by Lu Min
Nowadays I must strive to conserve
My health and strength should be saved to keep me going a good, long way
I must conserve my nerves, my soul, and my spirit's fire
and save my tears cried-I'll need them for a long, long time
My patience I must keep in stock, as my days in this place are a hopeless lot
How much I need!
But I have nothing, I fear
I only need to conserve
Starting right here, with my tears…
[3]
Daughter at bed twenty-six! The nurses suddenly cried out. Lu Zhongsheng burst through the door and into the room where there was a thick sanguineous smell, like something off the trails of the Grim Reaper. Lan Ying laid in a pool of blood on the bed, and the look on her face had both the shock of a terrible storm's aftermath and the tranquility thereafter. She lifted her head up slightly, pursed her lips several times and then finally gave Lu Zhongsheng a suggestion.
That's right-have a look at the baby, quick!
Lu Zhongsheng took the baby into his arms, carefully checking the skin, hands, feet, fingers, eyes, lips, naval, and genitals. He then listened to her heartbeat and felt the front and back of the head bones…Highly suspicious, he checked and rechecked everything almost aggressively, even slapping the infant to make her scream more. Oh, it's real. I'll be darned-she's actually healthy! Suddenly, Lu Zhongsheng's highly stressed nerves could relax. He then lost his composure and started bawling even louder than the infant.
After leaving the delivery room and pulling himself together, young mothers from the same ward came over to sincerely congratulate Lan Ying. They crowded around the newborn, praising her as healthy and beautiful. Lu Zhongsheng perked up his ears and greedily lapped up their praise. He believed everything the others said, and no matter what it was, he was moved to tears. That's right! The girl's not only healthy, but beautiful with a full forehead, curled little hairs and wet like a little puppy…She's quite simply the best daughter in the world!
Perhaps all the newborns looked pretty much the same, but Lu Zhongsheng didn't think so. After confirming the child's health, he soon discovered that his baby was the mirror image of baby Danqing. It was twenty-five years before when his son was similarly brought into the world in such a wet way, brimming with unlimited hope…The poor father-thinking of Danqing's birth also reminded him of Danqing's death. Life and death-just like sparks off a flint stone…He remembered well the year when his son was born. It was right during those bleak years when political movements eroded the merited joy of a common family's everyday life. Danqing's birth seemed sloppy and careless, like grass seed being sowed-or grass seeds sprouting up only to be nipped off the top.
…Such mourning long overdue made Lu Zhongsheng blurt out: How about we call her Xiaoqing 20? As the name was rich with apparent nostalgia, he worried Lan Ying would say no. But as the latter continued to be immersed in the joy of her narrowly-attained survival as she presented her brown-pigmented nipple to try squeezing out some milk, then she peacefully nodded her head, saying, Whatever you like…
Lu Zhongsheng tightly gripped the infant's swaddling blanket, calling out: Xiaoqing. Xiao-xiaoqing…
Xiaoqing seemed so small yet so big. He sensed that he could throw his whole life into her.
Alright…now I'm a dad. I'm veritably the father of two children. There are those who've passed like water under the bridge, and newcomers like this who are close and personal. Lu Zhongsheng's tears trickled down like a feeble creek…then he swore to God that he'd be the best father to Xiaoqing-he was to unconditionally and courageously cherish her. If she wanted the sky, then he'd give her a ladder. If she wanted the earth, then he'd give her a shovel. She was a gift brought on the heels of imminent disaster, the spawn of courage to start life anew. She was the sole savior for the two of them and their only guiding light. There could be no way to spoil this child. Only by loving her deeply could he repay Lan Ying's struggle for survival or be willing to face that heart of theirs (which was puckered up from soaking in saltwater) .
