Big Breasts and Wide Hips (11 page)

The weather that spring could not have been better, and business at the blacksmith shop reaped the benefits, selling new scythes and repairing broken ones for a steady stream of peasants. The furnace was in the middle of the yard, under a sheet of oil cloth to keep out the sun. The pleasant smell of burning coal hung over the yard, and dark red tongues of flame crackled in the sunlight. Shangguan Fulu handled the tongs, his son, Shouxi, worked the bellows. Shangguan Lü, wearing a tattered robe cinched at the waist by an oilcloth apron spotted with black marks from burning sparks, and an old straw hat on her head, handled the hammer. With sweat and soot streaking her face, the only way anyone could tell she was a woman was by the two protuberances on her chest. The clang of hammer on hot steel resounded from morning to night. As a rule, the family ate only two meals a day; Xuan'er was responsible for preparing the meals and tending the family livestock, pigs included, chores that kept her hopping all day long. And still her mother-in-law found fault, keeping an eye on her even as she hammered the red-hot steel, and muttering nonstop. When she ran out of complaints about her daughter-in-law, she'd turn her attention to her son, and from there to her husband. They were all used to being harangued by the head of the household and the best blacksmith in the family. Xuan'er both hated and feared her mother-in-law, but she admired her as well. Standing around watching Shangguan Lü work was a bit of a holiday at the end of the day, and the compound was frequently filled with people coming and going.

Her son, Shouxi, was small everywhere — nose, eyes, head, arms, hands — and one would be hard pressed to spot any resemblance to his burly mother, who often sighed and said, “If the seed's no good, fertile soil is wasted.” He worked the bellows while she pounded the steel into shape.

On this particular day, as the last scythe was tempered, she raised it to her nose, as if its smell could determine its quality. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders and said in a voice that revealed her exhaustion, “Serve dinner.”

Like a foot soldier receiving a general's command, Shangguan Lu ran on tiny bound feet, back and forth, setting the table under the pear tree, where a single hanging lantern produced a murky yellow light and drew hordes of moths that flew noisily into the lantern shade. Shangguan Lu had prepared a platter of buns stuffed with ground-up pork bone and radish filling, a bowl of mung bean soup for each person, and a bunch of leeks and a paste to dip them in. She cast an uneasy look at her mother-in-law to gauge her reaction. If there was plenty of food, she'd pull a long face and complain about wastefulness; if it was a simple meal, she'd toss down her bowl and chopsticks and complain angrily that it was tasteless. Being her daughter-in-law was not easy. Steam rose from the buns and the rice porridge. This was the time that the family, deluged by the clang of metal on metal during the day, fell silent. Xuan'er's mother-in-law sat in the center, her son on one side, husband on the other, while Xuan'er stood beside the table awaiting her mother-in-law's instructions.

“Have you fed the animals?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Closed up the chicken coop?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Shangguan Lü bent down and slurped a mouthful of soup.

Shangguan Shouxi spat out a sliver of bone and grumbled, “Other people eat pork-filled buns, but all we get are the bones. Like dogs …”

His mother slammed down her chopsticks. “You,” she cursed, “what gives you the right to be picky about what you eat?”

“We've got all that wheat in the bin and plenty of money in the cupboard,” Shouxi said. “What are we saving it for?”

“He's right,” his father pitched in. “We deserve a reward for all our hard work.”

“That wheat in the bin and money in the cupboard, who does it belong to?” Xuan'er's mother-in-law asked. “When I finally stretch out my legs for the last time and journey to the Western Heaven, do you think I'm going to take it with me? No, I'm leaving it for you.”

Xuan'er hung her head and held her breath.

Shangguan Lü exploded to her feet and stormed off. “Listen to me,” she shouted from inside the house. “Tomorrow we'll fry fritters, braise pork strips, hard-boil some eggs, kill a chicken, bake some flat-cakes, and make dumplings! Why spread it out? One of our ancestors must have done something to make us suffer. We bring a barren woman into the family, and all she can do is eat. Well, since our family line is coming to an end, who are we saving for? Let's finish it all off and be done with it!”

Xuan'er covered her face with her hands and burst out crying.

