by Ma Jian
‘Happiness is when you forget yourself,’ Meili says, watching the dumplings bob to the surface of the boiling water, holding a slotted spoon in mid-air.
‘Happiness, my daughter, is you coming back from school with a good mark. It’s the nation at peace, our family united.’
‘Here, come and have your dumplings, Nannan,’ Meili says, spooning some onto a plate for her. ‘And I’ll pour out some vinegar for you to dip them in.’
‘I hate dumplings. Mum, I want to go home.’ Nannan leans back against the small headrest. Beside her pillow is an opened packet of rice cakes.
‘But this is your home, and your bed,’ Kongzi says, pointing to the large collection of dolls lying by her feet. Cha Na has given Nannan almost every doll that’s sold in the shop, but Nannan’s favourite is still the plastic doll with the red dress that Kongzi gave her many years ago, even though it’s old and dirty, and the red paint on its mouth has chipped. To her great sadness, however, she hasn’t seen it since they moved into this tin shack.
‘No, what I mean is I want to go back to Kong Village,’ Nannan says. ‘This place doesn’t feel like home. I miss Grandma.’ On her crumb-strewn quilt is a copy of the school textbook, Cultivating a Moral Character and Forging a Successful Life, and a spiral-bound songbook. Since the beginning of winter, Nannan has become moody and withdrawn. In a lunch break last week, she pushed Lulu onto the ground, and since then none of the children in her class will play with her.
‘You were only two when we left – how can you miss her?’ Meili says, as she and Kongzi stare at the television screen and tuck into the hot dumplings.
‘Besides, your home is wherever your parents are, so right now, this is your home,’ Kongzi says. He takes a sip of Five Grain Liquor and smiles contentedly. As well as being deputy head of the migrant school, he’s also been given a two-year contract to work as a supply teacher at Red Flag Primary, thanks to Tang putting in a word for him with the Education Department.
‘I can’t remember what Grandma looks like but you told me she was always nice to me,’ Nannan says. ‘Why didn’t you bring any photographs of her, or of our old house? I want to phone Grandma and Grandpa and wish them Happy New Year.’
Nannan still hasn’t been told that Kongzi’s father has died. As soon as she mentions him, the contented smile vanishes from his face.
Noticing his distress, Meili turns to Nannan and says, ‘If you miss them, go and prostrate yourself before the altar over there.’
‘Prostrating is feudalistic,’ Nannan replies.
On hearing this, Kongzi jumps up from his seat and grabs Nannan by her collar. Meili pushes him away and puts her arms around her, saying, ‘She’s only eleven! You can’t expect her to understand about filial piety!’ Kongzi flings his chopsticks on the floor to release his anger, then turns up the volume of the television. A woman in a green police uniform is singing: ‘You angel in a white coat, when I came into this world, yours was the first face I saw. You picked me up in your soft hands and wrapped me in a blanket. With this song, I give you my thanks . . .’ On the street outside, a string of firecrackers explodes.
Nannan snuggles into Meili’s embrace and says, ‘Can I have some Coca-Cola, Mum?’
‘You shouldn’t drink cold fluids in your condition.’
‘But I want some.’
‘All right. Kongzi, fetch her a bottle from the fridge.’ They’ve had the fridge for only two days, but it’s already packed with food. Meili’s placed her severed index finger on the bottom shelf and Kongzi has hidden their cash in the freezer compartment.
‘There’s not so much blood coming out now, is there?’ Meili whispers to Nannan. ‘Tomorrow there’ll be even less.’
‘You said this will happen to me every month from now on. Well, I don’t want to go to school any more. How come it hasn’t happened to the other girls in my class?’
‘I’m sure it has, they just haven’t told you. Before I fell pregnant, I had them too every month, but I could still carry on as usual and wear pretty dresses and nice shoes. You’ll see, it’s no big deal, I promise . . .’ Meili looks down and sees that Nannan has fallen asleep on her shoulder.
‘I’m completely stuffed,’ Meili says, as the Spring Festival Gala draws to an end. She rests her maimed hand on her belly and feels Heaven’s heart thud below her skin.
