Gugu had Little Lion lie down and expose her abdomen so she could listen with a stethoscope. When she was finished checking her, she placed her hands – hands that Mother had praised many times – on Little Lion’s abdomen and said, Five months, I’d say. It sounds good, clear, and well positioned.
Past six months, Little Lion said with notable embarrassment.
Get up, Gugu said as she gently patted Little Lion’s belly. Age could be an issue, she said, but I recommend natural birth. I don’t favour caesarian sections. A woman whose child has not passed through the birth canal misses out on much of what a mother should feel.
I’m a little scared . . .
I’m here, so what’s there to be scared about? She held up both hands. You need to place your trust in a pair of hands that have delivered ten thousand babies.
Little Lion grabbed hold of Gugu’s hands and held them to her face, like a pampered little girl.
I trust you, Gugu, I do.
12
Great news, Sensei!
My son was born early yesterday morning.
Because my wife, Little Lion, was well past the prime age for a first pregnancy, even the doctors at the Sino-American Jiabao Women and Children’s Hospital, reputedly holders of PhDs from British and American medical universities, refused to be in attendance during her labour. Naturally, we thought of Gugu. Old ginger is still the spiciest. My wife trusted no one more than Gugu, whom she had assisted in countless births and who had witnessed Gugu’s composure during many crises.
Little Lion went into labour when she was working the night shift at the bullfrog-breeding farm. By rights, she should have been at home resting at that stage in her pregnancy, but she stubbornly refused to take that advice. When she walked through the marketplace, preceded by an enormous belly, she was the recipient of idle talk and of envy. People who knew her greeted her with: Dear Sister-in-law, why aren’t you home in bed? Brother Tadpole is a cruel man! What’s the big deal? she’d reply. When the fruit is ripe it drops on its own. Farming wives routinely have their babies in cotton fields or in groves of trees. It’s the pampered women who have all the problems. Old-time practitioners of Chinese medicine share her views. People within earshot mostly nod their heads in agreement. Hardly anyone voices a different opinion to her face.
When the news reached me I rushed over to the breeding farm, where Yuan Sai had already sent my cousin to fetch Gugu, who arrived in a white surgical gown and mask, her messy hair tucked into a white cap. The look of intense excitement in her eyes reminded me of an old packhorse. A woman in white led Gugu to a secret delivery room, while I drank tea in Yuan Sai’s office.
A black leather, high-backed chair rose up behind a burgundy-coloured desk the size of a ping-pong table in the centre of the office. A stack of books on the desk was, surprisingly, topped by a little red Chinese flag. Even a bandit can be a patriot, my friend, he said sombrely, anticipating my question.
He poured tea into the special service and said proudly, This is Da Hong Pao, a fine tea from Mount Wuyi, and while it may not be the gold standard, it is of such high quality that I won’t serve it even for the county chief. But I’m serving it to you to prove I have style.
Noticing that I wasn’t paying attention, he said, There’s nothing to worry about when I’m in charge. Nothing can go wrong. We don’t normally ask your aunt to come over. She is Northeast Gaomi Township’s patron saint. When she’s on the scene, the results can be stated in eight words: Mother and son doing fine, everyone is happy.
After a while I fell asleep on the leather sofa and dreamed of Mother and of Renmei. Mother was dressed in shimmering satin clothes and was leaning on a dragon-headed cane; Renmei had on a bright red padded jacket and green trousers, absolutely countrified yet still lovely. A red cloth bag was slung over her left shoulder, a yellow knit sweater peeking out from the opening. They were pacing the hallway, Mother’s cane making an unhurried clack on the wooden floor that filled me with anxiety. Won’t you sit down and take it easy, Mother? I said. Pacing back and forth, you two, is putting everyone on edge. She sat on a sofa, but only for a moment before taking to the floor, where she sat in the lotus position. Sitting on a sofa, she said, makes it hard to breathe. Renmei, looking timorous, hid behind Mother like a shy little girl. Every time I looked her way, she avoided my eyes. She took the sweater out of her bag and opened it up; it was no bigger than the palm of my hand. That’s just about the right size for a doll, I said. I measured the baby in me to make it the right size, she said as she blushed. That drew my attention to her belly, which was noticeably swollen. The slightly mottled skin on her face proved she was pregnant. The child in there can’t be that small, can it? I asked. Her eyes reddened. Xiaopao, she said, ask Gugu to let me have this baby. Have it right now, Mother said as she banged her cane on the floor. I’m here to protect you. An old woman’s cane hits a debauched monarch on high and traitorous officials below. An ugly death awaits anyone who tries to stop me. She tapped a button on the wall, and a hidden door slowly opened. The room inside was bright as a sunlit day, revealing an operating table covered by a white sheet, on either side of which stood two people in surgical gowns and masks; Gugu was at the head of the table, also in white and wearing rubber surgical gloves. When Renmei entered and saw what awaited her, she turned to run, but Gugu reached out and stopped her. She cried like a helpless little girl. Xiaopao, she called out to me, in the name of our long marriage, help me . . . As sadness penetrated my heart, tears fell from my eyes. With a sign from Gugu, the four women – nurses apparently – picked Renmei up, placed her on the operating table and, working together, removed her clothes. I looked down and saw a tiny red hand between her legs. The little thumb was touching the tips of the last two fingers, leaving the first two fingers to form the international ‘V’ sign: Gugu and the others burst out laughing. When she’d gotten that out of her system, Gugu said, That’s enough horseplay. You can come out now. A little baby began slipping out, looking around as it emerged, like a sneaky little critter. Taking aim, Gugu grabbed it by the ear, wrapped her arm around its head, then pulled with all her might. I want you out of there! There was a loud pop and an infant, covered with blood and a sticky substance lay in Gugu’s hands . . .
