bells. “She is forgiven.”
He seized Rose’s hand and lumbered down the steep staircase, turning only to bid a hasty farewell to Sister Liang.
DOWN THE WINDING ROAD TOWARD WUSHAN’S MAIN SQUARE, Liu and Rose trotted along at a clip until a sudden twinge in his leg reminded him to temper their fretful pace. They stopped at a corner where the sizzle of fried potatoes lured them toward a roadside vendor. In the puff of her cheeks and her kindly eyes, shaped like butterfly wings, Liu imagined the countenance of Mrs. Song. A cognizant Mrs. Song who always knew what to do when the baby was colicky or couldn’t keep her food down, felt hot to the touch or wet and runny down below. Liu handed the small dish of steaming potatoes, peppered with fried garlic, to his daughter. “Rose, say thank you to the nice Po Po.”
“Xie xie, Po Po,” Rose twittered, suddenly shy, but her eyes held the same glimmer of recognition.
Down the hill they skidded, father and daughter, pulled along by gravity and memory, the footfalls and car horns around them an obliterating presence, shielding them in anonymity. While no one around them could identify him, an ex-scavenger, a man with no wife twice over, a fugitive chased away for lack of resources, he could not help but pick out the eerie semblance of those he once knew and loved in the faces around him.
The taxi driver flicking his cigarette outside the cab window gestured to Rose as they walked by. The crook of his finger, the sharp line of his jaw, his heavy-lidded eyes, were Tai’s finger and jaw, those same querulous orbs.
“Need a ride, mister?”
“We’re looking for a place to stay. Anywhere will do.”
The taxi lurched forward into traffic, and as they sped along Guangdong Street, the kaleidoscopic flashes of an old, familiar life flickered before his eyes. The alleyway where mounds of peanuts and candy vied for attention alongside tubs of fresh produce and baked tofu.The long sidewalks where porters hustled along in the incandescent light of fancy shops, with slabs of pork strung onto their bamboo poles. The open-faced delis where men hunched over noodle bowls. The site of Tai’s old restaurant, now a department store, where manikins beckoned to passersby while store clerks huddled in a corner, giggling.
Liu paid the taxi driver, who accepted the fare with tobacco-stained fingers. The Mei Yuan Jiu Dian was a small affair, its name too generous for such a modest inn. It took a few taps of the counter bell to summon the clerk, a young woman with a porcelain complexion and dainty lips, whose pencil-lined brows were arched into an expression of perpetual surprise. When she gave Liu their room key, he felt a rabid impulse to seize the hand that proffered it. He swallowed hard. The knot of muscles in his neck clenched, held him back. He wanted to linger, to learn her name, to find traces of home amidst the dun-colored walls, somber drapes, and stick furniture.
The woman with painted brows was perhaps Mei Ling’s age. Did she look past the futility of her present circumstances to a rosier future? She appeared not to care that he loitered, under the pretense of thumbing through magazines he could not read. He wondered why he would be drawn back to his past, one that taunted him with unrequited longings. Liu felt somewhat ashamed of his desire, and when Rose fussed in her sleep-deprived state, he was grateful for the impetus to retreat.
A LIGHT RAIN TAPPED AGAINST THE WINDOWPANE IN THE morning, but Liu was undeterred in his mission. He would take Rose back to the place where she was born. Astride his shoulders, the little girl hunkered down beneath a plastic cape as Liu pushed past the crowd of morning shoppers and street hawkers. He was a ready steed, charging into battle toward that one remnant of his former life that could not elude him.
The dock was already teeming with passengers who streamed back and forth in chaotic currents. Liu mustered the courage to approach a small group of travelers.
“A boat to the Little Three Gorges?” one replied. “I’ve seen ’em dock a couple hundred yards down the road, by that shallow bank.”
Liu thanked them, and the two made their way along the gravel road to a quiet stretch of the waterfront. He lowered Rose to the ground and stood up stiffly. “Little monkey, one day you’re going to carry your Ba Ba.”
“I’m carrying Ba Ba!” The little girl seized his legs and tried to levitate him, to no avail. “Ba Ba is a big goat, a big heavy goat.”
Liu kicked up a spray of gravel and snorted at the child, who dashed down the sloped embankment toward the water. Just as he caught her, a small boat chugged into view, steered by a man Liu immediately recognized. It was Mr. Wu, his old boss, a crew of one, whose arrival filled him with a mixture of dread and curiosity.
The boatman who appeared before them was not the pompous Mr. Wu whom Liu had known. He wore a faded jacket with stray threads hanging like unkempt whiskers. His mustache, which had once been groomed to perfection, sported streaks of gray. The leather boots were creased with lines that mirrored the tired contours of his face.
“Mr. Wu, how’s business?” asked Liu.
Raking a crooked smile across his face, the ferryman answered, “Not bad. Not bad. Everyone’s gotta see the Little Three Gorges before the water crawls up the cliffs again.”
