by Ma Jian
Kongzi lights a cigarette and stares at Meili’s belly. This one-room house has not only a proper bed with a soft, sprung mattress, but also a table, two chairs, a cupboard and an electric fan, and the rent is just two hundred yuan a month. It may be damp, stuffy and infested with mosquitoes, but it’s a solid brick structure with a proper tiled roof that shelters them from the elements.
‘Get a scan,’ Kongzi says. ‘If it’s a girl, you can have an abortion. My brother and his wife have just had a second daughter, and they won’t be trying again for a son, so it’s all down to me now to carry on the family line.’
‘No, I will not have an abortion,’ Meili says, sensing suddenly that she was wrong ever to contemplate the idea. She glances at Nannan, who’s lying asleep on the long narrow bed Kongzi made for her with scrap timber, and feels a wave of maternal love. ‘Whether it’s a girl or a boy, it’s here through the will of Heaven,’ Meili continues. ‘Look at Nannan. Do you wish I’d had her aborted?’
‘Listen, there’s no need to make up your mind now. Have a scan, then see how you feel.’ Kongzi stubs out his cigarette and drops it into a bowl. Meili gets out of the bed, puts on her underwear and looks outside. The concrete yard is softly lit by beams of light from the surrounding windows. The folding stools have been toppled to the ground, and maggots and flies are crawling over watermelon peel in the corner. The three other one-room houses around the yard are also occupied by migrant families. In the evening, the adults take turns to wash themselves and clean vegetables at the outside tap while the children wrestle with each other or play catch. Today an older child threw a toy truck at Nannan which left a deep cut on her forehead. Meili was furious, but since she couldn’t hit the culprit, she released her anger by slapping Nannan instead.
‘I admit, it’s not great timing,’ Meili says. ‘After four years of aimless travelling, we’ve finally got our lives in order and moved into a proper brick house. I wanted to open my own shop – I know I could have made a success of it. I hoped that in a few years’ time we could buy a car and drive home bathed in glory. But once this child is born, none of that will be possible. I wanted to be a modern woman with a briefcase full of documents and one of those credit cards that you swipe over machines.’ Meili is lying down on the bed again, staring at her swollen feet.
‘Have you forgotten that we’re family planning fugitives? Our residence permits have been annulled. When the whole country becomes linked by computers, every institution will be able to see our criminal records, and no one will issue you with a credit card or a shop licence. So you’d better give up your pipe dream of living a modern life.’
‘I’ll buy fake licences then. In Hong Kong Road, you can buy any fake document you want: ID cards, birth permits, shop licences, degree certificates.’
‘You think I don’t dream of achieving something great, of returning home with my head held high? I’ve always hoped that one day I could open Confucian primary schools in every town and city in China. But no ambition is more important to me than producing a male heir. Once our son is born, we can do whatever we like.’
‘Have you lost your mind? Not content with breaking the family planning laws, you now want to spread Confucianism around the country!’ Meili glances at Nannan again to check that she’s still asleep. ‘Fine, I’ll have a scan. But whether it’s a girl or a boy, it’s my flesh and blood and I will give birth to it. I tell you now, though: this one will be my last.’ She sits back against the pillow, drapes a nightie over her legs and looks Kongzi in the eye. ‘I need to ask you,’ she says gravely. ‘Where did you take Waterborn? I’m her mother. I have a right to know.’
Kongzi throws his hands in the air. ‘Huh! Confucius was right! Of all people, women are the hardest to deal with! You have a “right to know”, you say? There you go again: spitting out words you don’t understand, like a mouse chewing through a dictionary! All right, I’ll tell you. I gave her to the Welfare Office in Dexian. When I went back a week later, they told me a man from Hunan had taken her away.’
‘So she’s still in China. As soon as the One Child Policy is repealed, you must go to Hunan and bring her back . . .’
Rain splatters on the tiled roof and mosquitoes flutter around the ceiling. The infant spirit watches the echoes from the house shake raindrops from the cobwebs in the yard.
‘Congratulations, Kongzi!’ Mother says loudly. ‘For a few grubby coins, you consigned our baby daughter to a life of begging! You know very well that those child traffickers break children’s limbs! You evil bastard! One day you will have to find her. You will have to search for her high and low and bring her back to me.’ Mother puts on a black nightdress and takes a red journal from under her pillow.
