5
the seven daughters of the shangguan family — laidi (brother coming), zhaodi (brotherhailed), lingdi (brother ushered), xiangdi (brother desired), pandi (brother anticipated),niandi (brother wanted), and qiudi (brother sought) — drawn by a subtle fragrance, cameout of the side room to the east and huddled under shangguan lu’s window. seven littleheads, pieces of straw stuck in their hair, crowded up to see what was happening inside. theysaw their mother sitting on the kang leisurely shucking peanuts, as if nothing were amiss. butthe fragrance continued to seep through their mother’s window. eighteen-year-old laidi, firstto comprehend what mother was doing, could see the sweaty hair and bloody lips, and notedthe frightening spasms of her swollen belly and the flies flitting around the room. the peanutswere being crushed into crumbs.
laidi’s voice cracked as she cried out, “mother!” her six younger sisters followed her lead.
tears washed all seven girls’ cheeks. the youngest, qiudi, cried pitifully; her little legs,covered with bedbug and mosquito bites, began to churn, and she broke for the door. butlaidi ran over and swept her up in her arms. still bawling, the little girl pummeled her sister’sface.
“i want mommy, i want my mommy …”
laidi’s nose began to ache, and there was a lump in her throat. hot tears streamed downher face. “don’t cry, qiudi,” she coaxed her little sister as she patted her on the back, “don’tcry. mommy’s going to give us a baby brother, a fair-skinned, roly-poly baby brother.”
shangguan lu’s moans emerged from the room. “laidi,” she said weakly, “take yoursisters away. they’re too small to understand what’s going on. you should know better.”
then a shriek of pain tore from her mouth, and the remaining five girls crowded up to thewindow again.
“mommy,” fourteen-year-old lingdi cried out, “mommy …”
laidi put her sister down and ran to the door on feet that had been bound briefly thenliberated. she tripped on the doorsill’s rotting boards and crashed into the bellows, smashing alarge dark green ceramic bowl filled with chicken feed. when she clambered to her feet, shespotted her grandmother, who was kneeling at the guanyin altar, where incense smoke wascurling into the air.
quaking from head to toe, she righted the bellows, then bent down to pick up the pieces ofthe broken bowl, as if by somehow putting it back together she could lessen the severity ofher blunder. her grandmother stood up quickly, like an overfed horse, swaying from side toside, her head shaking crazily, as a string of strange sounds spilled from her mouth. shrinkinginto herself and holding her head in her hands, laidi braced for the anticipated blow. butinstead of hitting her, her grandmother pinched her thin, pale earlobe and pulled her up, thenpropelled her toward the door. with a screech, she stumbled into the yard and fell on the brickpath. from there she watched her grandmother bend down to scrutinize the broken bowl, herposture now resembling a cow drinking from a river. after what seemed like a very long time,she straightened up, holding some of the pieces in her hand and tapping them with her fingerto produce a pleasantly crisp sound. her wrinkled face had a pinched quality; the corners ofher mouth turned down, where they merged with two deep creases running straight to herchin, making it seem as if it had been added to her face as an afterthought.
kneeling on the path, laidi sobbed, “grandma, you can come beat me to death.”
“beat you to death?” shangguan lü said sorrowfully. “will that make this bowl wholeagain? it comes from the yongle reign of the ming dynasty, and was part of your great-grandmother’s dowry. it was worth the price of a new donkey!”
her face ashen, laidi begged her grandmother for forgiveness.
“it’s time for you to get married!” shangguan lü sighed. “instead of getting up early to doyour chores, you’re out here causing a scene. your mother doesn’t even have the good fortuneto die!”
laidi buried her face in her hands and wailed.
