by Yiyun Li
“What would frighten me?” Nini said. “We're husband and wife now, aren't we?”
Bashi smiled. “Yes, you're perfect for a wife, and of course we will be one day soon.”
“Why not now?”
Bashi seemed baffled and unable to answer her question. “People need a wedding ceremony to become husband and wife,” he said finally.
Nini shrugged. She did not care about a ceremony. He had checked her body and he had said everything was fine. That was all she cared about now that she had finally found herself a place to go. She was eager to make it happen. After a moment, she said, “How's your hedgehog now?”
Bashi was startled, as though he had only just now remembered the roasted animal. He ran to the kitchen, and when Nini followed him there, she was not surprised to see that when Bashi knocked open the dried mud ball, the hedgehog was a ball of charcoal, no longer edible.
TEN
Kai walked alone to the city square, a tired sadness taking hold. In the falling dusk the street was gray and empty. By now most people had returned home after their outing in the mountain, Ching Ming ending, like all holidays, a bit too soon.
An official at the courthouse had been assigned duty and was waiting for them when they had delivered, at midday, a copy of the petition with the transcribed signatures, requesting an investigation of Gu Shan's trial and the restoration of her posthumous reputation; the official, an acquaintance of Kai's, had pretended not to recognize her and, without further comment, had signed the official paperwork for receipt of the petition.
The enlarged picture of Gu Shan remained untouched on the pedestal of Chairman Mao's monument, the black mourning ribbons around the frame loose in the evening wind. The paper flowers gathered earlier in the day had been made into three wreaths, and in the dim light they bloomed like huge pale chrysanthemums. Underneath the wreaths was the white cloth that bore more than three hundred signatures, the four corners weighed down by rocks. Wild-flowers and new twigs of pine trees, brought back from the mountain by people Kai had or had not met in the rally earlier, had been left in bouquets on the cloth. Kai studied the improvised memorial to Gu Shan; no order had come from the government for a cleanup, which seemed another confirmation of their achievement.
Earlier that afternoon Kai had stopped by Jialin's shack. His friends had all been there, basking in the day's success. A woman introduced by Jialin as Dr. Fan thanked Kai for her beautiful speech; a middle-aged man nodded in agreement. The town's librarian turned out to be a friendly person despite her quietness, and she poured tea for Kai from a thermos she had brought to the shack. There were four men and four women other than Jialin and Kai; Mrs. Gu, who had gone home to take care of her husband, was the only one missing from the celebration. The group talked about their rally, and wondered how soon they would hear from the city government. They needed to be patient, Jialin reminded them, but his eyes betrayed irrepressible excitement. The British and American radio stations all predicted a drastic change in the central government, he said, and so did the broadcast from Hong Kong. Kai confirmed the news and revealed that Gu Shan's execution was being investigated in the provincial capital. Exhilarated, a woman embraced Kai and thanked her for being one of them. Perhaps she was among the ones who had suspected Kai earlier, Kai thought, but they received her as their friend and comrade now, and that was all that mattered.
Jialin turned on his shortwave radio and found a station that was playing a waltz, a chorus of accordions. The music filled the shack with a festive mood, and an engineer in his late fifties stepped into the middle of the shack and invited someone to dance. Three of the four women, an accountant, the schoolteacher, and Dr. Fan, pro tested in laughter. What was wrong with having a good dance? the engineer said, as if feeling offended. Kai thought of volunteering but before she stepped up, Jialin shook his head slightly at her. Kai turned and saw the librarian walk up to the middle of the shack, putting her hands in the hands of the blushing engineer. The man winked at Jialin and led the dance in the shack's limited space. Kai watched the librarian's face turn to a deep crimson, like a young girl in love for the first time.
Kai had not been able to talk to Jialin alone that afternoon. She wondered if he felt as grateful as she did for the distractions the rally had brought. Would they have made different decisions had there been a future they could look forward to? He tried to conceal his exhaustion as the afternoon progressed. If his illness saddened his friends as much as it did her, she could not tell.
