by Hua Bai
bondage, no lonely old men, no homeless orphans – and, of course, no modernization.”
Sunamei said nothing, only smiling at my excited, lofty
speech. Her smile contained ridicule, happiness, and melan-choly; it was hard for me to read her thoughts.
That evening, the eve of the funeral of the Agupozhe
family, I wanted to see their ritual of chasing ghosts and the dance of the spinning plates, but Sunamei wished to talk with Ami. They had a lot to talk over, for they had been separated from each other for a long time and were going to be again. Nevertheless, I was glad to get out all by myself for once, to be an observer of their strange rituals and customs.
The ritual of chasing ghosts was simple enough, but quite a noisy and exciting scene. When I went to the crowded
courtyard of the Agupozhes, Daba’s voice, already hoarse, was still chanting incantations. He swept the ghosts, which remained invisible to all the others, from every corner and instructed a large group of family members to take down
several boards from their roof. Then he picked up a bowl of rice and ran about as if he were chasing a flock of chickens.
He seemed to keep a host of ghosts in sight, muttering as he drove them out the door, out of the village, and over the 3 6 2
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bamboo bridge. People felt suddenly relieved, for they
believed that the ghosts had really been driven away.
The dance of the spinning plates followed. The dancers
were a group of handsome young men in helmets and
leather armor. Their armor was hung with many little bells.
When they danced, the bells rang out rhythmically and
their beat was quite distinctive – ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling.
Every dancer carried a long sword diagonally across his
back. The edge of his scabbard as well as of his coat and pants were decorated with yak hair. Holding long spears
and swords, the dancers imitated the movements of tigers, yaks, and leopards, turning somersaults and jumping rhythmically. Their dance attracted all the children of the village, who saw no connection between this dance and the mourning. The children followed the dancers around, laughing
and shouting battle cries. I was enchanted by this barbaric dance and meanwhile was trying to spot Yingzhi among
those young men. Of course my efforts were in vain, because I did not know him. One glance at a stranger doesn’t leave much of an impression, and I had noticed only his outfit when he passed us at the riverside. This group of young
dancers looked as if they were born from one mother. Their armor made it even harder for me to tell one from the other.
After the dance, the young men all went to the Agupozhe
house to take off their armor for a feast, and the children gradually dispersed. Glancing at my watch, I was surprised to see the hour hand already pointing to two. Sunamei must be awaiting me anxiously. How could I have behaved like a child? Mosuo women never go out to look for men – this
custom I had already learned. Looking off into the funeral ground, I saw that a pine pyre in the shape of the Chinese character
was being put up by torchlight. The torches
shone through the pyre; shadow and light changed like a
mirage to produce various mysterious beams and spots.
However, I contained my curiosity and walked off. I found the gate bolted. Worse still, I dared not shout for someone 3 6 3
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to come open it. Seeing that the enclosing wall was not
high, I followed the example of Mosuo women’s axiao and climbed over it. Fortunately, they had not yet got another dog after their black one had been killed. I jumped
smoothly into the courtyard. The night was exceptionally still. In the Agu-pozhe home, Daba was reading sacred texts in a loud voice; maybe half the village could hear his voice. I tiptoed up the stairs to the huagu. As I was about to push the door open, I heard a man’s voice and noticed there was no light inside. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest.
Desperately holding my composure, I put my ear to the
crack between the door and its frame, listening intensely.
The man was still speaking. Although his voice was soft, I could sense that he was lying on the bed. Then I peeped
through the crack. The embers in the fireplace were still burning, and Sunamei had already stripped off her clothes.
Against the background of the dark-red flames, the black shadow of her naked body flashed by. She must have jumped into bed. Shutting my eyes, I turned away from the door.
Oh, my God! What should I do? Although I had shut my
eyes and covered my ears, I knew what was happening as if I could see it and hear it. I was too familiar with the scene: she flutters her wings with cries of joy, and then groans, screams – weeps.
Suddenly, I swung back toward the door. Now my behav-
ior was no longer controlled by the reason of a civilized man
– or perhaps only a so-called civilized man could behave like me. I burst through the door. Sunamei jumped shamelessly up from the bed without a stitch of clothing. Unexpectedly, the naked young man – Yingzhi, no doubt – took his time
putting on his clothes, and nodded to me as if nothing had happened. Sunamei perceived the coming disaster in my
face. Certainly she could see that I was shaking violently.
She grabbed her clothes and slipped them on in a hurry. But before she could button up, I dashed over and slapped her. I had never hit a woman before and was unconscious of how
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my hand stretched out and slapped her so fiercely. I did not notice my violence until Sunamei uttered a piercing shriek.
Yingzhi did not expect the matter to be so serious that it would lead to my slapping Sunamei. Stepping forward, he
protected her with his body and yelled at me. I could not understand his words, but his meaning was only too clear.
