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father recalled that the mule-drawn wagon carrying second grandma and the corpse of littleauntie xiangguan arrived in our village at noon. a strong wind from the northwest raised cloudsof dust on the roads and rustled leaves on the trees. dead skin peeled from his lips in the parchedair. when the wagon, one mule in front and another at the rear, appeared in the village, he ranlike the wind to meet it. uncle arhat was hobbling along beside the bumping, creaking wagon.
the mules, granddad, and uncle arhat all had a gummy, dust-covered residue in the corners oftheir eyes. granddad sat on the railing, holding his head in his hands like a clay idol or a woodenicon. the scene sucked the words right out of father’s mouth. at a distance of about twentyyards from the wagon, his sensitive nose detected an inauspicious odour emanating from thewagon. frightened, he turned and ran back home, blurting out to grandma, who was anxiouslypacing the floor, ‘mom, dad’s back, the mule’s pulling a long wagon, dead people in the back.’
grandma’s face fell. after a momentary pause, she rushed outside with him.
the wagon wheels ground to a bumpy halt, creaking one last time as the wagon stopped justbeyond the gate. granddad climbed down slowly and stared at grandma with bloodshot eyes.
the sight frightened father; granddad’s eyes reminded him of the cat’s-eye stones on the banksof the black water river, whose colours were forever changing.
‘well, you got your wish!’ granddad snarled at grandma.
not daring to defend herself, she timidly approached the wagon, father on her heels, andlooked into the bed. the folds of the comforter were filled with black earth, revealing the lumpyoutlines of whatever was underneath. she picked up a corner, but let it drop as though her fingerswere scalded. father glimpsed second grandma’s smashed, pulpy face and little auntie’s rigid,open mouth.
that open mouth called up all sorts of pleasant childhood memories for father. he’dfrequently gone to saltwater gap to spend a few days, against grandma’s wishes. granddad hadtold him to call second grandma ‘second mom,’ and since she treated him like her own son, hethought she was just wonderful. she occupied a special place deep in his heart and seeing her waslike coming home. little auntie xiangguan had a mouth as sweet as honey that was foreverfilling the air with gentle shouts of ‘elder brother’. this dark-skinned little sister was one of hisfavourites, and he was fascinated by the fine, nearly transparent fuzz on her face; most of all heloved her bright eyes, like shiny buttons. yet, just when they were at the peak of enjoyment,grandma would send someone over to drag him home, and he would look down at her from hisperch in the arms of the messenger on the mule and feel terribly sad. he wondered why grandmaand second grandma hated each other so.
father thought back to the time he’d gone to weigh the dead baby, a couple of years or soearlier. he’d accompanied mother to the place called dead baby hollow, some three li beyondthe village. since township tradition forbade the burial of babies under the age of five, the tinycorpses were abandoned out in the open. traditional birthing customs were followed back then,and only the most rudimentary medical treatment was available, so the infant mortality rate wasparticularly high, and only the strongest survived.
i sometimes think that there is a link between the decline in humanity and the increase inprosperity and comfort. prosperity and comfort are what people seek, but the costs to characterare often terrifying.
when father went to dead baby hollow with grandma, she was obsessed with the flowerlottery, a small-scale form of gambling in which you neither fly too high nor fall too hard, whichhad captivated the villagers, the women in particular; since granddad was enjoying a stable,prosperous life, the villagers chose him as the society head and banker. placing the names ofthirty-two flowers in a bamboo tube, he publicly drew out two a day, one in the morning and oneat night. the herbaceous peony or the chinese rose, maybe the common rose, maybe the pricklyrose. the gambler whose flower was picked earned thirty times the amount she’d bet. womencaught up in the flower lottery devised all manner of methods to guess which name granddadwould draw. some poured wine down their daughters’ throats in anticipation of babbled visionsin their drunkenness. others forced themselves to dream for the answer. going to dead babyhollow was grandma’s unique and appalling method.
