by Hua Bai
“Look at her. I guess she’s no longer a Mosuo woman.”
“Hey, Sunamei, who is your daddy?”
“Sunamei, how many daddies do you have?”
“Who do you think you’re fooling? A whore from the age
of thirteen.”
“Let’s make axiao. I’ll come to you when your man is out.”
Sunamei did not know the nastiness of these words, since she seemed not to hear them. After a few days, the men,
properly snubbed, stopped slandering her. But they were
waiting, enviously, for a big scandal. Meanwhile Sunamei’s reputation was constantly improving with the women.
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“Who would take her for a Mosuo girl? She’s like a per-
fect Han wife.”
“After marriage, that elf has turned into a decent woman.
No one follows the rules better than she.”
“When she wears our clothes, who would take her for a
Mosuo?”
“A person can change. Her husband is a university gradu-
ate, which makes all the difference.”
“When a person knows what’s good for her, she turns out
fine. Just look at Sunamei.”
“Sunamei sings better now than in the past, when she
made eyes at one man after another and so teased those bad men that they made a scene.”
We had a wonderful time together, peaceful, harmonious
and affectionate, and adapted to our surroundings perfectly.
If something marred our perfect happiness, it was Sunamei’s nostalgia for her hometown that sometimes dampened her
spirits. It thrilled her to talk about the boats collecting pig weeds on Xienami, the cranes on the sea of grass, and
pilgrims worshiping the goddess on Mount Ganmu with
incense. Whenever she mentioned the names of Awu Luruo,
Amiji Zhima, her childhood friend Geruoma, her former axiao Longbu and Yingzhi, and Ami Cai’er and old Asi, her eyes would fill with glistening tears. Although she received one or two letters, with their poor literacy the scribes could hardly say anything. In fact, no matter how high a writer’s education is, he could never satisfy a Mosuo girl’s nostalgia.
Who could describe the home of her dreams? Who could
relate all the things about her old friends in the community? She missed the paths she had walked, the trees by the road, the black dog following behind her, the cat squatting by the fireplace, the river singing day and night, the fragrance of the soil she alone could smell, and the music only she could hear played by the wind passing through the
trees. I truly admired her because I did not have a hometown like hers that deserved my dreams and nostalgic feel-3 3 5
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ings. Every tree and blade of grass of her hometown gave life to her poetic imagination.
Finally I said to her, “Sunamei, why don’t you and I pay a visit to your hometown?”
“Go home?” Her eyes shone in ecstasy.
“Yes. Your home, Lake Lugu.”
“Really?”
“We can ask for a leave of absence.”
“Really?” She cried softly.
“We should write to Ami first.”
“When Ami hears that her Sunamei is coming home, she
will send Awu Luruo with a large team of horses to get me.”
“Me, too.”
“How could they leave you out? My axiao. ”
“What, am I your axiao? ” I had taught her to call me her husband.
“No.” She corrected herself. “My husband.”
“That’s right.”
“Will they let us go?”
“They have no reason to refuse. We haven’t taken any
leave since our marriage.”
“True. Let’s write a letter quickly.”
“I’ll do it now.”
“Don’t scribble. The letter must be written neatly stroke by stroke. In our place few people read Mandarin.”
“What shall I write?”
“Well, simply write, ‘Sunamei is homesick.’ Ami will
understand we are coming and will send Awu Luruo with
horses to get us.”
The following day, a letter containing only three words
was mailed out.
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My request for leave was quickly approved
by the Cultural Bureau of the county “on principle,” with the condition that I must wait until an acting manager was found. In the process of searching for the acting manager, leaders at various levels came to realize what a loss Ding Gu’s death had been to the county’s cultural affairs, how noble an intellectual from the big city like me was, and how decent my work attitude was. Meanwhile, they regretted
giving their approval so quickly, because no one wanted the position of manager, and it was hard to find anyone who was willing to take over even for a few days, including the service workers who boiled water or did housecleaning in the county hotel, for they knew more clearly than any leaders how heavy my job was. Searching, discussing, and persuad-ing went on for a dozen days until they finally found two people to share my job. As soon as the horses sent by Sunamei’s Ami arrived, we would set out.
One morning, as I was stamping dates on the movie tick-
ets, the ruddy face of a middle-aged man appeared at the ticket window. A black moustache with some gray stubble, like a curved brush, covered his face, his head was decorated with a red kerchief, and his eyes were slightly bloodshot.
Winking at me mischievously like an old friend, he asked in a deep voice, “You are Liang?”
“Yes.” Guessing he was Sunamei’s Awu Luruo, I immediately walked out to meet him. As expected, he was a caravan man, with six leather wallets around his broad waist belt, a 3 3 7
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whip in his hand, and a pair of tall red and black riding boots on his feet.
“You are Awu Luruo?”
“No. I am Longbu.”
“Longbu?” The name sounded familiar. Longbu? All my
blood rushed to my face. Wasn’t he Sunamei’s first axiao?