How could I tolerate a lecture from a man who had just
insulted me? What right do you have, you scoundrel? What right do you have to steal into my room, to get into my bed, and to seduce my wife? I will punish you mercilessly. I picked up a piece of oak heavy enough to smash his head.
The weight of the wood gave me a pleasurable thrill. As
I lifted it to strike at Yingzhi, Sunamei uttered a scream, a strange scream, a soul-tearing cry like that of a wounded beast. She grabbed Yingzhi and dashed out. I turned, but they had already rushed downstairs. I flung the wood into the fireplace. The earthen pot and burning wood flew to the ceiling, and the room was quickly engulfed by flames.
Walls, beams, and panels were burning; tongues of flame
licked at the small window, at the wool blanket, and at the straw mattress. Staring at the orange tongues of flame, I did not understand what had happened. When the flames began
consuming the door frame, I walked slowly out of the room.
From the landing I saw the whole Mosuo community – men
and women, old and young – standing in the yard below, an enormous, dark crowd. Sunamei was not among them.
Dabu Ami Cai’er, standing in the middle, head held high, watched the burning wing of the cottage with great indignation. She uttered only a single word in a low voice, and the crowd dispersed at once to fetch pails, basins, and bowls to put out the fire. With nowhere to go, I stood downstairs, drenched by their water. Let it pour.
The fire woke up the whole village. Soon all the villagers came to the rescue with pails and basins. Awu Luruo
climbed to the collapsing eastern wing and pushed down
the wall that was burning most furiously. Once the fire was 3 6 5
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put out, the village resumed its tr
anquility. I asked every member of the family about Sunamei. “Sunamei? Where is
Sunamei?”
From Ami Cai’er and Awu Luruo down to a child of
three, no one answered me, nor did they even look at me – it was as if I were mute and invisible. How recently I had
stressed the existence of I – I, I, I! Now, did I still exist? I searched all the rooms and asked anyone I met about Sunamei, but no one answered me. Zhima, who was breast-feed-
ing her newborn baby, ignored me. Even the baby Yimu
denied my existence; her entire consciousness was filled with milk.
Awu Luruo took several men into the yard and began
sawing boards to repair the house. I was knocked here and there by the wood they were carrying, but they showed no perception that their wood had touched me. I became a
human obstacle. Outside the gate, I took to the village path, circling around the yard of every family, hoping to chance on Sunamei. She would not ignore me, I believed. She
would be the last person to ignore me in this place. But I had no luck. What I met was a troop of the Agupozhe
mourners. I quickly stepped aside to make way. The van-
guard of the funeral parade was a robust man carrying a
bamboo basket on his back, who was spreading food and
grain along the way. Behind him came a pair of men hold-
ing torches, pairs holding flags, and pairs wearing armor like ancient warriors. They led a horse, carrying the gilded clothes for the dead, sacrificial artifacts, and pheasants’ tail feathers. They held their spears high and kept their faces straight and stern. The relatives of the dead, wearing linen robes for the occasion, brought up the rear, following a square coffin more than a meter high. They were silent,
shedding tears with lowered heads, slipping past me end-
lessly like shadows. No. Maybe I was the shadow. Maybe I had already gone deaf. Following the end of the funeral
parade out of the village, I sat on the lawn, watching as they 3 6 6
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went to the crematorium and removed the body from a
white linen sack. Then they placed the sacrificial artifacts and the body, which seemed to be in a sitting position, into the pyre prepared the night before. As the flames rose from the pyre, my ears suddenly recovered their hearing. I heard the cries of grief piercing the sky. I had never heard so many people cry together, and their wails were sincere, wild, and free beyond description. Some of them rolled on the ground, some beat the earth, some attempted to jump into the
flames, and some hammered themselves with their fists.
This scene showed that they shared with the dead a life of profound happiness and love. If they behaved so sorrowfully at the loss of a beloved family member, how should I behave at losing a lively, young companion? Their beloved had been taken by heaven; I myself had discarded my Sunamei. But I did not cry, not a single teardrop. They could complain to the heavens, to the earth, to their gods and ghosts, turning complaints into sorrow, sorrow into grief. To whom could I complain?
It was broad daylight when the mourners left the crema-
torium. The swirling wind formed the ashes into a couple of dark cylinders. Were these the last traces of a man?
With heavy steps, I dragged myself back to the village.
Entering Sunamei’s yard, I was surprised to find that the burned east wing of the cottage was already mended, just like the original, although its color was a bit lighter. Awu Luruo was repairing the door frame of Sunamei’s huagu. I went over and asked him the same question, thinking they would see me and hear me in the morning. But still no one answered me and I began to panic. A little girl dropped my drawing folder from the east wing. Picking up the folder, I found that, although its corner was burned, the portrait of Sunamei’s silhouette inside was still intact. Refusing to admit defeat, I shouted loudly to them again, “Where is
Sunamei? Sunamei?”