A woman, her belly slightly protruding from under an old jacket, approached the square now. Kai nodded, but the woman, reading the signatures on the white cloth, took no notice. It was not too late to sign, Kai said, wondering if the woman, like so many others, had not been able to escape her husband's supervision for the rally in the morning. The woman turned to look at Kai, hatred in her eyes. “I wish a horrible death to every one of you,” she said, not hiding the venom in her words.
Kai watched the woman spit at the memorial before waddling away. It takes all sorts to make a world, dragons and phoenixes along with snakes and rats, she remembered her father saying, but how easily one could forget, after an afternoon with Jialin and his friends, that the world was still the same place of cold-heartedness and animosity, and that the small fire of friendship could do only so much to keep one warm and hopeful. She thought about her in-laws, who must be enraged by now. Her own mother, whom Kai had avoided thinking about in the past few hours, must have locked herself in her flat, bracing for her in-laws’ rage. Kai dared not even think of Han.
The flat was dark when Kai entered. Out of habit she called Ming-Ming's name, and the nanny quietly came out of the nursery, also unlit. Kai turned on the light and the nanny blinked, her eyes swollen with fresh tears. Where was Ming-Ming? Kai asked; the girl did not answer but looked in the direction of the bathroom with trepidation. A moment later, the door opened and out came Kai's mother, her face puffy and wet. Kai signaled for the nanny to leave them alone, and when the girl closed the door to the nursery, Kai's mother said, “Where have you been?”
“Where's Ming-Ming?”
“Your parents-in-law took him home with them. They left word to let the nanny go tomorrow morning.”
“Who did they leave the order with?”
Kai's mother looked at her for a long moment, her lips trembling. “Who did they leave the order with? Your own mother. Your mother had to stand here and beg your in-laws for forgiveness because you were out of your mind. Tell me, Kai, why did you do this to me? I'm an old widow and don't I deserve a moment of peace?”
Kai watched her mother crying. She realized that she had never, since her father's death, looked into her mother's eyes. With her tear-streaked face she looked more than ever like a stranger. “I'm just happy that your father's long gone so he didn't have to be humiliated as I was, being called all sort of names in my own daughter's home, in front of my grandchild and his nanny,” Kai's mother said between sobs.
“What else did they say?”
“What's the point of repeating their words to you? What's been said had better be buried with me.”
Even though Kai's mother had always been dominating at home, she was known to be easily intimidated by her superiors. One could not be expected to be repressed all the time, Kai's father had once said, in explanation to Kai of her mother's behavior; she needed to vent her anger, he had said, and it struck Kai now that her father had served as a receptacle for her mother's bitterness; that must have been what killed him. “Stand up for yourself,” said Kai now. “Ignore my in-laws.”
“How easy for you to say that. They left word that you and I would not be allowed to see Ming-Ming anymore. Tell me, how do you ignore that?”
Kai looked away from her mother. Under the newly finished television stand she saw something blue. She bent and picked it up. It was Ming-Ming's favorite rattle, in the shape of a whale. She wondered if the nanny knew he had lost it, or if he had put it there as one of his games of hide-an
d-seek. One time before she had found a small rubber ball in her boot, and for three days after that, she had found different toys there, and she had known then that it must be a purposeful action on his part. She wondered if he would soon settle for a grandparent's shoe for the game.
“Why did you do it? What is it that you want that you haven't got?”
This question had never been put to Kai before. She shook her head. It was not what she wanted that mattered, she said.
“What do we do now?” Kai's mother said. “Do we know how much trouble we're in?”
Kai was struck by her mother's including herself in her daughter's fate. She thought of comforting her mother, but she would not listen. “You've always been such a good child,” her mother wailed. “You've always followed your parents’ and your teachers’ instructions and never made a mistake.”
