Sensei, I think you’ve already guessed what that is. What I revealed to you earlier was not fantasy, but actual fact: Little Lion has admitted that she stole my tadpole-like sperm and implanted them in the body of Chen Mei, who is now carrying my child. That made my blood boil, and I slapped her hard out of uncontrollable rage. I know that was wrong, especially since someone who claims to be a playwright ought not to be guilty of such savage behaviour. But, I tell you, Sensei, I was out of my mind with anger.
After returning from my raft ride with Young Flathead, I did some investigating of my own. Each time I went to the bullfrog farm I was turned away by their security guards, so I tried phoning Yuan Sai and my cousin, but they both had new cell phone numbers. I demanded an answer from Little Lion, who just mocked me and called me crazy. I printed out the surrogate mother details from the bullfrog company’s website and took them to the municipal family-planning committee. They took my report, but nothing came of it. I next went to the police, where I was told this was not in their jurisdiction. I tried the mayor’s hotline, and was told that my report would be on the mayor’s desk. That’s how it went for the next few months, Sensei, and by the time I finally got the truth out of Little Lion, the foetus in Chen Mei’s belly was six months along. And so a fifty-five-year-old man was muddling along on the path to becoming another infant’s father. Unless the dangerous and cruel ingestion of a drug ended the pregnancy, my fatherhood was a done deal. That is how, as a young man, I’d caused the death of my first wife, Renmei, the most painful thing I’d ever done, a sinful act for which I may never achieve atonement. Now, even if I harden my heart, Sensei, it won’t make any difference, because I’ve been refused entry into the farm, and even if I managed to get inside, they wouldn’t let me see Chen Mei. I’ll bet there’s a labyrinth of secret passages there, an underground maze, not to mention the probability, according to Little Lion and my own suspicions, that Yuan Sai and my cousin are underworld figures. If you push them, there’s nothing they’re incapable of – family or strangers, it wouldn’t make any difference.
My slap sent Little Lion stumbling backward. She sat down hard and her nose bled. Not a sound from her for a long moment; instead of crying, she gave me a cold sneer. That was a good one, Xiaopao, she said, you thug! If that’s what you’re capable of, then a dog has eaten your conscience. I did this for you, she said. You have a daughter, but no son, and you should have an heir. I’ve long regretted not being able to give you a son, and having someone else bear your child is the only way I can make that up to you. A son will carry on your bloodline, extend your family for future generations. But instead of thanking me, you hit me. I’m crushed.
Then she cried, her tears merging with the blood from her nose, a sight that broke my heart. I was the one with the broken heart, but the anger rose in me again – for something this important, she should have told me.
I know you’re unhappy over the sixty thousand yuan I spent, she said between sobs. You needn’t worry, I’ll pay that out of my retirement money. And you won’t have to care for the baby, I’ll do that. All in all, this has nothing to do with you. I read in the paper that they give a hundred yuan each time to sperm donors. I’ll give you three hundred for being a donor, and you can return to Beijing. Divorce me if you want, or not. Either way, this has nothing to do with you. But, she wiped her face and said in the tone of a martyred warrior, if you’re thinking of stopping the birth of this child, I’ll kill myself in front of you.
Sensei, you have seen in my letters what kind of woman Little Lion is. When she was travelling all around with Gugu, encountering all sorts of people, she developed a disposition I’d have to call half heroic–half thuggish. The woman is capable of just about anything when she’s provoked. It was up to me to find the best way to deal with this thorny problem, but with affection and reason.
The thought of inducing labour did cross my mind, but that gave me a cold, ominous feeling; and yet, it seemed to be the ideal solution. It was clear to me that money was the only reason Chen Mei would carry someone else’s baby, so why not use money to solve the problem? That struck me as perfectly logical. The hard part was finding a way to see Chen Mei.
I hadn’t seen her since that meeting in Chen Bi’s hospital room. Her figure covered by a black dress, her face hidden behind a black veil, and her mysterious comings and goings convinced me that a world of mystery existed right here in Northeast Gaomi Township, a world populated by errant knights, psychics, and some who conceal their faces.