“When is that happening?”
“Where have you been, young man? Why, the river is swelling up as we speak. They say it’ll fill up to the new level by summer’s end, and it looks like we’ll get good rain this season to flood it even sooner.”
Liu sensed that there was little time to waste, that somehow he had been drawn back before another chapter of his former life became irrevocably lost. But he had worried that Ol’ Fang might lay claim to his daughter, have her spirited her away in the dark of night. Enough time had passed to quell his fears, and during their brief stay in
Wushan he saw no traces of the old broker, not even in the faces of strangers.
The boatman kept up some of his airs, tipping his cigarette impatiently while Rose tottered along the wooden plank into the boat. Yet Liu felt more at ease around this new Mr. Wu, whose subdued manner harkened back to his old, pre-capitalist self.
“I’m here to take my daughter on a little cruise to her home village. It’s already under water, but it’s a ways down in Emerald Gorge, somewhere beneath these rocky peaks shaped like a pair of horns.”
“Well, hop aboard. I think you folks are it today. Rain’s keeping the others at home.”
Father and daughter hunkered down in the cabin, gazing at the silver spray that jetted forth from the prow of the boat as it plied through deeper waters. The engine chugged noisily, but Liu could hear occasional grunts from the boatman’s lips as they passed cargo boats laden with coal or produce, a tremendous barge with dried reeds bundled into haystacks. Liu was tempted to ask Mr. Wu about the downsizing of his business. Where was the two-tiered ferryboat that he’d boasted, the extra hands he had hired? And the passengers? Liu sensed that the boatman would be insulted by insinuations that his business had faltered, even if those days of prosperity were over.
It was Mr. Wu who opened up conversation. He squatted on the rim of his boat, hollered into the recesses of the cabin. “You comfortable in there, ol’ brother? It’s a little musty with all the rain.”
“Fine. The child’s fine, too.” Liu was somewhat surprised to be addressed in this way, with a tone of familiarity that Mr.Wu the boss had never used.
“The rain’s let up a bit.View’s better out here.”
Liu nudged his daughter, who was playing with the straps of her lifejacket, and they emerged from the dark cabin, settling down against its hull.
“Still have family in these parts?” Liu recalled that the boatman had grown up in the Little Three Gorges in rather modest circumstances.
“Yep. Just the sister’s gone,” Wu replied. “Became a prostitute in Chongqing.”
Liu stared at the boatman, who seemed to relish the reaction he drew.
“Ha! Nowadays anyone in the big city’s gotta throw themselves into a stranger’s lap. She works for a pharmaceutical company. Started as a secretary. Cozied her way up to be a manager.” The man winked, but a sinister aura surrounded his words.
“I spent some time in Chongqing, didn’t care for it.” A sour taste arose in Liu’s mouth, and he fished out a cigarette.
“You’d think she’d send some of her money home to the niang jia. But no, sir, she’s got a good life now. Forgotten her humble beginnings.”
Liu was surprised again by the man’s revelation. His daughter squirmed, bothered by the chimney of smoke emanating from his lips, and climbed back into the cabin with the straps of the oversized lifejacket trailing behind. He kept a watchful eye on Rose, and turned a half-attentive ear toward Mr. Wu.
The boatman took a deep breath and exhaled. “Now I can’t help the folks much, but she could. Pull ’em out of the hell hole they’ve fallen into. That’s what their village has become. Almost nothing left now.” The heavy-lidded eyes squinted shrewdly. “I tell you, the local officials robbed ’em of ninety percent of the resettlement funds they were supposed to get. And then my father, fool that he is, made a stink when he caught a higher-up with his hand in the money jar. What did it get him? Only time in jail. With no end in sight.”
Liu stamped out one cigarette butt after another as Mr. Wu relayed the sordid details of his mother’s entreaties, the officials’ dismissal of their case, the villagers who stuck their necks out simply to be squashed down. It threw a new light on his experiences. The condemned village, once a source of sporadic income for Liu, had been bled dry by corruption. Their residents, who retreated to higher ground with their meager possessions and pickings from the last harvest, fled from home as he once had, but forced flight did not land them on green pastures. Mr. Wu’s father was in prison, and his mother, grieving like a widow, refused to leave their forsaken village.
“She’s a loyal woman,” Liu said, feeling a pang of emptiness that weighed on him like damp cotton.
“I don’t know how long she can keep this up. I’ve tried to talk sense into the woman. The reservoir’s rising again. They gotta clear out by autumn, ’cause the water’s only going to get higher. And where she’s squatting is going to be a big gray fortress of water.” Mr. Wu raised his thick arms in the air, as if invoking a great tidal wave, his eyes blazing in a mixture of awe and horror.