Again Kai told her mother not to worry, knowing her words were too vague to do any good. Such a trustworthy child, Kai's mother repeated as if in disbelief; people had always told her it was her fortune to have a daughter who would not step on the wrong side of the line and who had helped her siblings prosper.
Kai left her mother and walked to the nursery. When she pushed the door open, the nanny, who had been eavesdropping behind the door, stepped back, panic and shame on her face. Kai pretended that she had not noticed; she asked the girl if she was willing to take some extra money and leave for home the next morning.
The girl stared at Kai as if she did not understand Kai's question. Kai sighed and explained that it was best for the girl to go back to her own parents, at least for now. “Are you worrying that your parents will be angry at you? I can write them a letter and tell them that you did nothing wrong here,” Kai said.
“My parents—they don't read.”
“Can you explain to them? Tell them that we'll send someone to get you back as soon as we settle things here,” said Kai. She wondered how much the girl understood the situation, and if this lie would be enough to offer her and her parents some comfort and hope.
“Who will take care of Ming-Ming?” the girl asked.
“He's with his grandparents for now.”
“But someone has to take care of him,” the girl said. “Do they know what Ming-Ming wants when he cries?”
“He'll be all right.”
“But they have never taken care of him. They don't know him,” said the girl. “They were pushing him to drink milk when he'd just wet his diaper.”
Tap water was being run in the bathroom behind the half-closed door, but Kai could still hear her mother crying. “Ming-Ming will be just fine,” Kai said. “You don't have to worry about him.”
The girl looked down at her hands without replying. She must have hurt the girl's feelings somehow, Kai thought, but she was too tired to think about what she had said wrong. She counted out money equal to an extra month's pay and handed the bills to the girl.
The girl did not take the money. She unbuttoned the top of her blouse and brought out a small jade pendant. “Could you give this to Ming-Ming?” she said. “I don't have anything else to leave for him.”
“Is it something special?” Kai said. “Don't give it away to a small child so easily.”
The girl gripped the pendant and insisted that Ming-Ming would not sleep without touching it.
“He'll do without it,” Kai said. She put the money into the pocket of the girl's blouse, and thanked her and then apologized for the disruption. The girl begged again to leave the pendant with the baby so that he could have something by which to remember her.
Kai accepted it; the girl bowed to Kai, then wiped her tears. Ming-Ming was the first baby the girl had taken care of other than her siblings; Kai wondered if there would be other babies in the coming years, and if farewells would become easier once they were a regular part of the girl's life.
“And please tell his grandparents that Ming-Ming likes to have someone touch the back of his ears before he goes to sleep,” the girl said.
Kai looked down at the pendant, a carved jade piece in the shape of a fish. It was an inexpensive one, the carving rough and amateur, the kind that a peasant's family could afford for their daughter. Han's parents would not allow such a thing near Ming-Ming, but Kai thanked the girl and said that she would buy a silver chain for the pendant so Ming-Ming could wear it around his wrist. She was welcome to come back and visit them, Kai said, and promised that once things settled down, the girl would be rehired. Her lie was delivered and received without much faith on either side; after a moment, Kai had little left to say but to wish the girl good luck in her own life.
HAN RETURNED TO MUDDY RIVER on the night of Ching Ming, after he had phoned the mayor with news of the victory they had been waiting for. In Beijing, the situation in the central government had taken a drastic turn after a late-night meeting, with the democratic wall now defined as an anti-Communist movement; the man to whom they had provided the new kidneys was on his way to cleanse the provincial government of the supporters and sympathizers of the democratic wall, and rumors were that he would either become the leader of the province or be promoted and move to the central government in Beijing. Yet the mayor had sounded halfhearted in his praise of Han's work, and it was only when his own parents got on the phone that Han understood the reason for the mayor's lukewarm response. Did he know what his wife had been up to? Han's mother yelled at him over the telephone, and then without waiting for an answer, she ordered Han to come home straight away.