I thought back to a short time before, when I’d given Li Shou five thousand yuan to help pay Chen’s hospital bill, and asked him to pass it on to Chen Mei. A few days later, Li returned the money to me, money Chen Mei refused to take. Maybe, I thought, she is carrying other people’s babies to earn what she needs to pay her father’s bill herself. Now my thoughts were going every which way – this is nothing but . . . damn you, Little Lion! All I could do was go see Li Shou, since he had the best mind among all us classmates.
We met in a corner of the Don Quixote café yesterday morning, when the square was crawling with people gathered to watch the performance of Unicorns Deliver the Babies. The fake Sancho Panza brought us two glasses of beer and wisely made himself scarce, his ambiguous smile a sign that he guessed what we were talking about. When I stammered my problem to him, Li Shou had a good laugh.
You’re making fun of my bad luck, I said, showing my displeasure.
He held out his glass and clinked it against mine, then took a big drink. You call yours bad luck? he exclaimed. It’s wonderful news. Congratulations! A son in old age, life’s great joy!
Don’t mock me, I said anxiously. I may have retired, but I’m still a public servant, and how am I supposed to deal with the organisation if I have another child?
Why talk about the organisation, or your job assignment, old friend? You’re tying yourself up with your own rope. What you’re looking at is, your sperm and an egg have come together to create a new life that will come crying into the world. The greatest joy in life is watching the birth of a child who carries your genes, because that is an extension of your own life —
The problem is, I cut him off, where will I go to get this new life registered?
How can you let a little matter like that bother you? That’s all in the past. These days, there’s nothing money won’t buy. Besides, even if you can’t get him registered, he’ll still be a living human being, with all the rights every human being enjoys.
Enough, my friend, I came here for help and all I get is empty talk. Since I’ve been back I’ve discovered that all you people, educated or not, talk like stage actors. Where’d you learn that?
He laughed. We live in a civilised society, and in a civilised society everyone is an actor – film, TV, drama, crosstalk, sketch – we’re all acting. Don’t they say that all the world’s a stage?
Please, no more crazy talk, I said. Come up with something. You don’t want me calling Chen Bi father-in-law, do you?
What would happen if you did? Would the sun stop shining? Would the world stop spinning? Let me tell you something: Don’t think the rest of the world is concerned about you or that everybody has their eyes on you. People have their own problems, and they couldn’t care less about yours. Having a son with Chen Bi’s daughter or a daughter with some other woman is your business. Nosey people spreading gossip is as transient as floating clouds. The primary issue here is, the child will be your flesh and blood and you’re the big winner.
But me and Chen Bi . . . there’s something incestuous about it!
Bullshit! There’s no common blood, so where’s the incest? And as far as age goes, that’s even less to worry about. When an eighty-year-old man marries an eighteen-year-old, it’s talked about like a fairytale. You’ve never even seen Chen Mei’s body. She’s a tool you’re renting for a while, and that’s all. In the end, my friend, don’t worry so much, give yourself a break. Go get yourself in shape, so you can start raising your son.
> You’re wasting your breath, I said as I pointed to the fever blisters covering my lips. See that? I’m begging you, for the sake of an old classmate, take a message to Chen Mei to terminate the pregnancy. She’ll still get the fee for carrying the baby, plus an additional ten thousand to make up for what it costs her physically. If she thinks that’s not enough, I’ll double the bonus.
What for? Since you’re willing to spend that much money, wait till the child is born, then use it to get the child registered, and go be a proper father.
I won’t be able to deal with the organisation.
You have too high an opinion of yourself, Li chided. I tell you, my friend, the organisation doesn’t have time to worry about your piddling affairs. Just who do you think you are? Aren’t you just someone who’s written a couple of lousy plays no one has ever seen? Do you see yourself as a member of some royal family whose son’s birth should be celebrated nationally?
A group of backpacking tourists popped their heads in at the entrance, and were immediately greeted by a smiling fake Sancho Panza. I lowered my voice. I’ll never ask you for anything else as long as I live.
He folded his arms and shook his head to show there was nothing he could do.
Shit, damn you. You’ll just stand by and watch me get buried alive, is that it?
You’re asking me to commit murder, he said softly. At six months a foetus is ready to shout Papa through its mother’s belly.
Will you help me or won’t you?
What makes you think I can get in to see Chen Mei?
