Big Breasts and Wide Hips (5 page)

Shangguan Shouxi fell flat on his backside.

When he pulled himself back to his feet, black feathers were flying all over the yard; the arrogant rooster was being torn apart, splattering the ground with raw meat and fresh blood. Like a pack of wolves, the dogs fought over the entrails. The mutes clapped their hands and laughed —
guh-guh.
Aunty Sun sat on the doorstep holding a long pipe, smoking like a woman deep in thought.

The seven daughters of the Shangguan family — Laidi (Brother Coming), Zhaodi (Brother Hailed), Lingdi (Brother Ushered), Xiangdi (Brother Desired), Pandi (Brother Anticipated), Niandi (Brother Wanted), and Qiudi (Brother Sought) — drawn by a subtle fragrance, came out of the side room to the east and huddled under Shangguan Lu's window. Seven little heads, pieces of straw stuck in their hair, crowded up to see what was happening inside. They saw their mother sitting on the
kang
leisurely shucking peanuts, as if nothing were amiss. But the fragrance continued to seep through their mother's window. Eighteen-year-old Laidi, first to comprehend what Mother was doing, could see the sweaty hair and bloody lips, and noted the frightening spasms of her swollen belly and the flies flitting around the room. The peanuts were 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. But Laidi ran over and swept her up in her arms. Still bawling, the little girl pummeled her sister's face.

“I want Mommy, I want my Mommy …”

Laidi's nose began to ache, and there was a lump in her throat. Hot tears streamed down her face. “Don't cry, Qiudi,” she coaxed her little sister as she patted her on the back, “don't cry. 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 your sisters 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 the window 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 then liberated. She tripped on the doorsill's rotting boards and crashed into the bellows, smashing a large dark green ceramic bowl filled with chicken feed. When she clambered to her feet, she spotted her grandmother, who was kneeling at the Guanyin altar, where incense smoke was curling into the air.

Quaking from head to toe, she righted the bellows, then bent down to pick up the pieces of the broken bowl, as if by somehow putting it back together she could lessen the severity of her blunder. Her grandmother stood up quickly, like an overfed horse, swaying from side to side, her head shaking crazily, as a string of strange sounds spilled from her mouth. Shrinking into herself and holding her head in her hands, Laidi braced for the anticipated blow. But instead of hitting her, her grandmother pinched her thin, pale earlobe and pulled her up, then propelled her toward the door. With a screech, she stumbled into the yard and fell on the brick path. From there she watched her grandmother bend down to scrutinize the broken bowl, her posture 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 finger to produce a pleasantly crisp sound. Her wrinkled face had a pinched quality; the corners of her mouth turned down, where they merged with two deep creases running straight to her chin, 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 whole again? 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 do your chores, you're out here causing a scene. Your mother doesn't even have the good fortune to 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 Lü complained. “Now quit pestering me, and take those fine sisters of yours, who aren't good for anything but stuffing their faces, down to Flood Dragon River to catch some shrimp. And don'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, Shangguan Lü 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 of Xiangdi, who took the hand of Pandi. Lingdi, shrimping basket in one hand, took Pandi's free hand 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 and saw white smoke billowing out of the chimney. The five mutes were carrying kindling into the 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 the compound. The five mutes spotted them. The oldest boy curled his upper lip, with its greasy mustache, and smiled at Laidi, whose cheeks suddenly burned. She recalled the time when she'd gone to the river to fetch water, and the mute had tossed a cucumber into her bucket. He had grinned at her, like a sly fox, but with no sinister intent, and her heart had leapt, for the first time in her life. With blood rushing to her cheeks, she'd gazed down at the glassy surface of the water and seen how flushed her face had become. Afterwards, she'd eaten the cucumber, and the taste had lingered long after it was gone. She looked up at the colorful church steeple and the watch-tower. A man at the top was dancing around like a golden monkey 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 the railing from time to time and looked down, as if answering their unasked questions. Then he'd straighten up again, make another turn around the platform, cupping his hands like a megaphone 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 had come from was a mystery; it was as if it had simply dropped from the sky or risen out of the ground. Three fine horses were pulling the large, rubber-wheeled wagon, the clip-clopping of twelve hooves racing along, leaving clouds of yellow dust in their wake. One of the horses was 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 behind the 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.
Without warning, he jerked the reins, the horses whinnied as they stiffened their legs, and the wagon skidded to a halt. Clouds of dust that had followed them quickly swallowed up the wagon, the horse, and the driver. Once the dust had settled, Laidi saw the Felicity Manor servants run out with baskets of liquor and bales of straw, which they loaded onto the wagon. One burly fellow stood on the steps of the Felicity Manor gateway, shouting at the top of his lungs. One of the baskets fell to the ground with a thud, the pig-bladder stopper fell out, and the fine liquor began to spread on the ground. When a pair of servants rushed over to pick up the basket, 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 the middle of the street to take the whipping they deserved. The whip danced like a snake coiling in the sun. The smell of liquor rose in the air. The wilderness was vast and still, wheat in the fields bent before the wind, waves of gold. On the watchtower the man shouted, “Run, run for your 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, and still others went in circles, looking first in one direction, then another. The aroma drifting across the Sun compound was heavier than ever, as a cloud of opaque steam rolled out through the front door. The mutes were nowhere to be seen, and silence spread throughout the yard, broken only by an occasional chicken bone sailing out the door, where it was fought over by the five black dogs. The victor would take its prize over to the wall, to huddle in the corner 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 will need shrimp soup after our baby brother is born.”

