by Ge Fei
The locust tree grew right next to the temple’s outer wall. He easily climbed the tree and threw a leg over the top of the wall. Some distressed wasps circled closely around his head. Only after he climbed down the ladder did he sense the stings slowly swelling on his face. They didn’t hurt so much.
The discovery of the ladder made him smile. His heart felt light; a salty taste rose from his throat. The moonlight lit the way to her door, which sat ajar. He smiled again.
He wondered whether or not to knock; the door opened wider and a hand reached out to pull him inside.
“It’s late,” Lilypad said in a low whisper. “I almost thought you weren’t coming.”
She put an arm around his neck, and he could feel her hot breath on his cheek. She grabbed one of his hands and placed it on her chest. Her breathing quickened.
A softness filled Tiger’s hand. He quickly moved it away, but she grabbed it and put it back in its place. She licked his cheek and his lips, bit his nose and the corners of his ears, and moaned something he couldn’t quite hear over her panting.
She really is a whore, Tiger thought.
She told Tiger to pinch her, so he pinched her. She asked him to do it harder; he said he was pinching as hard as he could. He smelled her sweat, which reminded him of a stable. He heard her say in his ear, “You can do whatever you want.” Then she was frantically helping him take off his clothes, asking him to call her “Big Sister, Sister, Sister, Sister, Sister . . .”
After they had gotten naked and embraced under the covers, Tiger heard himself say, “I’m gonna die.” His body felt like it would melt away in an instant. Silently, he began to cry. In the darkness, he heard Lilypad giggle and reply, “Yes, it’s true—this isn’t much different from dying.”
She climbed on top of him, pinching, twisting, and biting. He lay flat on the bed, his whole body as taut as a bowstring. She gave him orders, which he followed obediently, and taught him how to say things that appalled him. He watched her waist lift and smash down on him over and over again in waves. She clenched her steel-strong thighs around him and ground her teeth as she pinched his shoulders. The sight of her head lolling back and forth terrified him as he lay beneath her frightened and confused. Lilypad, her eyes closed, occasionally whispered, “Good boy, good boy, good boy . . .”
Frigid moonlight streamed through the screen windows onto the bed. Lilypad’s pale, naked body looked like it was covered in frost. They lay next to each other, motionless and silent for a long time. The sweat on their bodies evaporated quickly in the night breeze, leaving the smell of their sex behind. The smell no longer embarrassed him. It was on her neck, her elbows, her stomach, her armpits. He also could smell a faint perfume drifting in the air. He couldn’t tell if it was from the osmanthus trees in the courtyard, or the powder on her cheeks.
Lilypad covered him with a blanket and tucked him in like a child, then got out of bed. Her naked flesh rippled like overflowing water. She hunted around the room until she found a metal tin, bringing it to the bed as she climbed back on top of him, her body now cool and smooth like a carp. She opened the tin, took something out, and stuffed it into Tiger’s mouth.
“What’s this?” Tiger asked.
“Rock candy,” she replied.
The crystallized sugar crunched loudly between his teeth. He felt secure and relaxed, like he didn’t need to think about anything.
Lilypad said that when she worked in the brothel in Yangzhou, they would give a piece of rock candy to every customer after he was finished; it was a house rule.
Tiger asked how they received their customers. Lilypad patted his cheek gently and said, “Exactly like we were doing just now.” Tiger held her more tightly.
Trying to please her, Tiger told her that when the Principal called him to the garan shrine that day, he hadn’t said anything.
Lilypad blinked her eyes a few times and replied, “But you must have said something; otherwise she wouldn’t have sent Wang Qidan out this afternoon to arrest him.”
“Did they get him?”
“He had already left a while ago,” Lilypad said.
She asked Tiger about the details of his meeting with Xiumi. He carefully answered each question she asked. In the end, she sighed with relief. “A close call! She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. It’s almost impossible to tell what’s going on inside her head. She never stares directly at you when she’s looking at you, so she can see right into your bones before you realize she has her eye on you.”