You can see Chen Bi at least. You can ask him to pass the word to her.
Seeing Chen Bi is no problem, Li said. He’s out begging in front of the Fertility Goddess Temple every day. When the sun sets, he brings what he made here to buy liquor and pick up a loaf of bread. You can wait for him here or you can go looking for him there. But I hope you won’t need to tell him, because you’ll just be wasting your breath. And if you’ve got a bit of compassion in you, you won’t add to his anguish with something like this. My experience over the past few years has concluded that the best way to solve a thorny problem is to quietly observe how it evolves and let nature take its course.
All right, then, I said, I’ll let nature take its course.
When the child’s a month old, I’ll throw a party to celebrate.
10
I felt better after leaving the café. Why make such a fuss over something as common as the birth of a child? The sun was still shining, bird calls still filled the air, flowers bloomed, grass was still green, and breezes blew. In the square the Fertility Goddess ceremony was well underway, as women flocked to the temple amid the clamour of drumbeats and music, hoping to snatch a precious child out of the Goddess’s hand. Everyone was passionately singing the praises of childbirth, looking forward to celebrating the birth of a child, while I agonised, worried and brooded over someone carrying my child. What that proves is: society didn’t create my problem; I was the problem.
Sensei, I spotted Chen Bi and his dog behind a large column to the right of the temple entrance. Unlike the local mutt that wound up under the wheels of the police car, this was an obviously noble foreign breed with black spots all over its body. Why in the world would a dog with that pedigree choose to partner up with a vagrant? While it seemed to be a mystery, on second thought it wasn’t so surprising. Here in developing Northeast Gaomi Township, it was common for the foreign and the domestic to come together, for good and bad to coexist, for beauty and ugliness to be indistinguishable, and for truth and falseness to look the same. Many faddish members of the nouveau riche could not wait to raise a tiger as a pet when the money was rolling in, and were anxious to sell their wives to pay off their debts when the money petered out. So many of the stray dogs on the street were once the costly playthings of the rich. In the previous century, when the Russian Revolution erupted, hordes of rich White Russian women were stranded in the city of Harbin, where they were forced to sell their bodies for bread or marry coolie labourers. They produced a generation of mixed children, one of whom could have been Chen Bi, with his high nose and sunken eyes. The spotted abandoned dog and Chen Bi appeared to belong to similar species. My thoughts were running wild. At a distance of a dozen metres or so, I watched the two of them. A pair of crutches rested beside him, a red cloth spread out in front. On the cloth, predictably, was a written plea for charity for a disabled man. From time to time, a bejewelled woman would bend down and place money – paper or a few coins – in the metal bowl. Every time that happened the dog looked up and rewarded the woman with three gentle, emotional barks. Three barks, no more, no fewer. The charitable woman would be moved, some to the extent of digging in her purse a second time. I’d given up my idea of paying him to talk Chen Mei into terminating the pregnancy and approached him now more out of curiosity than anything, wanting to see what was written on the red cloth – the bad habit of a writer. Here’s what it said: I am Iron-Crutch Li, come to the human world with a heavenly jade dog. My aunt the Fertility Goddess has sent me here to beg for alms. Your charity will reward you with a son, who will ride the streets as scholar number one.
I assumed that the lines had come from Wang Gan, and that the calligraphy was Li Shou’s, each using his unique talent to help an old classmate. He had rolled up the baggy cuffs of his pants to expose legs like rotten eggplants, and I was reminded of a story Mother had told me:
After Iron-Crutch Li became an immortal, one day there was no kindling at home for cooking, so his wife asked him: What shall we use for a fire? My leg, he said. With that he stuck one of his legs into the belly of the stove and lit it. The fire roared, water in the pot boiled, and the rice was cooked as his sister-in-law walked in and was startled by what she saw. Oh, my! she said, take care, brother-in-law, that you don’t become a cripple. Well, he did.
After Mother finished her story, she warned us to be silent when confronted by miraculous sights and, under no circumstances, to show alarm.
