Frog (19 page)

I really am a weak-willed person.

After marrying Little Lion, I should have lit a red candle and sat alone in front of it till daybreak as a means of expressing my remorse to Renmei and letting her know I missed her. But I only sat there till midnight before going to bed and embracing Little Lion.

It had rained heavily the day I married Renmei; a downpour also struck on the day I married Little Lion. Lightning crackled with blinding blue-white streaks, followed by deafening thunder and a cloudburst. The sound of sluicing water came from all directions; wet winds carrying the smell of mud and the stink of rotten fruit poured into the house through the windows. The candle sputtered briefly and then went out. That struck fear into me. A bolt of lightning lit up the sky for several seconds, time enough for me to see the bright lights in Little Lion’s eyes. It turned her face a golden yellow. The blast of thunder sounded as if it were out in our yard and carried a scorched odour into the house. Little Lion cried out in fear and I held her in my arms.

I’d thought that Little Lion was hard as wood, never imagining that she could be as soft as a papaya. A full, round papaya from which juice oozes at the lightest touch. She had the texture of papaya and the same rich aroma. It would have been unfair to compare the new with the old, so I forced myself to keep my thoughts from getting away from me. But failed. When Little Lion and my bodies came together, so did our hearts.

Little Lion, I said shamelessly, in my eyes you and I make a better couple than Renmei and I did.

She covered my mouth with her hand. Some things ought not to be said.

Wang Gan asked me to tell you that thirteen days ago he rode Wang Dan to Jiaozhou, where she took a highway bus to Yantai, and from there went to the northeast.

Little Lion sat up. Another bolt of lightning lit up her face, which had turned from a look of passion to one that was sombre, even cold. She wrapped her arms around me and lay back down. He lied to you, she whispered. Wang Dan could not have gotten away like that.

Then, I said, does that mean you’re letting her go?

That’s not for me to say. It’s up to Gugu.

Is that what she has in mind?

I doubt it, she said. If that’s what she had in mind, she wouldn’t be Gugu.

Then why haven’t you taken any action? Don’t you know she’s already more than seven months along?

Gugu didn’t pass on taking action. She has her people quietly making inquiries.

Have you found her?

Well . . . she hesitated briefly, then rested her head against my chest. I can’t hide anything from you. She’s in Yanyan’s maternal grandmother’s house, in the same hole Wang Renmei hid in.

What do you plan to do?

Whatever Gugu wants me to do.

What does she plan to do? The same as before?

She’s not that dumb.

So then what?

Gugu has already had someone inform Chen Bi that we know where Wang Dan is hiding and that he is to tell the Wangs that if they don’t send her out, the tractor will come tomorrow and pull down their house as well as those of her neighbours.

Yanyan’s grandfather is a stubborn man. Will you really do that if he stands his ground?

Gugu’s idea isn’t to get the Wangs to send her out, but for Chen Bi to go in and bring her out. She promised him that all his property will be returned if he brings her out so the pregnancy can be terminated. Thirty-eight thousand yuan is a good reason to do as she says.

I heaved a long sigh. Why are you people so ruthless? Isn’t killing Wang Renmei enough?

Wang Renmei had only herself to blame, Little Lion said coldly.

It seemed to me that her body suddenly went cold.

For days on end it was cloudy and drizzly; the roads were disrupted, keeping the buyers of our local peaches from getting through. Every family had picked fruit. Some went into baskets that piled up like a little mountain, keeping the rain off with plastic cloths, some were just stacked willy-nilly in the yard so the rain could do its damage. Peaches do not keep well; in previous years, the trucks had driven right into the groves, where the fruit was picked, weighed and loaded straight onto the trucks. The drivers didn’t mind working all night so they could get on the road at first light and make deliveries many miles away. This year the heavens seemed to have decided to punish people who had enjoyed a succession of fine harvests by putting an end to clear days when the fruit ripened. With a series of heavy rains, moderate rains and drizzles, if the people chose not to pick the fruit, it rotted on the trees. If they did pick it, there was a glimmer of hope in waiting for the skies to clear, so the trucks could drive in and load up. But there were no signs of clearing on this day.

Our family only had thirty trees. Because Father was getting old, the trees were not well tended, yet they produced a modest harvest of nearly six thousand jin. We only filled sixteen baskets, due to a shortage of baskets, which we stored in a side room. The rest we simply laid out in the yard and covered with plastic cloth. Father kept going out in the rain to lift a corner of the cloth and check the peaches. And each time the cloth was raised our noses were hit by the smell of rotting fruit.

As Little Lion and I were newly married, my daughter stayed with Father. She ran after him every time he went out into the rain, carrying a little umbrella with animals printed on it.

She treated us with cool courtesy. She held her hands behind her back when Little Lion offered her sweets, but said, Thank you, Gugu.

Call her Mama, I said.

She glared at me, shocked.

She doesn’t have to, she doesn’t have to call me anything like that. People call me Little Lion – she pointed to the lion on her umbrella – so you can call me Big Lion.

Do you eat children? my daughter asked.

No, I don’t eat children, Little Lion answered her. I protect them.

Father brought in some overripe peaches in his conical hat and peeled them with a rusty knife. He sighed.

Might as well eat the good ones, I said.

But these are money, Father said. The heavens don’t care about us common folk.

Dad – this was the first time Little Lion had called him that, and it felt awkward – the government won’t just stand by. They’ll come up with something.

All the government knows is family planning, Father said with obvious resentment. Nothing else interests them.

The village committee loudspeaker sounded just then. Worried that he might miss something, Father ran into the yard to listen carefully.

The voice over the loudspeaker announced that the commune had made contacts in cities like Qingdao and Yantai, and that trucks had been sent to meet up at the Wu Family Bridge, some fifty li distant, to buy our peaches. The commune appealed to the people to deliver their peaches to the bridge by land and by water. The price would be less than half that of previous years, but it was better than letting them rot.

The village came to life as soon as the announcement ended. I knew that ours wasn’t the only village to be energised, that the whole township had come alive.

We had a river, but not many boats. Every production brigade had been supplied with small wooden boats, but no one could find them after they were contracted to individual farmers for production quotas.

There’s no disputing the fact that the masses possess enormous creative talent. Father ran over to the side building and took four large gourds down from the rafters, then picked up four pieces of timber, tied them together, and started building a raft. I took off my pants and shirt, and stood there in my underwear and a vest to give him a hand. Little Lion held an umbrella over me to keep me as dry as possible. My daughter was running around the yard with her little umbrella. I gave Little Lion a sign to hold the umbrella over Father, but he waved her off. He had draped a sheet of plastic over his shoulders and was hatless. A mixture of rain and sweat ran down his face. Old-time farmers like my father give their work their full attention; whatever they put their hand to, it is done accurately and powerfully, with no superfluous effort. The raft was swiftly completed.

The riverbank was a flurry of activity by the time we reached it with our raft. All those missing boats had miraculously reappeared. Dozens of rafts had been put in the water along with the boats. The rafts were fitted with gourds, inner tubes, and Styrofoam. Someone had even shown up with a large wooden basin. People were pouring out of the lanes with baskets of peaches, heading for the boats and rafts all tied to willow trees on the bank.

Dozens of draft animals were lined up on the riverbank, including mules and donkeys that were loaded down with full saddlebag baskets.

A commune cadre swam over and put on a raincoat, rolled up his pant cuffs, and held his sandals in his hand as he shouted instructions.

I saw a raft in front of ours that was a thing of beauty. Four thick China fir poles were tied together with rawhide into a tic-tac-toe grid. The centre was constructed of logs as thick as scythe handles, with four red, fully inflated inner tubes from a horse-drawn wagon. A dozen or more full baskets barely had any effect on the raft, testimony to the high quality flotation of the inner tubes. Vertical poles – one in each corner and a fifth in the centre – supported a light blue plastic tarpaulin as protection against both sunlight and rain. It was not the sort of raft that could be thrown together in a hurry.

Wang Jiao in a conical palm bark hat and a palm bark cape crouched in front of the raft like a fisherman.