So they walked single file down to the river's edge, where the placid surface reflected the delicate faces of the Shangguan girls. They all had their mother's high nose and fair, full earlobes. 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 the comb pulled through the tangles. Finished with her sisters, Laidi then ran the comb through her own hair and twisted it into a single braid, which she tossed over her back; the tip fell to her rounded hip. After putting away the comb, she rolled up her pant legs, revealing a pair of fair, shapely calves. Then she took off her blue satin shoes, with their red embroidered flowers; her sisters all stared at her bare feet, which had been partially crippled from the bindings. “What are you gawking at?” she demanded angrily. “If we don't bring home lots of shrimp, 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 gently at the bottom of the slow-flowing river. Fish frolicked there, while swallows skimmed the surface of the water. She stepped into the river and shouted, “Qiudi, you stay up there to catch the 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, and the underwater grasses gently stroked her calves, Laidi experienced an indescribable sensation. Bending over at the waist, she carefully dug her fingers into the mud around the roots of the grasses, since that was the best place to find shrimp. Without warning, something leaped 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, lay squirming in her hand. She flung it up onto the riverbank. With a whoop of joy, Qiudi ran over 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 stumbled and fell, then sat on the dike and bawled. Several of the shrimp were able to spring back into the river and disappear in the water. So Laidi went up and took her sister down to the water's edge, where she washed her muddy backside. Each splash of water on bare skin resulted in a spasm and a shriek mixed with a string of meaningless foul words. With a swat on her sister's bottom, Laidi let go of the younger girl, who nearly flew to the top of the dike, where she picked a stick out of some shrubbery, pointed it at her big sister, and cursed like a shrewish old woman. Laidi laughed.

By then, her sisters had made their way upriver. Dozens of shrimp leaped and squirmed on the 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 to wipe her mind clear of worries. She opened her mouth, and out came a little song — where it had come from, she didn't know: “Mommy, Mommy, you are so mean, marrying me to an oil vendor, 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 had snapped off the plants floated in the muddy water they left in their wake. Each time one of them stood up meant another shrimp caught. Lingdi, then Pandi, then Xiangdi, one after another they straightened up and tossed shrimp in the direction of their big sister, who ran around, 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 the water, calves coated with purplish mud. “How come there are so many shrimp in the river today, Sis?” “Has Mommy already given us a baby brother, Sis?” “What do the Japs look like, 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 loach in 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-wheeled wagon, with its three horses, had driven up and stopped at the bridgehead.