“do you expect me to thank you for smashing one of our best utensils?” shangguan lücomplained. “now quit pestering me, and take those fine sisters of yours, who aren’t good foranything but stuffing their faces, down to flood dragon river to catch some shrimp. anddon’t come home until you’ve got a basketful!”
laidi clambered to her feet, scooped up her baby sister qiudi, and ran outside.
after shooing niandi and the other girls out the door like a brood of chickens, shangguanlü picked up a willow shrimping basket and flung it to lingdi. holding qiudi in one arm,laidi reached out with her free hand and took the hand of niandi, who took the hand ofxiangdi, who took the hand of pandi. lingdi, shrimping basket in one hand, took pandi’s freehand with her own, and the seven sisters, tugging and being tugged, crying and sniffling,walked down the sundrenched, windswept lane, heading for flood dragon river.
as they passed by aunty sun’s yard, they noticed a heavy fragrance hanging in the air andsaw white smoke billowing out of the chimney. the five mutes were carrying kindling intothe house, like a column of ants; the black dogs, tongues lolling, kept guard at the door,expectantly.
when the girls climbed the bank of the flood dragon river, they had a clear view of thecompound. the five mutes spotted them. the oldest boy curled his upper lip, with its greasymustache, and smiled at laidi, whose cheeks suddenly burned. she recalled the time whenshe’d gone to the river to fetch water, and the mute had tossed a cucumber into her bucket. hehad grinned at her, like a sly fox, but with no sinister intent, and her heart had leapt, for thefirst time in her life. with blood rushing to her cheeks, she’d gazed down at the glassy surfaceof the water and seen how flushed her face had become. afterwards, she’d eaten thecucumber, and the taste had lingered long after it was gone. she looked up at the colorfulchurch steeple and the watch-tower. a man at the top was dancing around like a goldenmonkey and shouting:
“fellow villagers, the japanese horse soldiers have already set out from the city!”
people gathered below the tower and gazed up at the platform, where the man grabbed therailing from time to time and looked down, as if answering their unasked questions. thenhe’d straighten up again, make another turn around the platform, cupping his hands like amegaphone to warn one and all that the japanese would soon be entering the village.
suddenly, the rumble of a horse-drawn wagon emerged from the main street. where it hadcome from was a mystery; it was as if it had simply dropped from the sky or risen out of theground. three fine horses were pulling the large, rubber-wheeled wagon, the clip-clopping oftwelve hooves racing along, leaving clouds of yellow dust in their wake. one of the horseswas apricot yellow, one date red, the other the green of fresh leeks. fat, sleek, and fascinating,they seemed made of wax. a dark-skinned little man stood spread-legged on the shafts behindthe lead horse, and from a distance, it looked as if he were straddling the horse itself. his red-tasseled whip danced in the air — pa pa pa — as he sang out, haw haw haw. withoutwarning, he jerked the reins, the horses whinnied as they stiffened their legs, and the wagonskidded to a halt. clouds of dust that had followed them quickly swallowed up the wagon, thehorse, and the driver. once the dust had settled, laidi saw the felicity manor servants run outwith baskets of liquor and bales of straw, which they loaded onto the wagon. one burlyfellow stood on the steps of the felicity manor gateway, shouting at the top of his lungs. oneof the baskets fell to the ground with a thud, the pig-bladder stopper fell out, and the fineliquor began to spread on the ground. when a pair of servants rushed over to pick up thebasket, the man in the gateway jumped down off the step, swirled his glossy whip in the air,and brought the tip down on their backs. they covered their heads and hunkered down in themiddle of the street to take the whipping they deserved. the whip danced like a snake coilingin the sun. the smell of liquor rose in the air. the wilderness was vast and still, wheat in thefields bent before the wind, waves of gold. on the watchtower the man shouted, “run, run foryour lives …”
people emerged from their houses, like ants scurrying around aimlessly. some walked,others ran, and still others stood frozen to a spot; some headed east, others headed west, andstill others went in circles, looking first in one direction, then another. the aroma driftingacross the sun compound was heavier than ever, as a cloud of opaque steam rolled outthrough the front door. the mutes were nowhere to be seen, and silence spread throughout theyard, broken only by an occasional chicken bone sailing out the door, where it was foughtover by the five black dogs. the victor would take its prize over to the wall, to huddle in thecorner and gnaw on it, while the losers glared red-eyed into the house and growled softly.
lingdi tugged at her sister. “let’s go home, okay?”
laidi shook her head. “no, we’re going down to the river to catch shrimp. mommy willneed shrimp soup after our baby brother is born.”