Our raft, which could only hold six baskets, sat deep in the water. Father insisted on adding two more. All right, I said, but I’ll go alone. You stay here.

He objected, probably out of concern that it was only my second day in the new marriage. Don’t argue, Dad. Look out there and tell me if you see anyone else your age punting a raft.

Then you be careful.

Don’t worry, I said. I may not be good at much, but I know what I’m doing on the water.

If it gets choppy, toss the peaches into the river, Father said.

Don’t worry about that.

I waved to Little Lion on the riverbank, where she was holding Yanyan’s hand.

She waved back.

Father untied the rope around the tree and tossed it to me.

I caught it, rolled it up, picked up my pole, and shoved off; the heavy raft moved slowly out onto the river.

Careful!

Be careful!

I punted fairly close to the riverbank, moving slowly.

The mules and donkeys kept pace with the water traffic, their loads weighing heavily on them, bells that had been draped around their necks by fastidious household heads ringing out crisply. Old folks and youngsters followed the burdened animals up to the head of the village.

There the river made a sharp bend and the flotilla entered a rapid flow. Instead of letting the current carry him forward, Wang Jiao, whose raft had been ahead of me, punted to the opposite bank at the bend, where the water was calmer, and the brush-covered bank was home to chirping cicadas. From the moment I saw his fancy raft, I’d had a bad feeling, and I was right to. Wang Jiao abruptly dumped his baskets into the water, where they floated lightly. They contained no peaches. He moved up close to the brush, where I saw Chen Bi jump onto the raft with his pregnant wife in his arms. Wang Gan followed, with Chen Er in his arms.

They quickly took down the plastic cloth canopy and turned it into a curtain as Wang Jiao picked up his punting pole and recaptured his glory days standing on the shafts of his cart and snapping a whip at his team, as impressive as ever. He stood straight and tall, proving that Gugu knew what she was talking about when she said his hobble and stooped carriage were all an act. And he’d only pretended to sever ties with his son, since at this critical moment they stormed the battlefield together. That aside, I instinctively wished them well, hoping they’d be able to deliver Wang Dan to wherever they planned to take her. Of course, when I thought about all that Gugu had invested in this affair, my sympathy rang somewhat hollow.

Wang Jiao’s raft floated high and light on the water despite the weight of his load, and he outpaced the rest of us with ease.

Small wooden boats and rafts entered the water from both banks all along the river. By the time we reached Dongfeng Village, where Gugu’s head had been clubbed bloody, hundreds of rafts and boats had formed a long dragon in the heart of the river sailing along with the flow.

I couldn’t keep my eye off of Wang Jiao’s raft, which, although it was far ahead of the rest of us, was still within sight.

His was the proudest raft on the river, not doubt about that. It was like a Hummer Predator in a line of ordinary sedans.

More than proud, it was mysterious. People who had witnessed what happened at the bend in the river obviously knew the identities of the secret passengers. People who hadn’t, cocked their heads to get a glimpse behind the curtain, because no matter what else it might be shielding, it assuredly was not peaches.

As I think back now, the sight of Gugu’s family-planning boat racing past us at full speed was indescribably thrilling. This was no longer the 1970 variety with its local-made motor. No, this was a white, streamlined speedboat with an acrylic windscreen on its semi-enclosed cabin. Once again Qin He piloted the boat, but he was now completely grey. Gugu and my bride, Little Lion, stood at the rear of the cabin, holding on to a railing, their clothes billowing in the wind. I viewed the sight of Little Lion’s rounded breasts with mixed emotions. Four men sat behind the two women. The boat nearly swamped my raft and the eddies it created caused me to pitch and roll. Little Lion had to see me as they sped close by, but she didn’t wave. The Little Lion of the few days after we were married had become a different person. A sense of unreality floated into my head; I felt as if I’d only dreamed the events of recent days. Little Lion’s display of indifference spurred me to root for the fugitives: Hurry and get away, Wang Dan. Pole harder, Wang Jiao.

The speedboat cut through the flotilla on its way towards Wang Jiao’s raft, ahead and to the right.