“You should be goddamned ashamed of yourself, crying like that!” Shangguan Lü shouted. “You've eaten our food for three years and haven't even presented us with a daughter, let alone a son! You're eating us out of house and home! Tomorrow you can go back where you came from. I won't let this family line die out all because of you!”

Not a minute passed that night when Xuan'er's tears didn't flow. When Shouxi wanted to have his way with her, she submitted weakly. “Nothing is wrong with me,” she said through her tears. “Maybe it's you.”

Without climbing off, he growled, “A hen can't lay an egg, so she blames it on the rooster!”

The harvest was in, and the rainy season was about to begin. Local custom demanded that new brides return to their parents' home to pass the hottest days of the year. Most of those who had been married three years returned proudly holding the hand of one child, suckling a second, and carrying a third inside, plus a bundle filled with patterns for shoes to be made. Poor Xuan'er. All she brought home, besides her sadness, were scars and bruises bestowed upon her by her husband, the echoes of her mother-in-law's curses, a pathetic little bundle, and eyes red and puffy from crying. Now, the most caring aunt is still no match for your own mother, so even though she returned with a bellyful of bitter complaints, she had to keep them to herself and put on the best face possible.

As soon as she stepped through the doorway, her keen-eyed aunt saw right through her. “Nothing yet, I see.”

That simple comment brought tears of pain gushing from Xuan'er's eyes.

“Strange,” her aunt muttered. “You'd think three years would be long enough to produce something.”

At dinnertime that evening, Big Paw Yu spotted the bruises on Xuan'er's arm. “That sort of wife-beating has no place in a modern republic,” he said angrily. “I'd like to burn that turtles' nest of theirs to the ground!”

“I see that not even rice can stop up that foul mouth of yours!” her aunt said as she glared at her husband.

For a change, there was plenty of food in front of Xuan'er, but she forced herself not to overeat. Her uncle placed a large piece of fish in her bowl.

“You know,” her aunt said, “you can't blame your in-laws. Why does anyone take a wife? To continue the family line.”

“You didn't continue my family line,” her husband said, “and I've been good to you, haven't I?”

“Who asked you? Get the donkey ready so you can take Xuan'er into town to see a woman's doctor.”

Sitting astride the donkey, Xuan'er passed through the fields of Northeast Gaomi Township, which were crisscrossed with rivers and streams. The sun sent down blistering rays of heat, raising steam from the ground and drawing groans from the foliage around her. A pair of dragonflies, connected at the rear, darted past; a pair of swallows mated in the sky above. Baby frogs that had just shed their tails hopped across the roadway; locusts that had just emerged from eggs perched on the tips of roadside grass. A litter of newborn rabbits followed their mother in a hunt for food. Baby ducks paddled behind their mother, their tiny pink webbed feet sending ripples to the edge of a pond … rabbits and locusts can produce offspring, so why can't I? She felt empty inside, and was reminded of the legend regarding a child-rearing bag that existed in the bellies of all women, all but hers, it seemed. Please, Matron of Sons, I beg you, give me a child …

Even though her uncle was nearly forty, he had not lost his playfulness. Instead of holding the donkey's halter, he let the animal trot along on its own while he ran up and down the roadside picking wild-flowers, which he made into a wreath for Xuan'er — to keep out the sun, he said. After chasing birds until he was out of breath, he went deep into the field, where he found a fist-sized wild melon, which he handed to Xuan'er. “It's sweet,” he said, but when she bit into it, it was so bitter it nearly paralyzed her tongue. Then he rolled up his pant cuffs and jumped into a pond, quickly catching a pair of insects the size of melon seeds and shaking them in his hand. “Change!” he shouted. Holding his closed hand up to Xuan'er's nose, he asked her, “What do they smell like?” She shook her head and said she didn't know. “Like watermelons,” he said. “They're watermelon bugs. They come from watermelon seeds.”

Xuan'er couldn't help thinking that her uncle was really just an overgrown, playful child.

The results of the doctor's examination? There was nothing wrong with Xuan'er.

“The Shangguan family will pay for this!” Xuan'er's aunt said indignantly. “They've got a sterile mule of a son, and have no right to take out their frustrations on Xuan'er!”

But she only made it as far as the door.