The way Lilypad was talking about Xiumi suggested they weren’t the close confidantes the villagers perceived them to be. It seemed they kept a close eye on each other. But what could each suspect of the other?
“You said she’s smart,” Tiger said thoughtfully, “but everyone in the village says she’s crazy.”
“Sometimes she really is crazy.”
Lilypad grabbed his hand and brought it to her breast. The nipple stiffened until it felt like an unripe mulberry or a button knot. Lilypad cried out softly a few times, then continued: “She wants to turn the people of Puji into one person, with everyone wearing the same clothes and living in the same houses. Nobody would own any of the land, as everyone would own it. Everyone would farm together, eat together, and go to bed at the same time. Every person would have the same possessions, and every house would get the same amount of sunlight, rain, and snow. Everyone would smile the same way and dream the same dreams all the time.”
“Why does she want to do that?”
“Because she thinks it will make everyone’s frustrations disappear.”
“But . . . but I think her way would be kind of nice,” Tiger interjected.
“Nice my ass,” Lilypad replied. “This is the kind of crazy stuff she thinks up when she can’t sleep. Everybody has fantasies like that every once in a while, but you usually just indulge them for a moment then forget about them. Nobody except a psychopath would actually try to realize them.”
After a pause, she went on, “Although, she’s definitely not the only psychopath in the world, otherwise why would so many people be running around calling for revolution?”
She mentioned Zhang Jiyuan, and all the strangers coming and going in the academy. “But the way I see it, the Qing empire won’t fall. And even if it does, someone else will name himself emperor.”
After whimpering, she turned to kiss his lips. Even her breath smelled sweet.
For some reason, Tiger thought of the cotton fluffer again. “So, the cotton fluffer: When did he leave?”
“Day before yesterday,” Lilypad said. “He’s a nomadic artisan, he doesn’t stay in one place for very long.”
“But I heard Magpie say that we had a whole pile of cotton for him to fluff.”
“Other cotton fluffers will come to the village.”
“That evening, why did you ask him if he was a pig?”
Lilypad narrowed her eyes, as if he she hadn’t heard the question, and asked him with a mischievous smile, “If I were twenty years younger, would you want me as your wife?”
“I would!” Tiger replied.
“Want to ‘die’ one more time? It’ll be dawn soon.”
Tiger thought for a moment, and said, “Okay.”
She told him to roll on top of her; he hesitated, then did as she commanded. She told him to slap her and choke her, and so he choked her until her throat gurgled and he could see the whites of her eyes. He feared that if he really gripped her hard, he would strangle her. She made him call her a whore, a dirty bitch, a filthy slut, a village bicycle, a common fuck, telling him to repeat each name after she said it.
Finally, she started to sob.
9
ONE MORNING, after ten days of sleep and delirium, Madame Lu opened her eyes. She ordered Baoshen to help her sit up and Magpie to the kitchen. “Boil me a little date-sugar tea. Don’t forget
the honey.”
Magpie rushed downstairs and back to the bedroom with the tea. After Madame Lu finished the cup in a flurry of gulps, she declared that she was hungry and asked for a bowl of pinched noodles. Magpie and Baoshen exchanged looks; then Magpie hurried back to the kitchen to roll dough. The mistress’s abnormal behavior inspired a sigh of relief from the entire household. They thought it was a sign she was recovering. But Doctor Tang Liushi didn’t share their enthusiasm.
When Tiger came to his house with the news, Tang Liushi was sitting in a bamboo chair, wiggling one foot and humming snatches of opera.
“She’s done for,” he said, not bothering to move. “It’s her last burst of energy. Go tell your father to prepare everything for the funeral. I doubt she’ll last more than half a day.” He went back to his aria: “I crossed swords with Yang Lin not long ago, now they’ve banished me way out to Dengzhou . . .”
Back home, Tiger told his father what the doctor had said.
“How could that be?” Baoshen replied. “She just ate a whole bowl of pinched noodles in one sitting.”