‘Me too,’ Kongzi says, taking off his glasses. During the traditional comedy double act a few minutes ago, he roared with laughter. After a long silence he says: ‘At Spring Festival people go to the temples to give offerings to the Jade Emperor, the Bodhisattva of Mercy and the God of Prosperity, but no one thinks of giving offerings to Confucius.’
‘It won’t be long now. I read on the internet that the government said that Confucian thought still has a lot to teach us. They’re even publishing books explaining how we can use his philosophy in our daily lives.’
‘That was just for the Olympic bid. The Party wanted to give the impression that China still has a strong traditional culture, even though thirty years ago it ripped Confucianism to shreds and replaced it with the foreign creed of Marxism–Leninism.’
‘Who cares what the Party’s motives are? Confucius is officially back in favour, so perhaps little Heaven will be less afraid to come out now . . . You must stop buying Nannan sweets all the time. She already has two rotten molars. Poor girl. It is strange she’s started menstruating so young. I didn’t have my first period until I was fourteen.’
‘It must be the chemicals in the water.’
‘Let’s leave her to sleep and go for a walk.’ Meili tucks a quilt around Nannan then changes into her favourite pale blue jeans. She saw a picture on the internet the other day of a woman in stonewashed jeans and a white shirt knotted at the waist, and liked it so much she used it as the background for her computer screen . . . Won’t you come out, little one? she whispers, glancing down at her bulge. Tomorrow, you’ll have been inside me for five years. Give your poor mother a break.
Since the migrant school broke up for the Spring Festival holiday, everything has quietened down. In the moonlight, the concrete yard, durian tree and aluminium warehouse appear as scratched and blurred as an old black-and-white photograph. Along the road that follows the river, ghostly figures drift through the darkness with lanterns swinging from their hands. Light from a street stall reveals a woman carrying vegetables on a shoulder pole and a man wearing a large baby’s head made out of papier mâché. Fireworks explode in the sky, and the outline of distant buildings becomes briefly visible. When Kongzi and Meili reach the end of the road, they follow the crowds to the bustling forecourt of the Town God Temple. Pink and red paper lanterns hang down from the surrounding trees and the temple’s pointed eaves. Food stalls decorated with festive red banners are selling steamed buns, sesame rolls and peach-shaped rice cakes. The stalls nearer the entrance sell imitation paper money and bundles of incense sticks.
‘Are those two supposed to be married?’ Meili asks, pointing at the painting on the entrance door of a beautiful girl and a white-bearded old man.
Kongzi has no idea who those two deities are supposed to be. He takes Meili’s hand and leads her inside, saying, ‘Let’s light some incense and ask Sacred Father of the Sky to grant us good fortune in the new year.’
‘Our accountant comes to this temple every day after work. She said she’s going to pray to the God of Wealth on the fourth day of Spring Festival, the Golden Flower Mother on the sixth, then she’ll visit the Shrine of the King of Medicine and the Temple of Lady Wang. She never stops . . .’
The temple’s interior is brightly lit with candles, and thick smoke is rising from an incense column that is taller than Meili. People rush past, carrying roasted swine heads, fried fish and deep-fried chickens to place on the altars of their chosen deities.
Kongzi points to the small statue of the Golden Flower Mother, who is flanked by the God of Grain and the God of Landowners, and says, ‘Look, there she is. The Goddess of Fertility a
nd Childbirth. You should pray to her, and beg for a safe delivery.’
‘Little Heaven is afraid of coming out into this hell – there’s nothing the goddess can do about it,’ Meili says, crossing her arms protectively over her belly. ‘It’s too crowded in here. All those firecrackers going off outside frighten me. What if this place caught fire? Let’s go home. We can come back in the morning.’
‘Don’t say the word “hell” on New Year’s Day!’ Kongzi says angrily.
‘Well, I’m leaving – are you coming with me or not?’ Meili says, her heart racing as images of the burning nightclub flash through her mind.
‘Firecrackers can’t cause fires. Listen, we’ve come all this way, we might as well light some incense while we’re here.’ Then looking up and seeing the terror in Meili’s eyes, he changes his mind. ‘All right, all right, let’s go then.’ They turn round and head for the door, two downcast figures pushing their way through the excited crowd.