Chen Bi was wearing a brick red down jacket that was grease-spotted and shiny as a suit of armour. The fourth lunar month, a time of warm southerly breezes and millet ripening in the far-off fields, was mating season for amphibians in distant ponds and, nearby, in the bullfrog breeding farm, where loud croaks were carried on the air. Girls and young women had changed into light satin dresses that showed off their curves, but our old friend was still wearing winter garments. I felt hot just looking at him, while he was curled up, shivering. His face was the colour of bronze, the bald spot on his head shone as if sandpapered. Why, I wondered, was he wearing a dirty surgical mask? To hide his nose from curious stares? My gaze recoiled as it met his, emanating from a pair of sunken eyes, and I turned to his dog, which was staring indifferently my way. Part of its left front claw was missing, as if sliced off by a sharp object, and that was when I knew that man and dog were united by common suffering. I also knew there wasn’t a thing I could say to him, that all I could do was put some money in his bowl and leave. All I had on me was a hundred-yuan bill, meal money for lunch and dinner. But with no hesitation, I placed it in the bowl. He did not react, but his dog released three routine barks.
I sighed as I left them, walking a dozen steps before turning back for one last look. Subconsciously, I guess, I was wondering what he was going to do with the large bill I’d left, since the rest of the money in the bowl was small bills or change, crumpled paper and dirty coins. My pink bill was a real eye-catcher. I figured no one else would leave as much as I had, and thought he’d be moved by my act of generosity. Sensei, it really was a case of ‘measuring the heart of a gentleman through the eyes of a petty man.’ What I saw enraged me: a dark-skinned, fat boy in his teens ran out from behind the column, bent down in front of the full bowl, snatched up my hundred-yuan bill, and took off running. He was so fast that before I could react, he’d already run ten or fifteen metres down the alley alongside the temple, heading straight for the Sino-American Jiabao Women and Children’s Hospital. There was
something familiar about the lazy-eyed boy. I knew I’d seen him somewhere, and then it hit me: it was the boy who’d handed Gugu a wrapped bullfrog at the opening of the hospital the year we returned, nearly scaring her to death.
Not even this unexpected turn of events got a reaction from Chen Bi. His dog growled a time or two, looked up at his master, and stopped. He lay his head down on his paws and quiet returned.
I couldn’t help feeling the injustice of what just happened, not only to Chen Bi and his dog, but to me too. It was my money. I wanted to complain to the people around me, but they had other things on their mind, and the incident they’d witnessed was already forgotten, like a flash of lightning that leaves no trace. What that boy had done was unforgivable, undermining the township’s reputation for honesty. What sort of breeding produced a boy like that, someone who would bully women, steal from the disabled, and other unconscionable acts? Even worse, I could tell by how expertly he’d managed his evil act that this wasn’t the first time he’d stolen money from Chen Bi’s beggar’s bowl. So I took off running after him.
He was fifty metres or so ahead of me and had stopped running. He jumped up and broke a low hanging, leaf-filled branch off a roadside weeping willow and used it as a club on all sorts of things. He didn’t so much as turn to look, knowing that the cripple and his lame dog would not come after him. Just you wait, you punk, I’m coming after you.
He turned into a riverside farmer’s market, where a canopy of plastic turned everything inside a shade of green. The people were moving like fish in water.
A rich array of goods was available on a row of stalls in the shape of a winding arcade. Strange fruits and vegetables in a variety of colours and unusual shapes that even I, a peasant by birth, could not name, were displayed on many of the stalls. As I thought back to the times of scarcity, thirty years before, I could only heave an emotional sigh. Like a cart that knows the way, he headed straight to one of the fish stalls. I ran faster, while my eyes were drawn to the seafood stalls on both sides. The shiny salmon as big as piglets were Russian imports. The hairy crabs, like oversized spiders, came from Hokkaido. There were South American lobsters and Australian abalone, but the bulk of the seafood was local – black carp, butterfish, croaker and Mandarin fish. Orange salmon meat was laid out on a bed of ice, while the fragrance of roasting fish wafted from one of the stalls. The punk was standing in front of a roasted squid stall; he bought a skewer with the stolen bill and received a wad of change. He raised his head, placed the tip of the skewer to his lips, looking like the sword swallower who performed in the temple square, and just as he was taking a tentacled strip, dripping with a dark red sauce, into his mouth, I rushed up, grabbed him by the neck, and shouted: