Big Breasts and Wide Hips (58 page)

The old teacher banged the table over and over, but that didn't quiet things down. He kept peering over his eyeglasses, trying to determine the cause of all the commotion; meanwhile, Guo Qiusheng was furiously acting out his violently humiliating performance behind

Qin Er, eliciting strange yells from all the idiotic boys over the age of fifteen. Then Guo Qiusheng's hand brushed against the ear of the old teacher, who spun around and grabbed the offending hand.

“Recite your lesson!” the stately old teacher demanded.

Guo Qiusheng stood at the rostrum with his hands at his side, trying to look the part of the obedient student. But the smirk on his face betrayed him. He pointed his lips to turn his mouth into what looked like a belly button. Then he shut one eye and twisted his mouth as far as it would go to one side. He clenched his teeth, making his ears wiggle.

“Recite your lesson!” the teacher roared angrily.

Guo Qiusheng began:
Big girls are big, little girls are little, big girls chase the little girls away.

Amid the crazed laughter that followed, Qin Er stood up by gripping the edge of the table. His gray beard quivered as he muttered: “Bad boy! Bad boys cannot be taught!” He groped for his ruler, grabbed Guo Qiusheng's hand, and pressed it down on the table. “Bad boy!”
Pa.
The ruler landed savagely on the hand of Guo Qiusheng, who cried out hoarsely. The teacher looked him in the eye and raised the ruler over his head; but his arm froze when he saw the insolent look of a proletarian thug on Guo's face, those steely black eyes glinting with a hateful defiance. A look of defeat crept into the teacher's rheumy gaze, and he let his arm drop weakly to his side, ruler in hand. He mumbled and took off his eyeglasses, which he placed in a metal case, wrapped with a piece of blue cloth, and put into his pocket. He also tucked the offending ruler, with which he'd once punished Sima Ku, into his robe. That done, he removed his skullcap, bowed to Guo Qiusheng, then turned and bowed to the class, and finally announced in a mournful voice that evoked both pity and disgust:

“Gentlemen, I, Qin Er, am a thickheaded old fool, no better than the mantis who thought it could stop a wagon, someone who has overrated his own abilities, a man who has outlived his usefulness and has shamed himself by hanging on to life. I have deeply offended you, and can only beg for your forgiveness!”

He then clasped his fists in front of his midriff and respectfully shook them several times, before crouching over like a cooked shrimp and leaving the classroom with light, unsteady steps. Once he was outside, we heard the muddled sound of his coughing.

Thus ended our first class of the day.

Our second class was music.

Music — our instructor, Ji Qiongzhi, who had been sent down by the county government, laid the tip of her pointer on the blackboard, where large words had been written in chalk, and said in a high-pitched voice — “For this class in music, there will be no textbook. Our textbooks will be here” — she pointed to her head, her chest — “and here” — she pointed to her diaphragm. She turned to write on the blackboard as she continued, “There are lots of ways to make music — on a flute or fiddle, humming a tune or singing an aria — it's all music. You may not understand now, but you will someday. Singing is a form of chanting, but not always. Singing is an important musical activity and, for a remote village like this, will be the most important aspect of our music lessons. So today we will learn a song,” she went on as she wrote on the blackboard. From where I sat, looking out the window, I could see the counterrevolutionary's son, Sima Liang, and the traitor's daughter, Sha Zaohua, both of whom had been refused permission to attend classes and were assigned to tending sheep, gazing wistfully at the schoolhouse. They were standing in knee-high grass, backed by a dozen or more thick-stemmed sunflowers, with their broad green leaves and brilliant yellow flowers. All those yellow faces mirrored the melancholy in my heart. Seeing the flashing eyes brought tears to mine. As I took measure of the window, with its thick willow lattices, I imagined myself turning into a thrush and flying outside to bathe in the golden sunlight of a summer afternoon and perch on the head of one of those sunflowers, alongside all the aphids and ladybugs.