it was so dark that father couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. grandma had wakened himin the middle of the night, startling him out of a deep slumber and making him feel likescreaming at her for frightening him like that. ‘don’t make a sound,’ she had whispered. ‘comewith me to guess the flowers.’ with his natural curiosity and the promise of a good mystery,father was immediately awake and eager to go. quickly putting on their boots and caps, theytiptoed past granddad and slipped out of the yard and the village. because they proceeded withcaution and walked very quietly, their passage went unnoticed even by the village dogs. grandmawas holding father’s left hand, leaving his right hand free to carry a red-paper lantern; she washolding him with her right hand, leaving her left hand free to carry her special scale, on which thenames of thirty-two flowers were carved.
as they walked out of the village father heard a southeast wind whistling through the sorghumfields and rustling the broad green leaves; he could smell the black water river far off in thedistance. after groping along for a li or so, he grew accustomed enough to the dark to distinguishbetween the brown road surface and the waist-high sorghum by the roadside. the soughing of thewind through the stalks added to the mystery of the dark night, while the screeches of an owl onone of the trees out there cast a patina of terror over the enigma of the dark night.
the owl was perched in a large willow tree directly above dead baby hollow. had it beendaytime, grandma and father would have been able to see the growths of blood-red beards onthe trunk of the tree, which stood in the middle of a marshy plot of land. father sensed the owl’sgreen eyes flashing solemnly amid the willow branches. his teeth chattered and chills snakedfrom the soles of his feet all the way up to the crown of his head. he squeezed grandma’s hand,feeling that his head was about to explode from the terror building up inside it.
a sticky odour clung to the air above dead baby hollow. white drops of rain the size of brasscoins fell to the ground, gouging out scars in the impenetrable blackness. grandma tugged onfather’s hand as a sign for him to kneel down, and as he did so his hands and legs touched wildgrasses growing in crazy profusion in the marshy land; the coarse, needlelike tips of leavesjabbed his chin, upsetting the harmony in his soul. he felt countless pairs of dead babies’ eyesboring into his back and heard them kicking, squirming, laughing.
bang bang crack crack. grandma was striking a flint against a piece of steel. gentle red sparksilluminated her trembling hands. when the tinder caught fire, she blew on it, and a weak glimmerof light began to spread. she lit the red candle in the paper lantern, from which a ball of red lightemerged like a lonely spectre. the owl’s song stopped as dead babies formed ranks to surroundfather, grandma, and the lantern.
grandma made a search of the marshy hollow while dozens of moths slammed into the red-paper covering of the lantern in her hand. her bound feet made walking difficult on the wildgrasses and the soft ground. father was curious to know what she was looking for, but didn’tdare ask. he followed her silently.
a rolled-up straw mat lay amid a clump of thick-stemmed, broad-leafed cocklebur. grandmahanded father the lantern, laid her scale on the ground, then bent over and picked up the mat. inthe red light of the lantern her fingers looked like squirming pink worms. the mat fell open toreveal a dead infant wrapped in rags. its bald head was like a shiny gourd. father’s knees wereknocking. grandma picked up the scale and hooked it to the rag shroud. holding the scale in onehand, she adjusted the weight with the other. but with a loud rip the rag gave out and the tinycorpse fell to the ground, followed by the weight, which landed on grandma’s toe, and the scale,which flew over and hit father on the head. he yelped in pain and nearly dropped the lantern.
the owl let out a hideous laugh, as though mocking their clumsiness. grandma picked up thescale and jammed the hook through the baby’s flesh. the horrifying sound made father’s skincrawl. he looked away, and by the time he’d turned back, grandma was moving the weightacross the arm of the scale, notch by notch, higher and lower, until it was in perfect balance. shesignalled father to bring the lantern closer. the scale glowed red. there it was: ‘peony’.
when they reached the village father could still hear the owl’s angry screeches.
grandma confidently put her money on ‘peony’.
the winner that day was ‘winter sweet’.
grandma fell gravely ill.
as father looked at little auntie xiangguan, he recalled that the mouth of the dead infant alsogaped; his ears rang with the songs of the owl, and he yearned for the moist air of the marshyland, since his lips and tongue were parched by a dry northwest wind that sent dust swirling inthe sky.
father saw how granddad was looking at grandma, darkly malevolent, like a bird of preyabout to pounce. her back hunched suddenly as she bent over the bed of the wagon and beganthumping the comforter, her face covered with tears and snot: ‘little sister?.?.?. dear littlesister?.?.?. xiangguan?.?.?. my baby?.?.?.’