On the trip home, Han practiced his defense, saying that he had been away and he had no idea what Kai had been doing in the past weeks. In his imagined conversation, he begged his parents and the mayor to help Kai out, and by the time he reached the door of his flat, he believed in his fantasy. Despite the request of his parents for him to report to them first, Han went straight home. It was in the middle of the night when, discovering his own wife absent from their bed, he woke the nanny up. Mrs. Wu—Kai's mother—had come that night and had asked Kai to go back to her flat, the nanny said, frightened by Han's grip on her arm; his parents had brought the baby home with them. Han looked at the nanny hard, as if she were lying to him, and when he saw that the trembling girl in her night-clothes was about to cry, he told her that she had better have a good sleep, as he would get Ming-Ming back first thing in the morning. The girl mumbled and said that she was to leave for home in the morning, as his parents had fired her. What nonsense, Han told her; he and Kai would both come home with Ming-Ming the next morning.
Han thought of knocking on his mother-in-law's door, but in the end he went to his parents’ flat instead. His parents, both smoking in the living room, showed no sign of having slept. “That wife of yours,” Han's father said at the sight of Han. “She has spoiled our victory.”
Han looked at his parents’ expressionless faces. Despite the defense he had rehearsed, he began by saying that he was the one to blame, as he had not detected early enough what Kai had been doing. Now that all this had happened, could they think of a way to protect her before it was too late?
“Protect her? We need to think about protecting ourselves,” Han's mother said. “The only thing we can do now is to draw the line with her and pray.”
“But she's my wife,” Han said.
“She won't be after tomorrow,” Han's mother said. She motioned for Han's father to continue the conversation. He laid out the plan, obviously devised by Han's mother: Before daybreak, Han was to prepare a divorce application, and he would turn it in in the morning. “Start with the divorce application,” his father said. “Say that you and she disagree on the most fundamental problems of ideology— now use your brain to elaborate on this—and say that the knowledge of your wife's role in the antigovernment scheme was shocking— explain ‘shocking’ to mean that you had no previous information about it until being told by someone, not us, of course, but someone irrelevant, someone unimportant, that she was a leader at the rally— and that when you learned of this, it was too late to correct he
r wrongdoing. Also, write a sincere self-criticism. I mean flesh-and-bone sincere, blood-and-marrow sincere. Dig and dig into the real depths and open yourself to show you regret your lack of political alertness. Ask for punishment—now this is tricky—ask to be punished in a way that means really it was not your mistake except getting married to the wrong person—and then ask for an opportunity to make amends. You know what that means? Say you want to put your life in the hands of the party so you can demonstrate that your life is a worthy one.”
“What will happen to Kai?”
“What will happen to her is not our concern anymore,” Han's mother said. “Didn't you hear what your father said? Now is the time for you to act. If you miss this chance we'll all be dragged down by her foolishness.”
Could they at least reconsider their strategy? he begged his parents again; did they want their grandson to become a motherless orphan? Halfway into his argument Han began to cry.
Wordlessly, Han's mother brought him a towel. He buried his face in its wet warmth and wept. His parents watched him, patiently waiting for him to gather himself, and when he finally did, his mother reminded him to think about his parents’ careers and his own political future; her voice was unusually gentle and sympathetic, and Han could not help but think, for a brief moment, that he would have to give up his wife to earn tenderness from his own mother. There was Ming-Ming's future to take into consideration, she said, and asked him if he wanted his son to lose all privileges because of his mother's stupidity. Kai was not the only woman in the world, Han's mother said, and once this crisis passed, they would look for a better wife for him, more beautiful and obedient, kind as a stepmother. This talk went on for a while, and when Han cried again and said he could not let this happen to Kai, his father sighed and told his mother not to waste her words anymore. From a desk drawer he produced a draft of the divorce application they had written for him. Just sign the paper, his mother said to him, her voice still gentle and unfamiliar.