However, this little angel's life was ostensibly their future nemesis. She truly exhausted them, flustered them, and made them trip all over themselves…Lan Ying had no breast milk, and having more soup in her diet didn't work. Lu Zhongsheng came to the end of his rope and didn't need that old professor or intellectual status. He unabashedly sought the advice of elderly women, inquiring about folk remedies for dry breasts, and bought an earthenware pot for stewing up herbal medicine…But it was to no avail. Lan Ying's breasts were like dried-up fountainheads, leaving not a drop of nectar. Xiaoqing continued to cry in hunger. Once she cried, Lu Zhongsheng's stomach started burning with hunger, too. There was nothing they could do, and in the end they had to give in to buying expensive, artificial baby formula, strictly controlling the proportion of water to formula and straining to find just the right temperature. Every night in a fog of confusion for Xiaoqing's wide-open, little mouth, he was almost never able to kick off his clothes and have a night's rest…
Every time this happened, Lu Zhongsheng, in his desolation and helplessness, would portend something uneasy to judge as good or bad: this state of being busy was a rehearsal and depiction of how they'd end up like old horses pulling a cart like and lugging hay for their new child. The burden would only get progressively heavier and fatiguing…
Whenever Xiaoqing opened her eyes, still unable to focus, and vaguely smile at them, these exhausted and fortunate old parents would yet again faithfully sense that the whole world shined anew, and after their six-year separation with domestic bliss, Heaven would yet again have great mercy upon them and sincere empathy for them and their plight.
Counterfeit "Open"
[1]
Si Jia's wedding night didn't go well.
For the most part, it was Si Jia's fault. Perhaps she was sexually cold like wood-but then again, she'd have been better off if she were wood, as she was really only paper-thin, frail paper. It didn't matter where the translator touched her, or how tenderly or roughly he handled her, to Si Jia, it was like being sliced with a knife and dying from the pain. A spring of tears flowed from the innermost depths of her being and out her eyes. Her whole body shook as if terminally blocked by a monolith or committing intimate acts in front of a vast crowd…
But upon further analysis, the translator also played his part in their misadventure. If he had just a little bit of patience he could nudge her mind a little, taking a rest from it all, and just sitting down and having a chat with Si Jia. Perhaps that would have been one way to improve the situation…But no, the translator was instantly angered, so much so that he forgot his modern, western education or any neologistic psychology. What's she doing? What's her problem? Why is she perceiving this as rape? Could it be that she's used to being raped, gets off on being raped, and if she's not being raped she can't be intimate? Surely she's out of her mind, completely and utterly out of her mind. But I won't give in to her. It's our wedding night, and there's no way we wouldn't do it. No one ever said you can't do it since immemorial. We have to do it.
Then the translator used any means necessary to go forward with it in spite of Si Jia's tragic weeping and struggling. It was difficult and exhilarating for him, but also challenging and unjust. He felt very strongly that he was cheated. What is Si Jia? A golden calf full of shit! Isn't she supposed to be super "open"? Doesn't she love being modern? Doesn't she sit around all day haranguing about sexual freedom? But look here, how could she be like this? Think about it-she's not a virgin; she has a long line of admirers, the scandal with her mother at the wedding and what have you. I didn't bicker with her about any of these things, but she should at least put some truth in her advertising. How are we supposed to go on like this? I hate to think I'll have to resort to raping her forever…
The translator could translate a different nation's language, but somehow couldn't translate Si Jia's deep feelings. His gentlemanly posture and forgiving nature were ult
imately limited and not in abundant supply…That's how things were, and how else could they be? One could say that it'd almost started on the wedding night, how that an inharmonious seed was planted between he and Si Jia…Objectively speaking, the translator isn't to blame, as his ability to understand was limited. He and Si Jia could never walk the same path. However far she walked ahead, however deep her weakness; however high she climbed, however hard she'd fall…The degree of Si Jia's complexity exceeded the bounds of language complexity and male-female relations. The translator would decidedly refrain from gaining entry into Si Jia's being.
Then, Si Jia was often sleeping in her clothes on in the family room. Perhaps she was being a slob or was often so exhausted that she had no choice but to start her night on the couch. She was severely averse to anything that reminded her of conjugal relations such as the bed, blankets, lighting and tissues as if they were poisonous snakes or scorpions. But on the outside she'd never admit it, because she did, after all, consistently present herself as being at the forefront of modernity.