granddad’s anger softened in the face of grandma’s anguish. uncle arhat walked up besideher and said softly, ‘mistress, don’t cry. let’s take them inside.’
grandma picked up little auntie xiangguan’s body and carried it into the house. granddadfollowed her with second grandma.
father stayed on the street to watch uncle arhat lead the mule out from between the shafts ofthe wagon, its sides rubbed raw by the narrow shafts. then he untied the other one from behindthe wagon. they shook themselves violently, filling the sky with fine dust clouds, before unclearhat led them into the eastern compound. father fell in behind him. ‘go home, douguan,’
uncle arhat said, ‘go on home.’
grandma was sitting on the floor stoking a fire in the stove, on which a half-filled pot of waterstood. as soon as father slipped into the room, he spotted second grandma lying on the kang,eyes open, cheeks twitching ceaselessly. he also saw little auntie xiangguan lying across thetop of the kang, a red bundle covering her hideous countenance. once again he thought back tothat night when he had accompanied grandma to dead baby hollow to weigh the dead infant.
the braying of the mules in the eastern compound sounded incredibly like the owl’s screeching.
soon, xiangguan would be lying in dead baby hollow to feed the wild dogs. he had neverdreamed that the dead could look so hideous, yet he could barely resist removing the red bundleto stare at xiangguan’s repulsive face.
grandma walked into the room with a brass basin full of hot water and placed it beside thekang. ‘go outside!’ she said, giving father a shove.
reluctantly, resentfully, he went into the outer room and heard the door shut behind him.
unable to control his curiosity, he stuck his eye up against a crack in the door to see what washappening inside. granddad and grandma were kneeling beside the kang undressing secondgrandma. when they flung her clothes to the floor, her soaked pants landed with a loud thud. thenauseating stink of blood assailed father’s nostrils. second grandma flailed her arms weakly asghastly sounds emerged from her mouth.
‘hold her arms down,’ grandma pleaded. both grandma’s and granddad’s faces were blurredin the rising steam from the brass basin.
grandma took a steaming sheepskin towel and wrung it dry, the excess water dripping loudlyinto the basin. the towel was so hot it scalded her hands, even when she flipped it from one tothe other. after shaking it open, she placed it on second grandma’s soiled face. poor secondgrandma twisted her neck, and screams of terror, owl-like screeches, filtered up through thetowel. when grandma removed the towel, it was filthy. she swished it in the basin, then wrung itdry, and slowly wiped down second grandma’s body.
less and less steam rose from the brass basin, while beads of condensed steam dottedgrandma’s face. ‘dump the dirty water,’ she said to granddad, ‘and bring me some clean water.’
father ran out into the yard to watch granddad. his back was bent as he staggered over to thelow wall of the privy to dump the water on the other side. father ran back and put his eye up tothe crack in the door again. by now second grandma’s body was glowing like polishedsandalwood. her protests were low and laboured, no more than agonised moans. grandma hadgranddad lift her up so she could remove the kang mat. then she took a clean one and spread itover the kang. after granddad laid second grandma back down, grandma put a big wad ofcotton between her legs and covered her with a sheet. ‘little sister,’ she said softly, ‘sleep, go tosleep, zhan’ao and i will stay with you.’
second grandma closed her eyes peacefully.
granddad went out to dump some more water.
while grandma was washing little auntie xiangguan’s body, father slipped rashly into theroom and stood in front of the kang. grandma saw him but didn’t chase him away. as she wipedthe dried blood from little auntie’s body, pearl-like strands of tears fell from her eyes. when shewas finished, she leaned her head against the bedroom wall and didn’t move for a long time, asthough she, too, were dead.
at sunset granddad wrapped little auntie’s body in a blanket and held it in his arms. fatherfollowed him to the door. ‘go on back, douguan. stay with mom and second mom.’
uncle arhat stopped granddad at the southern-compound gate. ‘manager yu,’ he said, ‘yougo back, too. i’ll take care of it.’
granddad returned to the doorway, where he held father’s hand and watched uncle arhat alk out of the village.