so they walked single file down to the river’s edge, where the placid surface reflected thedelicate faces of the shangguan girls. they all had their mother’s high nose and fair, fullearlobes. laidi took a mahogany comb out of a pocket and combed each of her sisters’ hair;pieces of straw and dust fluttered to the ground. they grimaced and complained when thecomb pulled through the tangles. finished with her sisters, laidi then ran the comb throughher own hair and twisted it into a single braid, which she tossed over her back; the tip fell toher rounded hip. after putting away the comb, she rolled up her pant legs, revealing a pair offair, shapely calves. then she took off her blue satin shoes, with their red embroideredflowers; her sisters all stared at her bare feet, which had been partially crippled from thebindings. “what are you gawking at?” she demanded angrily. “if we don’t bring home lots ofshrimp, the old witch will never forgive us!”
her sisters hurriedly took off their shoes and rolled up their pant legs; qiudi, the youngest,stripped naked. laidi stood on the muddy bank looking down at water grasses swaying gentlyat the bottom of the slow-flowing river. fish frolicked there, while swallows skimmed thesurface of the water. she stepped into the river and shouted, “qiudi, you stay up there to catchthe shrimp. the rest of you, into the water.”
giggling and squealing, the girls stepped into the river.
as her heels, accentuated by the bindings she’d worn as a little girl, sank into the mud, andthe underwater grasses gently stroked her calves, laidi experienced an indescribablesensation. bending over at the waist, she carefully dug her fingers into the mud around theroots of the grasses, since that was the best place to find shrimp. without warning, somethingleaped up between her fingers, sending shivers of delight through her. a nearly transparent,coiled freshwater shrimp the thickness of her finger, each of its feelers a work of art, laysquirming in her hand. she flung it up onto the riverbank. with a whoop of joy, qiudi ranover and scooped it up.
“first sister, i got one, too!”
“i got one, first sister!”
“so did i!”
the task of retrieving all the shrimp was too much for two-year-old qiudi, who stumbledand fell, then sat on the dike and bawled. several of the shrimp were able to spring back intothe river and disappear in the water. so laidi went up and took her sister down to the water’sedge, where she washed her muddy backside. each splash of water on bare skin resulted in aspasm and a shriek mixed with a string of meaningless foul words. with a swat on her sister’sbottom, laidi let go of the younger girl, who nearly flew to the top of the dike, where shepicked a stick out of some shrubbery, pointed it at her big sister, and cursed like a shrewishold woman. laidi laughed.
by then, her sisters had made their way upriver. dozens of shrimp leaped and squirmed onthe sunlit bank. “scoop them up, first sister!” qiudi shouted.
she began putting them into the basket. “i'll get you when we get home, you little imp!”
then she bent down, a smile on her face, and continued scooping up the shrimp, enough towipe her mind clear of worries. she opened her mouth, and out came a little song — where ithad come from, she didn’t know: “mommy, mommy, you are so mean, marrying me to an oilvendor, sight unseen …”
she quickly caught up with her sisters, who stood shoulder to shoulder in the shallows,their rumps sticking up in the air, chins nearly touching the water. they moved ahead slowly,hands buried in the water, opening and closing, opening and closing. yellow leaves that hadsnapped off the plants floated in the muddy water they left in their wake. each time one ofthem stood up meant another shrimp caught. lingdi, then pandi, then xiangdi, one afteranother they straightened up and tossed shrimp in the direction of their big sister, who ranaround, scooping them up, while qiudi tried to keep up.
before they realized it, they had nearly reached the arched footbridge spanning the river.
“come out of there,” laidi shouted, “all of you. the basket’s full, we’re going home.”
reluctantly, the girls waded out of the water and stood on the dike, hands bleached by thewater, calves coated with purplish mud. “how come there are so many shrimp in the rivertoday, sis?” “has mommy already given us a baby brother, sis?” “what do the japs looklike, sis?” “do they really eat children, sis?” “how come the mutes killed all their chickens,sis?” “how come grandma’s always yelling at us, sis?” “i dreamed there was a big, fat loachin mommy’s belly, sis …” one question after another, and not a single response from laidi,whose eyes were fixed on the bridge, its stones glittering in the sunlight. the rubber-wheeledwagon, with its three horses, had driven up and stopped at the bridgehead.