He was the first man to possess Sunamei! Sunamei had
described their affairs minutely. Why was he laughing,
looking at me so complacently? I was ashamed of my deli-
cate features, for he was so robust, smelling of overpowering masculinity.
“Awu Luruo is away to Li Jiang with a caravan, so I made the trip here.” He knew what was bothering me. I tried to build up my courage: Be self-confident. Be self-confident!
You are Sunamei’s husband! Although he was a Mosuo man,
he had spent a lot of time in the outside world with caravans, so should know what a husband was and what a hus-
band meant to his wife. I said calmly, “Sunamei is with the singing and dancing troupe. We have been waiting for you.”
I thought it was brave of me to say “We have been waiting for you.”
“Let’s go find her.”
I took Longbu to the troupe and called Sunamei out from
the exercise hall. I could tell she was surprised at seeing Longbu, although she seemed calm and merely said, “Oh,
it’s you, Longbu. Why didn’t Awu Luruo come?”
Longbu shifted to their native tongue to answer her. Not knowing what they were saying, I found their language
repulsive. He talked a lot; Sunamei listened carefully and punched him playfully in the chest. They were still intimate.
“Shall we invite Longbu to have some wine?” I sug-
gested.
“Yes. Longbu, we want to invite you to have some wine.”
Like a modern lady she held my hand, and I caressed hers in an as
sured manner. Longbu nodded his acceptance. Sunamei 3 3 8
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took Longbu’s hand; like me, he caressed her hand tender-ly. The psychological balance I was trying to keep was
shaken again. Sunamei, in high spirits, walked faster than both of us, as if dragging us along.
As soon as we entered the restaurant, Longbu took a full wallet off his belt and gave it to the fat woman cashier. “The best food and the best wine, please.”
I scrambled to get my money out, but Sunamei held me
back and said, “Longbu has money. If he is willing to pay, let him do it.” Longbu smiled proudly, and I felt humiliated.
Sunamei chatted with Longbu the whole time, leaving
me in a cold corner. I tried to figure out what they were talking about, and it seemed that Sunamei was asking about her hometown: one moment of surprise, another of ecstasy or anger or grief. When our order came, Sunamei poured me half a bowl of wine and fed me a piece of pork lovingly with chopsticks to show she had not forgotten me yet. Then
they went on talking, drinking, and laughing, and I had to drink by myself. Occasionally, Sunamei would stroke me
affectionately; otherwise, I would have smashed my bowl.
Longbu was a big eater, wolfing down large amounts of
meat and wine. Wiping off the sweat from time to time, he unbuttoned his shirt, exposing a bronzed, hairy chest.
Finally, he held out his wine bowl to me and said in Mandarin, “Liang, what a lucky man you are!” He banged my wine bowl so hard that it nearly broke. “Cheers!”
I had drunk enough wine, but I was determined to accept
his toast and show my mettle. I was about halfway finished with the last bowl when Sunamei grabbed it and poured it down her own throat. Longbu pointed at her and laughed.
“You really do like him.” Sunamei cast a proud sidelong
glance.
Seeing a hint of sadness in Longbu’s eyes, I perked up. He drank until his eyes were bloodshot and bleary. His insobri-ety was my liberation. Sunamei and I supported him to his 3 3 9
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hotel. Tears glistened beneath his droopy eyelids, and the minute his head touched the pillow, he was snoring thunderously. Sunamei sat and gazed down at him for a long
time. Was he still that attractive to her? Perhaps she was worried he had drunk too much. She seemed obsessed with
some emotion. Nostalgia? Friendship? Love? It was impos-
sible for me to tell. She didn’t realize I was beside her until I said, “Let’s go and let him sleep in peace.”
“Okay.” She buttoned up his shirt and walked out with
me.
That night I asked Sunamei, “What has Longbu been
telling you?”
With a sigh, she said, “Well, all sorts of things about my hometown. Asi passed away and called my name before she
shut her eyes. They tried not to let me know. And our black dog got rabies and was clubbed to death. The white cat ran away with a tomcat. Amiji Zhima is having a child soon. He also told me things about my friends and their axiao. ”
“Did he say anything about us?”
“Yes. He asked me, ‘I heard you got married, didn’t you?’
I said yes. ‘How much money did he spend on you?’ ‘He has no money.’ ‘Are you going to live with him all you life?’
‘We have a marriage certificate.’ ‘Ami is not happy because you did not write to tell her beforehand. Don’t forget you are the root of your family line.’ He also asked me, ‘Is Liang a good man?’”
“What did you say to him?”
“I said, ‘Very good – good at everything, better than
you.’”
“Did you really?”
“Do I ever lie to you? He said he still wants to come to me and be my axiao, but I said, I am a married woman.”
True, she had never told me a lie. I embraced her, and we fell asleep.
We started out early the next morning. Longbu’s dozen
horses, carrying almost no goods, had come especially for us.