Thus the relationship between Si Jia and the translator fell a bit out of balance. At first they were the admired and the admirer, but then the translator seemed a bit scary to Si Jia. It was as if he had some invisible blackmail material on her. What if he started spreading the word. Si Jia is a poser. She's a counterfeit liberal…That would have been an unpleasant situation for Si Jia. Thus, Si Jia no longer bossed the translator around so much. But it was as if she were controlled by some outside force and stayed fast to her mental refusal…In short, due to the awkwardness of their sex life, the marriage started to get strange.
[2]
One probably doesn't need a reason to quitting one habit and start another-just an opportunity. Si Jia moved out of her family's home, and the stepfather quit the body building (which he persisted in for over ten years) the next day. He quit as if given orders on the crack of a starting pistol and came to a screeching halt without the slightest forewarning or mercy. He explained it to Si Jia's mother like this. I'm old now. I can't push it anymore. It would be better to spend my talents by putting in more time cooking at home.
Trading in his exercise time for cooking, the stepfather naturally got fat-and he got fat with amazing speed and gained an impressive number of pounds. His former muscle groups withered one by one into loose cotton. The previously paper-thin layer between his muscles and skin puffed up, looking like rows of muffins in layer upon layer of delicious, rich fat. His chin went from double to triple like a flower in full bloom, his hefty belly hung over his belt, and his buttocks bulged like those of a woman…Anyone seeing him would have found it hard to believe that the same man was widely known as a jock just six months before. Naturally those close to him recommended that he take care better care of himself, but he'd just shake his head with an inscrutable smile, as if he had some mysterious excuse. He was content that way, diving downward with shameless ambition and letting himself slip at free-fall speed.
The funny thing was how the tables turned and Si Jia's mother started getting enthusiastic about exercise around the same time. Due to her professional background, she was a celebrity in certain situations like in the district cultural center, the neighborhood propaganda team, or the senior dance troupe. She rushed around, participating in morning events and evening events daily, busy like a vividly-patterned, fickle butterfly. Among those seniors, the theory of relativity was proven in real-world conditions-she regained her youth, figure, and class, tapping into a second vital wellspring.
Si Jia came home to her family often in the early days, right after she got married. She came home bright and early or in the middle of the night without giving anyone any warning. She arrived at random times, trying to hide her haste.
Wasn't she in a hurry to leave the family before getting married? Then why was she always coming back? What was her life like as a newly-married wife? Was she happy? Though there were some considerate exchanges of words on a daily basis, no one in the family was taking the initiative. This couldn't be blamed on Si Jia's mother who was busy with her strict schedule. Looking on at the situation from a distance, even if her mother did have time, what could Si Jia possibly do to get closer to her? And the stepfather…he was eager to serve up a rainbow array of appetizers and dishes whenever Si Jia came home, as if "eating" were a bona fide activity of great importance. He looked at Si Jia with eagerly anticipating eyes, prodding her on to eat, asking how it tasted and how he could make it better. In short, he just wouldn't talk or ask about anything else and cunningly ignored the fact of Si Jia's recent betrothal.
Si Jia stuffed her face in one swipe of the chopsticks after the other, clumsily nodding in approval. There were some thoughts she'd mull in her head, and just when they reached crawled out to the tip of her tongue, the stepfather would shove another dish in front of her as if jumping out in ambush. Try this one! Have a bite of this.
Si Jia looked at her stepfather's undulant, out-of-shape figure. Even if she were lacked any hope for closeness, she'd still want to see those muscles of his, bulging out from under the skin like issues pent up for a long time, just waiting to be mentioned. But you should have seen him then. It was truly a terrible sight, the way he sat there like a pile of whipped cream with no other hobbies or obligations-save eating and being completely oblivious to Si Jia. He'd made a clean and final break with Si Jia-a very clean break.
However, she really wished she could sit down and have a real father-daughter talk with him, just like when she was a teenager. She could tell him about things like her tummy aches, her chest growing, and which girl likes which guy. One could assume she was wanting to get her issues of pain and incompetence off her chest…Si Jia glared at her stepfather's bulbous figure, opening…and closing her mouth a few times (as she was at a loss for words) . She was truly shocked, and it was as if her lips were cracked, and the bloody taste was spreading around her teeth.