Later that night, Meili is woken by another thunderous burst of firecrackers. She wishes she could seal the window and door to keep the noise out. Without peace and quiet, her thoughts cannot rise to the surface. During these past nine years, the only chances she’s had for quiet reflection have been when she’s woken in the middle of the night. At such moments, she’s able to think quietly about her born and still unborn children, and about all the various Meilis: the woman, the mother, the young girl who loved to laugh and sing, the labour camp inmate, the escapee, the businesswoman. She lay awake like this, her mind deep in thought, on the terrible summer night when she felt herself sink to the riverbed with Happiness’s corpse; the autumn nights after Waterborn was taken from her; those muggy nights after Weiwei left and his tortoiseshell glasses lay under her pillow; and this winter night on which she’s learned that Weiwei came all the way to Heaven to look for her. Although the first day of the new year has not yet dawned, she already senses that the past has been brushed away and the new is being ushered in. She knows that if Kongzi is unfaithful to her one more time, she will leave him and make a new life for herself with Tang. To be fair, as far as she knows, Kongzi has only strayed once, and that was only after they arrived in Heaven. Compared to the many men they’ve come across during their travels – powerful cadres who are always surrounded by attractive young women, scruffy peasants who sleep with hair-salon girls several times a week – he’s relatively upright and loyal. Still, when she’s with him, she is never more than a pregnant wife. With Tang, she is a complete person. Over these nine years, she has transformed herself from a shy peasant girl to a strong capable woman. She could never return to those muddle-headed days when Kongzi would boss her about imperiously and she’d obey without question. She thinks of the child that has lived inside her now for five years, untroubled by thoughts of what to eat or drink or fears of what the future might hold. She doesn’t dare contemplate what calamities might have befallen her had they not found refuge in Heaven Township, how many times her belly might have been carved open. The Communist Party has no humanity. For them, killing a baby is no different from swatting a fly. She doesn’t know when Heaven will finally decide to emerge, but when it does, she will gently lower the drawbridge of her castle and let it travel down her dark road into this hell . . . Yes, it’s time you came out and tested your mettle, little one, she says silently. I can’t protect you for ever. But don’t worry, I won’t force you out before you’re ready. My womb may have been assaulted and abused, but it’s still intact, and allows us to coexist with a certain grace. She smiles to herself, proud of being both a woman and a mother: two identities seamlessly fused into one body. Tomorrow she will sign up for prenatal yoga classes with a teacher trained in Hong Kong. She’s heard the exercises help soften the pelvic bones, making childbirth no more painful than laying an egg. She will also go to Foshan to prostrate before the huge Golden Flower Mother statue, and ask her to protect little Heaven and grant it a safe birth. She knows that once the infant spirit leaves her womb, she and Heaven will have to end their symbiotic existence. She understands as well that although life is a long and arduous trek, with sufficient effort, a degree of comfort can be achieved at the end. Little Heaven will come into the world as an illegal outcast who has no right to an education or a job. Meili will try to earn as much money as she can to create a small path to happiness for this unauthorised child, even though she is still uncertain in which direction happiness lies.
In the darkness, she sees Weiwei walk towards her. She goes up to him and says, I can’t leave Kongzi. We have raised a daughter together, we share the same bed and the same pillow. I can’t abandon this path. And besides, you are not in my heart . . . After daring to imagine this scene, she feels her cheeks grow hot and a sense of calm descend on her. She gives Kongzi a prod and whispers, ‘Wake up! It’s nearly six. It’s unlucky not to watch the sun rise on the first day of the new year.’
‘Yes, pour me another one,’ Kongzi mumbles under his breath, then rolls over and falls back to sleep. Meili gazes at the Kongzi who ten years ago she worshipped and admired, and feels a pang of regret. The past seems to her as drained of colour as wilting lotuses on the bottom of a dry lake.
‘Let’s open that bottle of French claret my client sent me,’ she says, getting out of bed and slipping into her flip-flops. The jubilant crowds, fireworks and singers in red dresses flashing across the silent television screen fill the dark room with festive light.
‘I dreamed of our son just now,’ says Kongzi. ‘He looked just like me when I was a child. He was standing on a street corner, flicking marbles into a hoop, like I used to do. What fun I had as a kid. I’d come home at the end of the day beaming with pride, my pockets stuffed with the Romance of the Three Kingdoms cards I’d won playing snap with my friends. I wonder where I put my card collection. I’m sure Heaven would like to play with them when he’s older.’