‘Write down the Welfare Office’s address and telephone number in here,’ Meili says, handing Kongzi the red journal.
‘So you think the One Child Policy will be repealed soon? Are you planning to start a revolution with Kong Qing? Well, he’s still in prison with three other Kongs from our village. We’re lucky we left when we did.’
‘What other news is there from the village?’ Meili asks, staring at a gecko crawling across the ceiling. A few months ago, Kongzi learned that his sister had married a Pakistani trader she’d met in Tibet, and was so angry he said he’d never speak to her again. He didn’t even send any money to her for the wedding. Since then, Meili hasn’t dared ask him about his family.
‘Kong Wen’s been sacked from the village family planning team, apparently, and has returned to Guangzhou to set up her own business. And that spindly woman, the mother of my old pupil Xiang, has contracted a serious illness. Her husband’s sold all their possessions to try to pay for the medical treatment. Xiang’s dowry wasn’t enough to cover the cost.’
‘What, Xiang’s got married? But she’s only twelve years old. No, of course, we’ve been away so long, she must be sixteen now. Still, that’s very young.’
‘You were only sixteen when you married me,’ Kongzi says proudly.
‘Seventeen,’ Meili corrects him. She remembers the colour photograph of herself aged sixteen, standing arm in arm with her friends Qiu and Yang in the municipal park. All three had their hair in neat ponytails, and she was wearing a cream-coloured jacket and red headscarf, Qiu a blue jumper and Yang a long yellow coat. Meili hadn’t joined the Nuwa International Arts Troupe then, but was already dreaming of being a famous singer. She and her friends had travelled to the county town with a group of Nuwa villagers to take part in the 1 May Workers’ Day Procession. In the evening, the three of them wore lipstick for the first time, and went to a karaoke hall with the village Party Secretary. Meili never saw Qiu again after that night – apparently she stayed on in the town and found a job as a backing singer in another karaoke hall. A year later, she returned to Nuwa Village with ten thousand yuan and bought a house and fifty pigs, but by then Meili had left home and started work at the Sky Beyond the Sky Hotel.
The rain is still falling. It streams over the bowed heads of the birds in the straw nest on the roof, runs down the tiles and gushes over the eaves. Inside the four small houses around the yard, everyone is asleep. The infant spirit watches Mother lying on the bed, her hands resting on her belly, and little Heaven floating in the amniotic fluid inside. For a moment, the silence is broken as Nannan’s electronic toy sings out, ‘I’m a beautiful angel, a beautiful angel . . .’ Then everything goes quiet again until all that can be heard is the sound of falling rain.
KEYWORDS: dismantle, frightened and sick, bitter-sweet, ultrasound, twins, tenderisers, gel.
WITH AN ENVELOPE of cash in her small backpack, Meili leaves the workshop and on her way home returns to the lane filled with makeshift shelters and rumbling machines where the illegal clinics are located. In her white shirt, low-cut jeans and sandals, she picks her way over piles of scrap computer monitors. Bare-chested men smeared in black ash stare blankly at her breasts, belly and thighs. Beyond a parked truck loaded with broken printers, she sees the street stall h
er workmate told her about. She walks around the crates of soft drinks and enters the small house behind. The doctor sitting at the desk is wearing a face mask. At first glance, she looks just like Suya. ‘Your surname isn’t Wang, is it?’ Meili asks her, before she’s even sat down.
‘Yes, it’s Wang, spelt with the water radical.’
‘You look just like a friend of mine – same large eyes and high forehead. She’s from Chengdu in Sichuan. Her surname is Wang, but it’s spelt the usual way.’
‘I’m from Sichuan too, but from Fengjie, on the Yangtze River.’
‘I travelled down there a few years ago. I suppose most of the towns have been demolished by now.’ Meili’s feet are sweating in her tight sandals.
‘Yes, they’ve all been torn down. We could see the Yangtze from the backyard of our old house. Now we’ve been relocated to a village high in the mountains. It’s in the back of beyond and there’s nothing to do . . . So, you’ve come for an ultrasound? How many months gone are you?’