Instead of passing Wang Jiao, Gugu pulled up alongside and slowed until the sound of the engine virtually died out. No more than three metres separated the two craft. The speedboat gradually closed the gap, obviously in an attempt to force the raft to the riverbank. Wang Jiao stuck his pole against the side of the speedboat, thinking that would decrease the danger. But it had the opposite effect, pushing the raft farther out of the flow.

A man on the boat caught the plastic cloth with a pole functioning as a gaff and tore it with a loud ripping noise. A couple more twists brought everything that had been hidden into full view.

Wang Jiao swung his pole at the man on the boat, who warded off the blow with his pole. Wang Gan and Chen Bi picked up oars and began rowing for all they were worth, one on each side of the raft. Sitting between them was the pocket-sized Wang Dan, holding Chen Er in her left arm, the baby’s head tucked into her armpit, and covering her rounded abdomen with the right. Her shrill cries broke through the din of battling poles and crashing waves: Gugu, have some mercy and let us go!

As the raft opened up space between it and the speedboat, Little Lion jumped in the direction of the raft but landed in the water. She did not know how to swim and began to sink almost immediately. Gugu shouted for someone to save her. Chen Bi and Wang Gan jumped at the chance to row with all their might, moving the raft out into the flow.

Rescuing Little Lion took a long time. The man with the pole reached out to bring her close to the side, but she grabbed his leg and pulled him into the water with her. He was a weak swimmer, so another man jumped in. Meanwhile, Qin He’s piloting skills had seemed to vanish, to which Gugu reacted with rage. No one on the other boats or rafts was willing to come to their aid. But Little Lion was, after all, my wife, so I poled with all my might to get as close as possible. I nearly collided with a raft behind me and barely managed to keep from tipping over. Little Lion’s head was surfacing less and less frequently, so I knew it was time to act. Abandoning the raft and the pole, I jumped into the river and swam as fast as I could to rescue my wife.

A question mark had risen in my mind at the moment she jumped into the river. Afterward, she boasted that she had detected the sacred smell of blood from a birthing woman and saw blood running down Wang Dan’s leg. So she jumped – there is, of course, another explanation – a delaying tactic, risking drowning to buy time. She said she’d prayed to the river spirit: Wang Dan, hurry up and have your baby! Do it now! Once it’s out in the world, it’s a human life, a citizen of the People’s Republic of China, protected as a flower of the motherland. Children are the nation’s future. Of course, she added, my little trick didn’t work on Gugu. She knew what I was doing from the get-go.

By the time we fished Little Lion and the family-planning cadre out of the river, Wang Jiao’s raft had travelled at least three li. To top it off, the speedboat’s engine had died, and Qin He dripped with sweat as he tried to restart it. Gugu flew into a rage. Little Lion and the waterlogged man were lying just inside the handrail, heads over the side, puking water.

Gugu jumped around furiously for a moment, but then abruptly grew calm. A sad smile creased her face, which was illuminated by a ray of sunlight that had broken through the cloud cover; it also lit up the turgid surface of the river and painted her with the look of an ill-fated hero. She sat down on the deck next to the cabin and said to Qin He, You can quit acting. All of you.

Qin He froze for a moment. Then he started the engine and the boat sped after Wang Jiao’s raft.

As I thumped Little Lion’s back I sneaked a look at Gugu, who lowered her eyes one moment and smiled the next. I wondered what was going through her mind. She was forty-seven years old, and it suddenly dawned on me that her youth was far behind her, that she was well into her middle years. And yet her weatherworn face had the sad look of someone much older. I thought back to all those times my now departed mother had said to me: What is a woman born to do? When all is said and done, a woman is born to have children. A woman’s status is determined by the children she bears, as are the dignity she enjoys and the happiness and glory she accrues. Not having children is a woman’s greatest torment. A woman without children is something less than whole, and she grows hard-hearted; a woman without children ages faster. Mother had Gugu in mind when she said that, but she’d never have said it in front of Gugu. Was Gugu getting old so fast because she was childless? At forty-seven, if she did find a husband, was a child even possible? And where was the man who might be that husband?