Ten days later, during a pouring rain, the aunt prepared a sumptuous meal, complete with some of her husband's strong liquor. With her niece seated across from her, she placed one green cup in front of each of them. Candlelight cast her shadow on the wall behind as she filled both cups with liquor. Xuan'er saw that her hand was shaking.

“Why are we drinking liquor, Aunty?” Xuan'er asked. She had the uneasy feeling that something was about to happen.

“No reason. It's a rainy, sultry day, and I thought we could stay inside and talk, just the two of us.” She raised her cup. “Drink up.”

Xuan'er held out her cup and looked at her aunt with fear in her eyes. The older woman clinked glasses with her before tipping her head back and draining the cup.

Xuan'er emptied her cup.

“What do you plan to do?” Xuan'er's aunt asked.

With a sorrowful look, Xuan'er just shook her head.

Her aunt refilled both cups. “I'm afraid we're going to have to accept things the way they are,” she said. “The fact that their son is sterile is something we have to keep in mind. They owe us; we don't owe them. Girl, I want you to understand that in this world, some of the finest deeds are accomplished in the dark, out of sight. Do you know what I'm getting at?”

Xuan'er shook her head, completely mystified. Her head was already spinning from the two cups of strong liquor.

That night, Big Paw Yu visited Xuan'er's bed.

When she awoke the next morning, suffering a splitting headache, she was surprised to hear someone snoring loudly beside her. With difficulty she opened her eyes, and there, lying naked beside her, was her uncle, one of his big paws cupping her breast. With a shriek, she pulled the blanket up to cover herself and burst out crying, waking Big Paw from his sleep. Like a child who's gotten himself into trouble, he jumped out of bed, grasping his clothes around him, and stammered, “Your aunt… made me do it…”

The following spring, shortly after the Grave-Sweeping Festival, Xuan'er gave birth to a scrawny, dark-eyed daughter. Her mother-in-law knelt before the Bodhisattva's ceramic icon and kowtowed three times. “Thanks to heaven and earth,” she announced gratefully. “The seam has finally split. Now I ask the Bodhisattva to look over us and deliver a grandson next year.”

She went into the kitchen and fried some eggs, which she brought in to her daughter-in-law's room. “Here,” she said, “eat these.”

As Xuan'er looked into her mother-in-law's face, her eyes filled with tears of gratitude.

Her mother-in-law looked down at the infant lying in the tattered cloth wrapping and said, “We'll call her Laidi — Brother Coming.”

My second sister, Zhaodi — Brother Hailed — also came from Big Paw Yu's seed.

After Xuan'er delivered two daughters in as many years, Grandmother's unhappiness showed clearly. It didn't take Mother long to realize the cruel reality that for a woman, not getting married was not an option, not having children was not acceptable, and having only daughters was nothing to be proud of. The only road to status in a family was to produce sons.

Mother's third child was conceived in a reedy marsh. It happened at noon on a day shortly after Zhaodi was born. Grandmother had sent Mother to the reed pond southwest of the village to catch snails for the ducks. That spring a man had come to the village selling ducklings. A tall, husky stranger with a piece of blue cloth over his shoulder and hemp sandals on his feet, he carried two baskets filled with downy yellow baby ducks. A crowd quickly gathered to gawp at the furry little animals, with their pink beaks and tiny quacks, as they tumbled all over each other in the baskets. Shangguan Lü stepped up and bought a dozen; others followed her lead, quickly snapping up the rest. The peddler took a turn around the village and left. That evening, as it turned out, Sima Ting was taken from Felicity Manor by bandits and not returned until the family had paid a ransom of several thousand silver dollars. People said that the duck peddler had really been an informer for the bandits, who wanted a detailed report on the layout of Felicity Manor.

But those were good ducks he sold. In five months they had grown to the size of tiny boats. Shangguan Lü, who loved those ducks, sent her daughter-in-law out to look for snails, anticipating the day when the ducks would begin laying eggs.

So Mother took an earthenware jar and a wire strainer on a pole wherever her mother-in-law told her to go. The ditches and ponds near the village had been picked clean of snails by villagers who were raising ducks, but on her way to the market at a place called Liaolan the day before, Shangguan Lü had seen that the shallows in a nearby pond were alive with snails.