I'm full now. Si Jia suddenly pushed away her eating utensils and started sobbing, looking like she'd suddenly woken up to reality. Once Si Jia became a married woman, the stepfather had forever shut the gates on any exchange of feelings between them. Apparently he was obstinately refusing to discuss whatever topic she might bring up and closing down all communication. Whether it be verbal or facial expression, he let his whole body make that meaning clear. The way he let himself go, get out of shape and gave up on his health was itself imbued with a statement and an invisible screenplay. It was raising a white flag and raising it up high, and he was in full retreat. He allowed himself to become a father and nothing else-or something even less…
Alright, it was time for her to wake up. Si Jia made an about face from her weakness and deluded attempt to feel shame. She had no more illusions about her family or the stepfather. She should have been alone, facing her own knowns and unknowns. Luckily, once she got over her stepfather's newfound negligence, there was nothing else to fear. Even back when she was eighteen, she was already in exile.
[3]
No, my lady. You still have me, don't you? I can sense and even experience all your frustration…
I know you must be filled with rage, because you're not at all traditional, nor of noble upbringing. You have high expectations of yourself, and you present yourself to others as easy-going and liberal. The death of Eros that you read about in novels fascinated you…In your rational mind, you know that intimacy is an important life component which surely isn't just the icing on the cake or a cloud's silver lining. To the contrary, it's on one side of the scales, resting in balance with spirit and will on the other side…I know you're not only afraid of the translator raping you but are moreover worried and confused about what your future will hold. You've always been so confident, assured of your headstrong attitude and good health. You wouldn't have thought in your wildest dreams that you'd be smacked silly with a gloomstick from behind…When will your situation improve, if it ever will? You're simply unable to give a definite answer…
I told you long a
go that I never regretted that night. But seeing the person you've become, I am-contrary to what you might expect-willing to do a retake (like in the filming of a movie) . Let's have the screenwriter adjust the plot and make your first intimate experience as tender as seagrass. Let's take a slow start and lead to an unrestrained ending. Let's nap in each other's arms and wait for your body to fold into itself like flower petals, letting the blush slowly fade away from your face…
A Feeble Happiness
[1]
Chinese New Year of 1991 coincided precisely with February fourteenth of the solar calendar. Foreign television news broadcasts were split into two parts. One reported on Valentine's Day anecdotes while the other reported on developments in the Gulf War. The Gulf War was already in progress for more than two weeks, and almost all the eyes of the world were focused on Iraq with all the comfort and pity that nations in peacetime have, like watching blazing fires from across a river…
Moreover, Chinese probably started taking an interest in Valentine's Day around that time. What do roses represent? What does it mean if you give someone two or three? What are the meanings of various gift wrapping schemes for chocolates? When receiving a gift, you should open it in front of the one who gave it to you. People were also giving tips for buying ribbons and perfumes…Expressions of love were just itching to be westernized. In December of the lunar calendar, the newspaper was even dared to discuss if people should go home to see their families or have a date with their lovers instead…Chinese have always been cruel betrayers of tradition, accepting western affairs like the spring rain makes mud…or like some kind of infatuation or drunkenness.
Lu Zhongsheng was washing Xiaoqing's diapers and perking his ears up to the news broadcast, but he couldn't hear it well and was seemingly clueless about what it was talking about. Far outside the window there was round after round of fireworks appearing and disappearing without a report, like the tiniest microcosm of human life. If it were like before, Lu Zhongsheng would have probably let out a long sigh: the glare of faraway battle rockets, the uninterrupted affection of Valentine's Day, Chinese New Year with families reunified from all around, fireworks burning out their indulgent passions…Such things were like the mixing of excited gases in chemistry. The reaction would be dramatic, and tears and mucous would stream down as one…But he wouldn't, and his life would instead mimic the diaper in his hand, packed with material meaning, the blessing of small family chaos (and even being in it) . This feeling of being fortunate wasn't overpowering and wouldn't withstand a big crisis. It was like weakly-cultivated wheat with thin roots and stems. He was nevertheless growing there, and this led Lu Zhongsheng to believe that his lot was indeed not poor and desolate.