when the squat wagon master flicked the reins, the horses stepped restlessly onto thebridge flooring. sparks and a loud clatter rose from the stones. some men were standingnearby; they were stripped to the waist, wide leather belts cinching up their trousers, brassbelt buckles glinting in the sun. laidi knew the men: they were felicity manor servants.
several of them jumped up onto the wagon and tossed down the rice straw, then unloaded theliquor baskets, twenty altogether. the wagon master tugged on the reins to back the shafthorse over to a vacant piece of ground beside the bridgehead, just as the assistant steward,sima ku, rode out of the village on a black german-made bicycle, the first ever seen innortheast gaomi township. laidi’s granddad, shangguan fulu, who could never keep hishands to himself, had once reached out, when he thought no one was looking, to fondle thehandlebar; but that had been back in the spring. blue flames nearly shot out of sima ku’sangry eyes. he was wearing a long silk robe over white imported cotton trousers, tied at theankles with blue bands and black tassels, and white-soled rubber shoes. his trouser legsbillowed, as if pumped full of air; the hem of his robe was tucked into a belt woven of whitesilk tied at the front, with one long end and one short one. a narrow leather belt over his leftshoulder crossed his chest like a sash, and was connected to a leather pouch with a piece offlaming red silk. the german bicycle bell rang out, heralding his arrival, as if on the wind. hejumped off the bicycle and removed his wide-brimmed straw hat to fan himself; the red moleon his face looked like a hot cinder. “get moving!” he ordered the servants. “pile the straw onthe bridge and soak it with liquor. we’ll incinerate those fucking dogs!”
the servants busily carried the straw onto the bridge until it stood waist high. white mothscarried along with the straw flitted around the area; some fell into the water and wound up inthe bellies of fish, others were snapped up by swallows.
“douse the straw with the liquor!” sima ku ordered.
the servants picked up the baskets and, struggling mightily, carried them up onto thebridge. after pulling out the stoppers, they poured the liquor onto the straw, beautiful, high-octane liquor whose fragrance intoxicated an entire section of river. the straw rustled.
rivulets of liquor spread across the bridge and down to the stone facing, where it puddledbefore showering into the river, becoming a cascade by the time all twelve baskets wereempty, and washing the stone facing clean. the straw changed color, a transparent sheet ofliquor falling into the water below, and before long, little white fish were popping up on thesurface. laidi’s sisters wanted to wade out into the river and scoop up the drunken fish, butshe stopped them: “stay away from there! we’re going home!”
but they were mesmerized by the activity on the bridge. in fact, laidi was as curious asthey were, and even as she tried to drag her sisters away, her gaze kept returning to the bridge,where sima ku stood, smugly clapping his hands; his eyes lit up and a smile creased his face.
“who else could have devised such a brilliant strategy?” he crowed to the servants. “no onebut me, damn it! come on, you little nips, get a taste of my might!”
the servants roared in response. “second steward, shall we light it now?” one asked.
“no, not until they arrive.”
the servants escorted sima ku over to the bridgehead and the felicity manor wagonheaded back to the village. the only sound was of liquor dripping into the river.
shrimp basket in hand, laidi led her sisters to the top of the dike, parting the shrubbery thatgrew on the slope on her way up. suddenly, a skinny, black face materialized in the brush infront of her. with a shriek, she dropped the basket, which bounced on the springy shrubberyand rolled all the way down to the edge of the water, spilling the shrimp, a shimmering,squirming mass. lingdi ran down to pick up the basket, while her sisters went after theshrimp. as laidi retreated toward the river, she kept her eyes fixed on that black face, onwhich an apologetic smile appeared, exposing two rows of teeth that shone like pearls. “don’tbe afraid, little sister,” she heard him say softly. “we’re guerrilla fighters. don’t scream. justget away from here as fast as you can.”
looking around, she spotted dozens of men in green clothing hiding in the shrubs, hardlooks in their staring eyes; some were armed with rifles, others held grenades, and others stillcarried rusty swords. the man behind the dirty, smiling face held a steel blue pistol in hisright hand and a shiny, ticking object in his left. it wasn’t until much later that she learned thatthe object was a pocket-sized timepiece; by that time, she was already sharing her bed withthe dark-faced man.