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He asked Sunamei and me to ride; he preferred to walk
because he was used to it. Because he wouldn’t ride, I
jumped off, too. Sunamei rode a tame white horse. Longbu followed her horse, and I followed him. They seemed to
have an endless supply of words, talking more heatedly than in the restaurant. Sometimes Longbu could not help touching Sunamei’s thigh with his hand, and Sunamei did not try to stop him. Longbu deliberately whipped the white horse and let it gallop away with Sunamei so as to lengthen the distance between us. When, gasping for breath, I caught up with them, he would crack his whip again. I was unaccustomed to running on rough terrain, whereas Longbu, like a horse of the Liang Mountains, followed Sunamei effortlessly and I could hardly hear him breathing. I was gasping the whole time. He turned from time to time and sneered at
me. I returned a malignant glare. If he ran, I ran. No matter how tired I got, I wouldn’t take a break. Sunamei also
turned to look at me from time to time. The faster her horse ran, the more fun she seemed to have. When I was about to ask her to stop for a rest, she and Longbu started singing their dialogue. I couldn’t understand the words, but the tune was frivolous. All those sudden portamentos! If they weren’t flirting, what were they? Despite my hatred, I had to admit that he sang skillfully and gracefully, matching Sunamei well.
Apart from the mountains and fields, he alone could fit
into her antiphonal singing style and bring out the beauty of her art. On stage, the young lad of the singing and dancing troupe could use his half-male and half-female voice with exquisite charm, but it lacked the beauty of bold freedom. At this moment, Sunamei was singing not for an audience but to reveal her heart. Their voices were so liberated and engaging that even the woods seemed to listen.
Here, every tree, every cloud, even the vulture gliding
above the clouds merged into one harmonious picture in
which I seemed to be an accidental splotch of ink. I was the 3 4 1
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only discordant note in this symphony. How wonderful if I were Chaliapin and could use a sonorous, powerful, beautiful voice to drown out theirs! However, I soon realized that even if I were Chaliapin, there would be no way for me to drown out their singing, because our types of singing,
belonging to two different categories, could not be com-
pared.
At last, they stopped. Sunamei got off the horse. While
Longbu was stopping the other horses, she drank spring
water from her cupped hands and washed her face. I sat on a boulder, still panting.
“Sunamei!” I called to her, trying to suppress the tone of complaint in my voice. Turning her dripping face, she
found me ghastly pale and hurried over to me with water in her cupped hands. I did not drink, and the water leaked
between her fingers. She could tell I was angry. Back at the spring, she scooped up some more water for me, and this
time I did not have the heart to refuse, so I put my mouth to her palms. I would not let her hands go when I finished and buried my face in her palms.
“We walked too fast,” she said apologetically. “You
should have ridden.”
“No!” I said angrily.
We rested by the spring for a long time. Longbu made a
bonfire and boiled tea. Sunamei took out some cookies
bought in town. No one spoke. Finally, Longbu spoke to
Sunamei, but she seemed not to hear him, silently drinking tea and nibbling cookies.
Leaning against a slope, I gazed at Sunamei. I had never found her so precious before. Today, in my eyes, she was the most beautiful
and bewitching woman I had ever seen. Taking out my drawing board, paper, and pencil, I sketched her portrait. I had never done a picture of her because I had nearly stopped drawing altogether. It required a special state of mind, and now I had the right inspiration. With one stroke, her contour came out vividly, the curve I knew by 3 4 2
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heart, running from her round forehead past her straight nose, across the groove of her upper lip to the delicate twist between two slightly meaty lips, down to the two arcs of the upper and lower lips, and finally to the childlike chin linked with her smooth neck. Longbu stepped behind me with
curiosity. When I finished this first line, he was astonished and could not help uttering, “Ami!” This was a Mosuo word I understood. It meant “mother.” I knew he was marveling at the precision of the line.
His interjection disturbed the meditating Sunamei. She
turned her face, but Longbu told her in the Mosuo tongue,
“Don’t move. Sit like you did a moment ago.” Then I
focused all my attention and drew the second, the third, the fourth lines, while Longbu cheered each of them. I was
extremely happy – the delicious taste of revenge. Now it was time to display my superiority. Now he was the superfluous ink splotch. Could he reproduce Sunamei’s beauty on paper? If he tried, it would not be a beautiful Sunamei.
Who knows how ugly it might look? I turned all my appre-
ciation of beauty and love for Sunamei into artistic lines, and soon finished the drawing. A three-dimensional portrait of Sunamei appeared on the white sheet. I put down the
pencil; Longbu called Sunamei over. Amazed by the draw-
ing, she squatted by my side gently, tucking the hair at her temple into the mirror of my drawing. Then she seized my right forefinger and sucked it into her mouth. Longbu held the portrait with both hands like the icon of a god, and mumbled reverently. It was the first time Sunamei had seen one of my drawings and the first time she knew the magic art of my figures. Rather than praise me, she nibbled on my finger that was tired from drawing, comforting me. Then