They responded with the silence of a ten-thousand-year-
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old, snow-covered mountain. I wished they would curse me, beat me, smash me with an ax; but they simply could not
see me or hear me. Standing in the yard, I howled desperately, “Sunamei! Sunamei!”
No one heard my howling but a flock of scared chickens
that fled noisily. Their flight proved that my vocal cords still worked.
The sun came out; a ray of sunlight beamed on the cot-
tage roof. Suddenly, a kindled pine torch was thrown out from the yimei. Dabu Ami Cai’er, with Zhima’s baby in her left arm and a sickle, a flax stalk, and a page of sacred text in her right, stepped out the door of the yimei with Zhima and entered the yard. The sunlight fell on Ami’s head; several silvery hairs fell over her brows. Narrowing her eyes, she looked up at the great mother sun of all creatures. The sun moved fast, and after a while sunlight bathed the three of them. Ami Cai’er held the baby toward the sun, which was climbing over the other side of the roof, spreading a layer of golden powder on little Yimu. Little Yimu kicked her legs and cried; Dabu Ami Cai’er smiled happily, tears glistening in her eyes. Zhima unbuttoned her blouse with a sweet
smile and exposed a full, round breast. Taking her daughter from Dabu Ami Cai’er, she inserted into the baby’s mouth a pink nipple that was oozing white milk, and the baby
immediately stopped crying. Both Dabu and Zhima beheld
the baby suckling with all her heart and soul. Suddenly
Dabu leaned her face to the little feet of the baby and kissed them for a long, long time. What Sunamei had once said
sank in at last: the third day after a Mosuo baby’s birth, if the baby can be bathed in the rising sun, she will enjoy longevity, happiness, and health all her life under the loving care of the mother sun.
Why stay any longer? I walked past them, past their
courtyard, and past their village. I walked away from their world; there was no place for me among them, their courtyard, or their village. I walked away as an outsider, a misera-3 6 8
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ble exile. Now I experienced the true agony of exile. I was returning to the boring, hateful world I had once known
and loved so well. In that world, at least I could still sell tickets, collect tickets, and guide moviegoers to their seats.
Occasionally, I could still take a look at boring reruns and hear the audience laugh, applaud, and cheer. In China, no matter how vulgar a movie might be, an audience somewhere will cheer it.
I left, carrying on my back the drawing folder with my
perpetual meditation on Sunamei pressed inside. My
shadow grew gradually smaller and then gradually bigger. I knew I was leaving a beautiful dream behind. What future lay before me?
Every person has a sun over his head. But doesn’t a single, common sun shine over yours, his, hers, and mine?
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Bai Hua.book Page 371 Friday, October 26, 2001 2:56 PM
Glossary
Ada: father.
Ami: mother.
Amiji: mother’s younger sister; literally means “little mother.”
Amizhi: mother’s elder sister; also called “big mother.”
Amu: elder brother or sister.
Apu: granduncle on the maternal side.
Asi: great-grandmother.
Awu: mother’s brother; uncle.
Axiao: the sexual friend. Xiao means “lying down.” Axiao can be translated as “friends of different sexes lying down together.”
Ayi: mother’s mother; or the sister of mother’s mother.
Cha’erwa: a long cloak that can also be used as a blanket.
Daba: shaman. The Mosuo maintain their own traditional pantheon of gods, but, under Tibetan influence
, they also believe in Lamaism.
Dabu: the head of the Mosuo extended family.
Er: clan.
Ganmu Mountain: the mountain of the goddess. Located near Lake Lugu, it has the shape of a lion.
Hada: a piece of silk used as a greeting gift among the Tibetans and Mongolians.
Huagu: a boudoir assigned to a Mosuo woman when she reaches the age of thirteen, where she receives her axiao.
Kouxuan: a type of mouth organ.
Mo: daughter. The character used by Bai also means
“model.”
Siri: subdivision (moiety) within a matrilineal clan.
Xienami: mother sea; also known as Lake Lugu.
Yimei: the central, large sitting room, which also serves as a 3 7 1
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communal dining room and meeting room, and as a
sleeping room for the elderly and children.
Yishe: a matrilineal extended family.
Youshemei: a backbone column of the house; known as the female pillar.
Zhaijie: the skirt-dressing ceremony for a Mosuo girl at the age of thirteen. A literal translation of zhaijie is “heroine of the house.” Before the ritual of receiving skirts and pants, which occurs at the age of thirteen, Mosuo boys
and girls wear unisex shirts that look like oversized
blouses or undersized gowns.
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About the Mosuo Communities
The Mosuo communities, known as the country of women,
were recorded in history as early as the Jin dynasty (a.d.
265–420). Also known as the Naxi nationality, the Mosuo
people spread along the Jinsha River and around Lake Lugu in the provinces of Sichuan and Yunnan.