‘About six, I think. But I didn’t have any symptoms during the first three months.’
Dr Wang opens a cupboard and brings out a computer, a probe and a tube of gel, then she lifts Meili’s shirt, lubricates her belly and slides the probe over it. ‘Look, that’s the head,’ she says, pointing at the image on the computer. ‘The eyes. The spine. If there’s one dot here, it’s a girl. If there are two, it’s a boy.’
‘How come?’ Meili asks, her eyes darting from her taut, slippery belly to the grainy image on the screen.
‘Because boys have two testicles, of course! Hah! The baby’s laughing!’ A pregnant woman walks in through the door. Dr Wang looks over her shoulder and says, ‘You’ll have to wait a minute, I’m afraid. Sit by the electric fan over there.’ Meili glances at the woman’s huge bump and muddy shoes then returns her eyes to the screen. ‘But it’s just a tiny skeleton – are you sure you saw it laugh?’ she says to the doctor. She moves her face closer to the screen. ‘You’re tricking me, aren’t you? That’s not my baby. It’s just an image stored on your computer. I dismantle machines like that every day. When I open the memory cards, all sorts of moving images pop up.’
‘But look, when your belly moves, the image moves as well. Are you a complete fool?’
‘I may not be well educated, but my husband is a schoolteacher,’ Meili says indignantly, wiping her damp face.
‘Well, hold the probe and slide it around. See how the image changes?’
‘All right,’ Meili says, reassured. ‘Just tell me if it’s a boy or a girl.’
‘A girl! No doubt about it. But I can put that it’s a boy on the form, if you want. Just don’t tell anyone I filled it out.’ She turns to the other woman and says, ‘If you’ve decided to have the abortion, I can do it straight away,’ then pulls down her face mask and whispers to Meili, ‘That woman’s expecting twins. She’s booked for an induction next week.’ Without her face mask, she looks ten years older.
‘Are they boys or girls?’ Meili asks the woman, sitting up on the bed.
‘One of each,’ the woman answers proudly. ‘Is this your first pregnancy?’
‘No, my fourth. And you?’
‘My third. I used to have two girls, then I got pregnant with twins as soon as I arrived in Heaven.’
‘What happened to the girls?’ Meili asks in the condescending tone she reserves for peasants less sophisticated than her.
‘The eldest lives with my parents, and Dr Wang helped get the second one adopted. We can’t afford to bring up daughters.’
Dr Wang looks down at Meili and says, ‘If you don’t want your baby, I can arrange for her to be adopted as well. They’ll pay you four thousand yuan.’
‘How much do I owe you for the scan?’ Meili answers, wanting to leave at once. ‘Please write that it’s a boy on the form.’
On the way home, Meili feels her belly become heavier and the small of her back begin to throb. When I give birth to the baby girl, Kongzi might sell her to a Welfare Office, she says to herself. And if I tell him now that it’s a girl, he’ll force me to have an abortion. The only safe option is for me to keep quiet and for the baby to stay exactly where it is. She remembers how her belly shuddered when the needle pierced her skin and entered Happiness’s skull. She remembers the smile on Happiness’s face as he lay dead in the plastic bag below her. She remembers Waterborn staring at a lock of her hair as she suckled at her breast. My womb is your refuge, little Heaven, she whispers softly. As long as I’m alive, I will protect you. As she approaches the front gate, she hears barking and quacking, and knows the neighbour’s Labrador must be attacking the duck pen again. Mayflies are hovering outside their front door. A few dead ones are lying on the ground, being devoured by beetles. Kongzi has raised seven ducks. He never lets them out on the river, because except for the plastic rubbish and rotten leaves, there’s nothing in the polluted water for them to eat.
‘It’s a boy,’ Meili announces, surprised by her nerve. Her legs tense as she imagines Kongzi flying into a rage when the baby is born and he sees it’s a girl.
‘A boy!’ he cries out with joy. ‘Wonderful news! My darling wife, everything is in order now! This is the right time, the right place. Hope is in sight. Tonight, I will cook dinner.’ Kongzi grabs the scan results and wraps his arms around Meili. The chemicals in Heaven’s rivers have corroded their boat so badly that he’s had to abandon his water-delivery business and join Meili dismantling machines, so now, like her, his sweat smells of burnt plastic.