I woke up with a start, feeling cold all over. My cousin walked in with Little Lion, who was holding swaddling clothes, from which husky cries emerged. My heartiest congratulations, my cousin said softly, you have a son.
My cousin drove us to my father’s village, which had already been incorporated into a metropolitan district. As I wrote in a previous letter, it is a village that retains its cultural characteristics on orders from our county chief – now promoted to mayor – with the early Cultural Revolution style of buildings, slogans painted on the walls, revolutionary signs at the head of the village, loudspeakers mounted on poles, an open spot for bringing the production brigade together . . . dawn had broken, but there was no one on the streets, only some early morning buses speeding along with a few ghost-like passengers, and some street sweepers, with everything but their eyes covered, raising clouds of dust with their brooms on the pedestrian paths. I desperately wanted to see the baby’s face, but the look on Little Lion’s face – more sombre than a pregnant woman, weary, and overjoyed – nipped that thought in the bud. A red bandana was wrapped around her head, her lips were chapped as she held the baby close to her and kept burying her face in the blankets, either to look at her baby or to inhale his smell.
We had already moved everything the baby would need to Father’s place, mainly because it was so difficult to find a milk goat, and Father had arranged to buy milk from a villager named Du. They were raising a pair of milk cows that together produced a hundred jin of milk every day. Father made it clear that they were not to add anything to the milk they sold us. Grandpa, the villager said, if you don’t trust us, you can come milk them yourself.
My cousin pulled up and parked outside my father’s gate. He was waiting for us. With him were m
y second sister-in-law and some young women, probably nephews’ wives. Second Sister-in-law grabbed the baby as the young women carried Little Lion out of the car and into the yard, and from there into the room we’d prepared for her convalescence.
Second Sister-in-law opened the bundle to let Father set eyes on this late arriving grandson. Wonderful, he said over and over, tears in his eyes. And when I saw the dark-haired, ruddy-faced infant, my heart filled with emotions, my eyes with tears.
Sensei, this child helped me recapture my youth and my inspiration. While the gestation and birth might have been more difficult, more torturous than most, and while issues concerning his status might create some thorny problems, as my aunt said, Once it’s seen the light of day, it’s a life and will become a legal citizen of the country, entitled to all the rights and benefits of the country. If there is trouble, that is for those of us who permitted him to come into the world to deal with. What we have to give to him is love, nothing more.
Sensei, tomorrow I will spread out some writing paper and complete the laboured birth of this play. My next letter will include a play that might never see the stage:
Frog.
Dear Sensei,
I finally finished the play.
So many things in real life are tangled up in the story told in my play that when I was writing I sometimes could not tell if it was a true-to-life record or a fictional work. I finished it in a period of five days, like a child who can’t wait to tell his parents what he’s seen or thought. I know it’s a bit of an affectation to compare myself to a child, but that is exactly what I was feeling.
This play ought to constitute an organic part of my aunt’s story. Though some of the incidents did not actually occur, they did in my mind, and that makes them real to me.
Sensei, I used to think that writing could be a means of attaining redemption, but when the play was finished, instead of lessening, my feelings of guilt actually grew more intense. Although I can trot out an array of rationalisations to absolve myself of responsibility for the deaths of Renmei and the child in her womb – my child, too, of course – and place the blame on Gugu, the army, Yuan Sai, even Renmei herself – that is what I did for decades – now I understand with greater clarity than at any other time that I was not just the chief culprit, but the only one. For the sake of my so-called ‘future’, I sent Renmei and her child straight to Hell. I tried to imagine that the child carried by Chen Mei was the reincarnation of the unborn child, but that was nothing but self-consolation. It served the same function as Gugu’s clay dolls. Every child is unique, irreplaceable. Can blood on one’s hands never be washed clean? Can a soul entangled in guilt never be free?