The song we were being taught that day was “Women's Liberation Anthem.” Our teacher bent over at the waist as she scribbled the last few lines at the bottom of the blackboard. The fullness of her upraised backside reminded me of a mare's rump. A feathered arrow, its tip smeared with sticky peachtree sap, made its lopsided way past me and hit her upraised backside. Evil laughter swept through the classroom. The archer, Ding Jingou, who sat right behind me, waved his bamboo bow triumphantly a time or two before quickly hiding it from sight. Our music teacher retrieved the arrow from its target and smiled as she looked it over, then flung it down on the table, where it stuck straight up after quivering briefly. “Nice shooting,” she said calmly as she laid down her pointer and shed her military jacket, which was white from countless washings. With the jacket gone, her white short-sleeved, V-necked blouse, with its turned-down collar, dazzled our eyes. It was tucked into her trousers, which were cinched by a wide leather belt that had turned black and shiny with age. She had a thin waist, high, arching breasts, and full hips. Her military trousers had also turned white from countless washings. Finally, she had on a pair of fashionable white sneakers. To make her appearance more appealing, she cinched her belt even tighter right in front of us. She smiled and displayed all the charm of a lovely white fox; but the smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, and she now displayed the ferocity of a white fox. “You've just driven away Qin Er. What heroes!” With a smirk she removed the arrow from the table and jiggled it with three fingers. “What a remarkable arrow,” she said. “Is it Li Guang's? Or maybe Hua Rong's. Anyone dare to stand up and put a name to this?” Her lovely black eyes swept the classroom. No one stood up. She grabbed her pointer.
Fowl
She smacked the table. “I'm warning you,” she said, “in my classroom you'll wrap all your little hoodlum tricks in a piece of cotton and take them home to your mothers” — “Teacher, my mother's dead!” Wu Yunyu shouted—”Whose mother is dead?” she asked. “Stand up.” Wu Yunyu stood up, trying to look unconcerned. “Come up to the front, where I can see you.” Wu Yunyu, wearing a greasy snakeskin cap down low over his wispy head — as it was all year round, even, it was said, when he slept at night or bathed in the river — strutted up to the front of the classroom. “What's your name?” she asked with a smile. Wu Yunyu told her his name with blustery airs. “Students,” she said, “my name is Ji Qiongzhi. I was orphaned as a baby and spent my first seven years living in a garbage heap. I then joined a traveling circus. There isn't a hoodlum or delinquent type I haven't seen. I learned to do stunt cycling, walk a tightrope, swallow a sword, and spit fire. Then I became an animal trainer, starting with dogs and moving to monkeys, bears, and finally tigers. I can teach a dog to jump through a hoop, a monkey to climb a pole, a bear to ride a bicycle, and a tiger to roll over. At the age of seventeen, I joined a revolutionary army. I've battled the enemy, my sword entering white and exiting bright red. At twenty, I was sent to the South China Military Academy, where I learned sports, painting, singing, and dancing. At twenty-five I married Ma Shengli, head of intelligence at the Public Security Bureau and a champion wrestler whom I can fight to a draw.” She brushed back her short hair. She had a dark, healthy, revolutionary face; pert breasts that strained proudly against her shirt; a valiant nose, fierce, thin lips, and teeth as white as limestone. “I, Ji Qiongzhi, am not afraid of tigers,” she said as dryly as plant ash, as she glared contemptuously at Wu Yunyu. “So do you think I'm afraid of you?” At the same time she was voicing her contempt, she reached out with her pointer, inserting the tip under the edge of Wu's cap, and, with a flick of the wrist, tore it off his head, like flipping a flatcake on a griddle, with an audible
whoosh.
It all happened in a mere second. Wu covered his head with both hands, the scalp looking like a rotten potato; his arrogant expression disappeared without a trace and was replaced by a look of stupidity. Still holding his head, he looked up, searching for the object that kept his disfigurement hidden. It was high up in the air, dancing and spinning on the tip of her pointer, round and round like a circus performer's prop; the sight of his cap spinning so artfully, so captivatingly, drove the soul right out of Wu Yunyu's body. Another flick of her wrist, and the cap soared into the air, only to settle back onto the tip of the pointer and spin some more. I was dazzled. She flung it into the air again. But this time, she guided the ugly, smelly thing so that it landed at Wu Yunyu's feet. “Put that crummy hat back on your head and get your ass back in your seat,” she said with a look of disgust. “I've eaten more salt than you have noodles,” she said as she picked the arrow up off the table. Her glare landed on one of the students. “You! I'm talking to you,” she said icily. “Bring me that bow!” Ding Jingou stood up nervously, walked to the platform, and obediently laid the bow on the table. “Back to your seat!” she said, picking up the bow. She tried it out. “The bamboo's too soft, and the bowstring's next to useless! The best bowstrings are made from a cow's tendon.” Fitting the feathered arrow onto the horsehair string, she pulled it back lightly and took aim at Ding Jingou's head. He scrambled under his desk. Just then a fly buzzed in on the light streaming through the window. Ji Qiongzhi took careful aim.
Twang
, went the horsehair string. The fly dropped to the floor. “Anyone need more proof?” she asked. Not a peep from any of the students. She smiled sweetly, forming a dimple on her chin. “Now we can begin. Here are the lyrics to our song”:

In the old society, this is how it was: 

A dark, I so dark dry well, deep down in the ground. 

Crushing the common folk, women at the bottom, at the very, very 

bottom.

In the new society, this is how it is:

A bright, I so bright sun shines down on the peasants.

Women have been freed to stand up, at the very, very top.

                                                                 4          

My ability to memorize lyrics and my musical talent stood out among the students in Ji Qiongzhi's music class. As I was singing “with women at the very very bottom,” Mother held up a towel-wrapped bottle filled with goat's milk, stood outside the window, and called out repeatedly: “Jintong, come have your milk!”

Her shouts and the smell of the milk diverted my attention, but when class was nearly over, I was the only one who finished the song without missing a beat. There were forty students in the class, and I was the only one Ji Qiongzhi commended. After asking my name, she had me stand up and sing “Women's Liberation Anthem” from start to finish. Now that class was over, Mother handed me my milk through the window. When I hesitated taking it, she said, “Drink it, son. Mother's proud to see how well you're doing.”

There was muted laughter in the room.

“Take it, child. What's there to be embarrassed about?” Mother said.

Ji Qiongzhi walked up beside me. Leaning on her pointer as she looked out the window, she said in a friendly voice, “I see it's you, aunty. I ask you please not to do anything to disrupt the class from now on.” Gazing into the classroom, Mother replied respectfully, “Teacher, he's my only son, and, unfortunately, he hasn't eaten real food since he was a baby. When he was small, he lived on my milk, and now he gets by with goat's milk alone. This morning the goat didn't give enough for a meal, and I want to make sure he has enough to get through the day.” Ji Qiongzhi smiled and said, “Take it. Don't make your mother stand there holding it.” My face was burning as I took the bottle from her. Ji Qiongzhi said to Mother, “But he needs to eat real food. You don't expect him to drag a milk goat along when he goes to high school and college, do you?” She was probably trying to picture a college student walking into a classroom with a goat on a tether. But then she laughed, a hearty laugh without a hint of ill will, and asked, “How old is he?” “Thirteen, born the year of the rabbit,” Mother answered. “He worries me too, but he can't keep other food down. It gives him such a terrible bellyache that he breaks out in a sweat, and that scares me every time it happens.” “That's enough, Mother,” I said unhappily. “Please don't say any more. And I don't want the milk.” I handed her the bottle through the window. Ji Qiongzhi flipped my ear with her finger. “Don't be like that, student Shangguan. You can gradually overcome your problem, but for now drink your milk.” I turned and saw all those shining eyes and felt deeply ashamed. “Now listen to me,” Ji said. “You are not to laugh at other people's weaknesses.” She walked out of the classroom.

Facing the wall, I drank down the milk as fast as I could, and handed the bottle out through the window. “Mother,” I said, “please don't come here anymore.”

During the break between classes, Wu Yunyu and Ding Jingou were on their best behavior, sitting expressionless on their stools. The fat kid Fang Shuzhai took off his belt, stepped up onto his desk, and looped his belt over a rafter to play the hangman's game. Then, in the high-pitched voice of a widow, he began to sob and voice her grief:
Dog Two, Dog Two, how could you do that? With your arms outstretched, you return to your maker, and leave your little woman to sleep alone night after night. A worm gnaws at my heart, so I must hang myself. I'll see you down in the Yellow Springs.

He sobbed and he grieved until, there on his fat little piggy cheeks, two lines of tears appeared. His nose was running, the stuff dripping down into his mouth. “I can't go on living!” he wailed as he stood on his tiptoes and stuck his head through the loop he'd made with his belt. Grabbing hold of the noose with both hands, he leaned forward and jumped. “I can't go on living!” he shouted. He jumped again. “I've lived long enough!” The laughter in the room had a strange quality. Wu Yunyu, who was still nursing his anger, placed both hands on his desk, stuck out his leg, and knocked Fang Shuzhai's desk out from under him, leaving him hanging there. He shrieked as he grabbed the rope with both hands and hung on for dear life, his squat, pudgy legs flailing in the air, but more and more slowly by the second. His face began to turn purple, he was foaming at the mouth, and a death rattle sounded deep in his throat. “He's dead!” several of the younger children screamed in terror as they ran out of the classroom. Out in the yard they stomped their feet and continued to scream: “He's dead! Fang Shuzhai hanged himself!” Fang Shuzhai's arms were hanging limply at his sides by now and his legs were no longer flailing. With a jerk, his body stretched out long. A loud fart wriggled out of the crotch of his pants like a snake, while out in the yard, the other students were running around crazily. Ji Qiongzhi came out of the faculty office along with several men whose names and the subjects they taught I didn't know. “Who's dead? Who is it?” they asked on their way into the classroom, tripping on all the construction debris that hadn't yet been cleared away. A bunch of excited and panicky students led the way, stumbling when they turned to look behind them. Leaping like a gazelle, Ji was inside the classroom in seconds. She looked confused as she went from bright sunlight into a dark room. “Where is he?” she demanded. Fang Shuzhai's body lay fell heavily on the floor like a slaughtered pig. His belt had snapped in two.