‘Huh! Little Heaven won’t be interested in those cards. You’ll have to buy him a computer game, or an electronic doll, if he’s a girl.’ Meili occasionally raises the possibility that Heaven might be a girl, to test Kongzi’s reaction.
‘If you let Heaven stay inside you any longer, he might very well change into a girl. Or he might calcify like that stone baby – the one I read about in the papers, that a ninety-year-old woman gave birth to after carrying him in her belly for sixty years.’ Kongzi takes a sip of the French claret and frowns. ‘Ugh! So sickly sweet. Chinese liquor has much more of a kick to it.’
‘I haven’t tried to stop Heaven from coming out. She’s probably afraid to leave the womb because she knows you don’t want a daughter. If she is a girl, you must promise to be kind to her.’
Kongzi remains silent. Relieved by his subdued reaction, Meili continues. ‘Someone from my family should go to Nuwa Cave tomorrow to pray for a speedy delivery. I wish I could give my parents a call. My brother’s due to be released from the camp this month. And I’d like to make sure they received the money I sent last month. I transferred it to my uncle’s account – the one who lives in the county town. When I phoned him last month he promised me he’d give it to my father.’ From this phone call, Meili found out that after her brother was jailed, her father travelled to the county town to complain about the miscarriage of justice. When the authorities refused to listen to him, he stood outside the County Party Committee Hall singing the ‘Internationale’, with a big placard around his neck that said FREE MY SON. Within ten minutes, the police arrived, and he was bundled into their van and locked up for a week. She pictures her parents’ home, the three-room house with the tiled roof and the osmanthus tree in the garden, and remembers how her grandmother would sit with her beneath the tree, brushing her hair and telling her stories of Goddess Nuwa, the deity with the face of a woman and the body of a snake who created the world and humankind. She told her that near Nuwa Mountain is a magic lake that can catch the moon’s reflection, and that at the beginning of time, this lake pulled Nuwa down from Heaven. After months of walking around the la
ke by herself, Nuwa felt lonely, so she sat on the shore, scooped up clods of yellow mud, moulded them into human beings and gave them life. After a while, she became frustrated by her slow progress, so she pressed a rope down into a pool of mud then flicked it from side to side, and when the flecks of mud fell onto the ground they were transformed into a mass of people.
‘Turn up the volume,’ Father says, ‘they’re talking about share prices. I bought some stocks in Shenzhen TV the other day . . .’
Mother holds the remote control and stares blankly at the screen. A spiral of incense smoke rises to the ceiling and escapes into the night through a hole in the roof. The infant spirit leaves the house and slips off towards Womb Lake, continuing its journey back in time.
KEYWORDS: red dust, white uniforms, Golden Flower Mother, Guinness World Record, red envelope, missing person’s case.
AFTER A SUDDEN downpour, a procession escorting the Town God Temple’s statue of Golden Flower Mother advances along the wet street. Large crowds pack the pavements. For a moment, all Meili and Nannan can see is a loudspeaker attached to a moving van, from which a high-pitched voice is singing: ‘China has entered a new age. The nation is secure and the people live in peace. Dreams harboured for a hundred years are coming true. Happiness will be ours for ever . . .’ Behind the van comes a group of workers in red baseball hats, holding a cloth banner that says HEAVEN TOWNSHIP PLASTIC GRANULATION WORKSHOP VALUES EDUCATION AND DONATES GENEROUSLY TO LOCAL SCHOOLS. Meili scans the faces and sees Pang, her wiry plaits sticking out from under her hat, and Ah-Fei, who’s wearing thick make-up to conceal her vitiligo. She waves to them as they pass; they smile and wave back. Meili wonders how Old Shao is doing. Cha Na told her that he contracted pneumonia and has returned to his village in Jiangxi. Drummers appear, followed by schoolgirls in white uniforms, twirling spears and swords. Three boys march on either side, holding placards advertising a supplier of second-hand military electronic components. The humid air dampens the thud of the drums. Meili looks down and sees Nannan gaze admiringly at the schoolgirls’ white dresses, white socks and white shoes.