Madame Lu called for Magpie again. “Bring me some hot water.”
“Hot water?”
“Mmm . . . I want a bath.”
“Madame, how can you think about taking a bath now?”
“Just do it. If you wait too long, it might be too late.”
Magpie and Hua Erniang bathed her, helped her into a clean change of clothes, and got her back into bed. Madame Lu asked Baoshen if the coffin was ready.
“It’s long been finished,” Baoshen told her, “we’re just waiting for the last coat of paint to dry.”
Madame Lu nodded. She closed her eyes and leaned against the folded duvet behind her. Some minutes passed before she opened her eyes again and told Baoshen, “Go get Little Thing for me. Have him stand in the doorway so I can see him one last time.”
“Little Thing is already here,” Baoshen said. He waved a hand, and the people standing in the doorway moved away to reveal the boy behind them. His shins were covered with mud that had dried in the sun, and he had torn a hole in the seat of his pants so wide that his round butt cheeks peeked through. Madame Lu began to cry as soon as she saw him.
“This far on in the year and where’s his jacket?” she scolded Magpie. “His pants are ripped, and he’s not even wearing socks.”
Turning to Baoshen, she said, “The boy is almost five years old and he doesn’t have a real name. Think of something now.”
Baoshen told her that Mr. Ding had, in fact, already named him Lu Puji. Madame Lu considered this, and agreed, saying, “Fine, we will call him Puji.” She turned back to the boy and cried silently as she regarded him. She said to him, “Child, Grandma has to leave.”
“Where are you going?” Little Thing asked.
“To a faraway place.”
“Really far?”
“Really far.”
“You should wait until you’re better first, then go,” Little Thing said.
“If I were getting better, I wouldn’t need to go,” Madame Lu said with a smile. “Will you miss your grandma after I’m gone?”
“Of course!”
“Then come to my grave so you can talk to me.”
“How can I talk to you if you’re underground?”
“When the breeze passes through the grass and the trees, they’ll make a sound. And every sound around you will be Grandma talking to you. When you have time, come talk to me. And when my grave gets washed out by the rain, don’t forget to bring a spadeful of dirt to rebuild it.”
“But what if Grandma misses Little Thing, what will she do?” Little Thing asked, suddenly realizing a problem.
“Your name isn’t Little Thing anymore. Your name is Puji. I’m going to call your name and you respond. Puji, hello . . .”
“Yes,” Little Thing answered.
She called his name three more times and he answered each time.
Magpie’s eyes were already red from crying, and both Baoshen and Hua Erniang were wiping their eyes with their sleeves. When Little Thing noticed that everyone else was crying, tears and snot began to dribble down his face, too.
“If he hadn’t brought it up, I would have forgotten. Magpie,” the mistress ordered, “open the drawer on my large dresser. See if there’s a small lacquered box inside. If you find it, bring it to me.”
Magpie opened the dresser drawer and rooted around until she found the box, the cover of which was decorated with a colorful design. Madame Lu took the box and looked it over, saying to Little Thing, “If Grandma misses you, all I have to do is open this box and sniff it.”
“What’s inside?”
“All your little nail parings from when Grandma cut your nails as a baby. Fingernails and toenails. I couldn’t bear to throw them away. Today, I’m going to take them with me.” Madame Lu sighed as she stared at Little Thing. “Go out and play now. Grandma has to go.”
Madame Lu started to pant and turned her head toward one side of the room, then the other in an effort to catch her breath. Soon she began to vomit. Though clearly distressed, neither Baoshen nor Hua Erniang knew what to do, and could only stand helplessly and watch. Tiger heard Hua Erniang whisper, “Her heart is falling . . .”
Convulsions rippled through Madame Lu’s body so violently that the joints of the bed creaked. She complained that her blankets were crushing her, and cried, “I’m going to suffocate!” Magpie hesitated briefly before pulling the blankets away. Tiger saw Madame Lu in her blue-striped pajamas, noticed her pallid ankles crossed uncomfortably, like wooden dowels, one on top of the other. She kept kicking the baseboard as she clenched her hands tightly into fists. Her lips turned red then white, purple, and finally black as her mouth stopped moving.