‘Well, I won’t be doing any more housework from now on,’ says Meili, lying down on the bed and stretching out her legs. Feeling the baby’s weight press on her main artery, she rolls onto her side, then kicks off her tight sandals and watches Kongzi slice some beef into chunks. ‘I’m not hungry, Kongzi. Besides, I shouldn’t eat beef. The preservatives and tenderisers aren’t good for the baby.’
‘This is a country where everyone is poisoning each other. It’s a game: whoever dies first, loses. Still, this beef cost me a fortune, so you’d better at least try some.’ He pushes his glasses onto his head, drops the chopped beef into a bowl and douses it with soy sauce.
‘There are specific foods women should eat each month of their pregnancy. If you cared a little more, you’d find out what they are and give them to me. You were much more thoughtful before we married.’ Meili is thinking of the time Kongzi bought her her first packet of sanitary towels. Until then, she’d made do with attaching wads of folded toilet paper to a sanitary belt that used to belong to her mother.
‘Daddy, why have you made Mummy’s tummy grow bigger again?’ Nannan asks. ‘Rongrong said it’s because you piss into Mummy’s bottom every night.’
‘What a brat! Don’t listen to her. Hurry up and write your diary. If you want to live in a house that has carpets when you grow up and not a dirt floor like this, you must study hard.’
‘Mummy, can you give Daddy a baby boy and me a baby girl?’
‘Whether it’s a boy or a girl, you’ll be its big sister – that’s all that matters,’ Meili says. The loving embrace Kongzi gave her a few moments ago has left her with a bitter-sweet feeling. ‘I should be drinking prenatal herbal tonics for my sore back and swollen ankles,’ she says in a supplicating tone she hasn’t used since she returned from her one-month absence. ‘I don’t think I’ll go to work tomorrow. Buy me some pork kidneys in the morning. I need to build up my strength.’
‘Whatever you say, my beautiful wife. I’ll look after you. I’ll work my back off to make sure you and little Heaven have everything you need.’
Meili senses that the baby has given their family a new future. What miseries we’ve endured in our quest to find happiness, she thinks to herself. She feels an urge to put her arms around Kongzi and burst into tears. Instead, she stares up at the magazine photograph she stuck to the wall showing a slender woman with glossy blonde hair, a white leather bag slung over her shoulder and large gold earrings sparkling in the shadow of her
long neck. Then she looks at the photograph next to it of herself, Kongzi and Nannan standing in front of the Ming Dynasty theatre with Womb Lake in the background. In the room’s dim light, her wide grin shines out like a strip of cloud torn from the sky. Through the open front door she can glimpse a small section of the lake, which conjures up memories of their years on the river. Their corroded boat now lies abandoned on a muddy riverbank. She remembers how frightened and sick she felt the first few days they spent aboard, and how, after just one month, she was able to jump into the water with confidence, and even swim around a little. During those years, the boat rocked her from side to side, and Kongzi rocked her back and forth, until her body flowed like the river. If she hadn’t been constantly afraid of falling pregnant, she would have been able to relax more and enjoy the pleasures of the floating days and undulating nights, the dizzying, watery limbo between sky and land. She thinks of Weiwei and his hand moving over her body. To help erase him from her mind after he left, she made Kongzi make love to her so often that, for a few days, it was painful for her to walk. But since she escaped from the violent assault and arrived in Heaven, she has cast off her former submissive self, and is now determined to become the independent, modern woman Suya told her she could be. She will learn how to type and use a computer, then she’ll enter the complex world of circuit boards where you can find out anything you want and dismantle the entire universe into its constituent parts.
‘Stop biting your nails, Nannan, you’re a big girl now,’ Meili admonishes, then turns to Kongzi, and says, ‘After Heaven is born, we must work hard and buy ourselves Foshan residence permits so that our children can go to school and university. Then we can go back to Kong Village and build a house in our children’s rightful birthplace. Do you hear that, little Heaven? With your mother looking after you, everything will be fine. Nannan, sing me a song, will you?’