Liu shook his head, disbelieving, except that he had seen such changes with his own eyes. He thought of Father Chong, the blue-cloaked patriarch who, with a great flourish of his sailboat sleeves, claimed that the Lord’s people would be saved from calamity. All they needed to do was to believe in their Savior. A curious trick of the mind, that the past would reappear, uninvited. “She’ll probably pick up when the water gets high enough.”
“No, you don’t know my mother. She wants my father back so bad that she’s lost her mind. I’ve tried to bribe the local cadres to tell me his whereabouts, but I’m just a small fly pestering them.”
His admittance of humility was fleeting. Mr. Wu snorted, bent over and emptied another pan of river water into the engine. “I would just lift her up bodily and fling her into the boat, but she’s mad enough that she’d tear me to pieces like a hungry wolf.” Mr. Wu sat up and stared intently at Liu.
“Can you talk some sense into the woman? You’re a father. A stubborn old woman’s like a stubborn child. You must have a few tricks up your sleeve.”
“I ... I’m not sure I’ll have any better luck than you,” Liu replied. “And half the time I can’t get my little girl to do what she’s supposed to.”
“Ma’s not listening to family. What else can I do? Call in the cops? Ha! Let her drown in the waves?”
The boatman’s declaration brought a jolt of remembrance. A deserted shore inhabited by a lone child. Liu’s child. The doleful incantations of the Buddhist monk over his first wife’s ashes. The cries of grieving women. The drone of ancient voices beseeching the mother of this half-man, half-god Jesus. He had never understood what it all meant. But he understood the impulse to salvage the living from the forces that snatched away life.
“All right, I’ll talk to her. And if she doesn’t listen, well, I’m not sure, then.” Liu threw up his hands. “It’ll take an act of the gods, I suppose.”
33
THE RAIN PLAYED AGAINST THE EMERALD-GREEN SURFACE OF the Daning, plucking the waves like skilled fingers strumming an er hu. The waters heaved, rocked forward then back, drawing Wu’s small boat closer to shore. Against the steel hull of the boat, the raindrops pattered insistently in a militant tempo that drove Rose into her father’s arms.
While their companion docked the boat, Liu bundled his daughter in her small raincoat, adjusted the hood close, and wrapped his scarf around her until only a pair of saucer-shaped eyes and a dumpling nose remained. He thought of hoisting her onto his shoulders, and thought better when he surveyed the narrow trail, which curved along a hill where cabbages and potatoes grew. They stepped on shore, hands interlaced, and a furious wind swept upon them from behind, lifting the flaps of Rose’s scarf in a mad dance. The little girl whined, and Liu pressed her close to him. He tasted grit on his lips, thick as summertime silt. Their lumbering steps left imprints in the mud like sunken cow pies. In the rear, Mr. Wu grunted, his cigarette flickering hopelessly in the gale.
Beyond the vegetable patch, a small shack with a blue-and-white tarp clung to the hillside, surrounded by an odd assortment of stools and low chairs. The wooden ones were missing a leg or a spoke in the back. The plastic stools held a veritable collection of pickled cabbages, limp as soggy laundry. The grizzled head of a woman appeared in the open-faced shack. She tipped the rainwater from the seat of an unused stool, lowered herself gingerly, and stoked the feeble coals of her stove, which was sheltered beneath a broken-up crate.<
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The woman looked up, and her eyes glowed with the same light from the coal embers. “Back again, you stubborn donkey. Can’t leave your mother alone.”
Liu had barely caught his breath before the words assaulted his ears. He chuckled silently, realizing that stubbornness wasn’t always such a bad trait.
“Who’s that young fellow with you?” The woman shifted her gaze toward him. Her red-streaked eyes aroused not so much loathing as a nameless remorse in Liu.
Pulling his daughter close, he approached her cautiously, as if she could combust at any moment, defying rain and human entreaty.
“My name is Liu. Liu Renfu. My daughter Rose has never set foot in her birth village. That’s why we’re here.”
“Is that what brings you to this forsaken place?” She poked at the coals with a vicious thrust, scattering a few glowing nuggets on the damp earth.
“Well, we may not find the village exactly. It’s under water now. But your son’s good enough to take us around on a day like this.”
The old woman glared at Wu, a sorry sight with his drenched mustache and rain-soaked clothes. “He is a troublemaker. First the authorities, now my own son won’t leave me alone.”
“Ma! What do you want me to do? I’ve pestered them with wine, soft money, hard money, hung bao for their kids. I’m broke, but Pa’s still penned up.”
The woman threw her stick down and wrapped her arms around her ample bosom, rocking herself on the little stool.Against the ragged tarp, the rain pounded like a stampede of hooves, but the woman showed no signs of retreat.
“Your son means well,” Liu broke the silence. He bent over and rested a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up. Her eyes were hungry, pleading. “All he’s ever tried to do was keep the petty bureaucrats honest. They’ve taken it all away. My husband. My house.” She pointed to a barren patch uphill. “What they’ve given us won’t even keep the mice alive.”
In the Lap of the Gods Page 31