“There it is,” Grandma Meng announced. “Magpie, don’t just stand there crying. Help me change her clothes.”
But Madame Lu suddenly opened her eyes. They glittered as they carefully surveyed every person in the room. Then, clear as a bell, she said, “It’s going to snow in Puji.”
No one spoke. In the silence, Tiger could hear the subtle fluttering of snowflakes on the tile roof.
A pink foam oozed out between her lips, which quivered as a rhythmic clucking sound almost like a burp emerged from the depths of her body. Magpie poured two spoonfuls of warm water through her clenched teeth that leaked back out through the corners of her mouth, soaking the pillow. Magpie looked to Baoshen, but the latter could only sigh.
The convulsions resumed; her mouth opened and closed. Tiger watched as she tore open the front of her nightgown and wailed, “It’s so hot, it’s suffocating me! Take the blankets off!”
“I already did,” Magpie said through tears.
The mistress dug long red lines into her throat with her fingernails. Her deflated breasts hung across each side of her chest. Her back and waist arched as she strained her legs and flexed her feet. She had a furious scowl on her face, as if she were angry with someone. Her teeth gnashed loudly. Her waist pitched and fell, waves crashing one after another on a lonely beach; she seemed determined to exhaust every last drop of her strength.
Gradually, her movements dwindled; her balled-up fingers relaxed, her clenched jaw dropped, and her body’s excruciating tension dissipated. Her eyes stayed open wide. One ankle continued to spasm periodically, until it too finally stilled.
The Principal materialized.
She seemed to have been there for some time. The snowflakes on her clothing had melted and dampened her jacket. She stood alone and unnoticed in the doorway. She still looked as if she wasn’t completely awake. She walked softly to the edge of the bed, and straightened madam’s bent lower leg flat next to the other. She crossed her hands over her chest, straightened her clothing, and lifted her head to adjust her pillow. Finally, she closed Madame Lu’s eyes. Then she turned to the others and
said gently, “If you could please step out for a moment.”
She locked herself in the room with the corpse and remained there until nightfall. No one knew what she was doing in there, and no one dared intrude. Neighbors and friends who came by after hearing the news crowded together beneath the eaves, under the walkway, and in the kitchen. Little Thing informed every new guest multiple times that “my grandma just died,” but no one paid any attention to him.
Baoshen stood with his arms folded in his sleeves, occasionally looking up at the sky. They couldn’t do anything but quietly wait.
Tiger sensed that the other villagers treated Xiumi with wary respect, most likely due to the awed terror that insanity usually inspires in people. Yet he felt like the last few days had transformed him into a completely different person. He felt no worries; Madame Lu’s death seemed unrelated to him. He felt buoyant, at ease, possibly happy.
For the longest time it had been as if he were trapped inside a black box, the huge, edgeless sky over the village the box’s lid. He’d seen only pieces and shadows of things and had no means to discover why everything around him was happening, or how invisible threads appeared to bind everything together into a single, many-layered mystery. Now he was a part of that mystery: the flame riding the lamp’s hempen wick, the turning hawk in the sky, the scent of the body he savored so much—sweet, anguished, intoxicating.
At the lamp-lighting hour, the door to the bedroom creaked open, and Xiumi emerged. She looked much older and worn than before, though no sign of grief was visible on her face or in her half-closed eyes. Tiger thought she looked like she did the first time he saw her, when Baoshen brought him from Qinggang to Puji: deeply ensconced in a long and shadowy dream.
When Little Thing saw his mother, he ran and hid behind a pillar in the courtyard’s covered walkway, then scampered farther down the walkway to hide himself behind Magpie’s legs. The Principal didn’t seem to notice him. When Baoshen led her into the skywell to inspect the coffin, Little Thing finally ran over and looked up at her, with his silly grin on his face, as if to say, Here I am.