I long to hear your answers, Sensei.
Tadpole
3 June 2009
Frog
A PLAY IN 9 ACTS
Dramatis Personae
GUGU, a retired obstetrician, in her seventies
TADPOLE, playwright, Gugu’s nephew, in his fifties
LITTLE LION, one-time assistant to Gugu, Tadpole’s wife, in her fifties
CHEN MEI, surrogate mother, in her twenties, a fire victim with a disfigured face
CHEN BI, Chen Mei’s father, Tadpole’s elementary schoolmate, a vagrant in his fifties
YUAN SAI, Tadpole’s elementary schoolmate, Bullfrog Company boss, secretly engaged in a ‘surrogate mother company’, in his fifties
COUSIN, Jin Xiu by name, Tadpole’s cousin, Yuan Sai’s subordinate, in his forties
LI SHOU, Tadpole’s elementary schoolmate, restaurant owner, in his fifties
STATION CHIEF, police officer in his forties
WEI YING, policewoman, a recent police academy graduate, in her twenties
HAO DASHOU, a folk artist, Gugu’s husband
QIN HE, a folk artist, Gugu’s admirer
LIU GUIFANG, Tadpole’s elementary schoolmate, manager of the county guesthouse
GAO MENGJIU, Gaomi County Chief during the Republic of China era
YAMEN CLERKS
HOSPITAL SECURITY GUARD and HOSPITAL SECURITY SUPERVISOR
TWO MASKED INDIVIDUALS IN BLACK
TV CAMERAMAN, FEMALE JOURNALIST, and OTHERS
Act I
Sino-American Jiabao Women’s and Children’s Hospital compound. An impressive gateway, suggestive of a government office. The hospital marquee hangs above and to the left of the marble-faced main door.
To the right stands a sign the size of a billboard etched with hundreds of baby pictures.
A security guard in a grey uniform stands stiffly to the left of the gate, welcoming or sending off each luxury automobile that enters or leaves the compound with a crisp salute. His action is comically, laughably exaggerated.
A full moon shines brightly on the backdrop, behind which emerges the sound of exploding firecrackers; an occasional burst of fireworks lights up the backdrop.
SECURITY GUARD: (takes out his cell phone, reads a text message, and laughs) Tee-hee.
The security supervisor slips out through the gate.
SUPERVISOR: (standing unnoticed behind the security guard, says sternly in a low voice) What’s so funny, Li Jiatai? (feels something land on his foot) Where did all these frogs come from at this time of year? What are you laughing at?
SECURITY GUARD: (startled, nervously snaps to attention) Reporting, sir, the earth is getting warmer, the greenhouse effect. What’s funny? Nothing . . .
SUPERVISOR: If nothing’s funny, what are you laughing at? (shakes the foot on which the frog rests) What’s going on here? Is another earthquake on its way? I asked you what’s so funny.
SECURITY GUARD: (seeing there’s no one around, says with a laugh) Sir, this joke is really funny . . .
SUPERVISOR: I’ve told you people, no texting!
SECURITY GUARD: Reporting, sir, I’m not texting. I’m just reading a few text messages.
SUPERVISOR: What’s the difference? If Department Head Liu saw you, you could kiss your rice bowl goodbye.
SECURITY GUARD: So what? I’ve been thinking of packing it in anyway. The boss at the bullfrog breeding farm is my uncle. My mother has asked her cousin to get her husband to hire me at the farm . . .
SUPERVISOR: (impatiently) Okay, that’s enough. All this uncle-cousin-husband talk has me going in circles. You might not care about your rice bowl because you’ve got an uncle you can rely on, but I need mine to survive. So while you’re on duty, no reading text messages and no answering your phone.
SECURITY GUARD: (snaps to attention) Yes, sir!
SUPERVISOR: Be careful.
SECURITY GUARD: (snaps to attention) Yes, sir! (can’t keep from laughing) Tee-hee . . .
SUPERVISOR: Have you been drinking dog piss, or did you dream you were marrying a rich woman? What the hell are you laughing at?
SECURITY GUARD: I’m not laughing at anything . . .
SUPERVISOR: (sticks out his right hand) Hand it over!
SECURITY GUARD: What?
SUPERVISOR: Your cell phone, that’s what.
SECURITY GUARD: I promise I won’t use it again, sir. Okay?
SUPERVISOR: Shut up! Are you going to hand it over or aren’t you? If you don’t I’ll report you to the department head.
SECURITY GUARD: I’m involved in a romance, sir, and I need my cell phone.
SUPERVISOR: When your father was involved in a romance, he didn’t even have a telephone and he managed to win over your mother, didn’t he? Make it snappy!
SECURITY GUARD: (reluctantly hands over his cell phone) I didn’t mean to laugh, but the message was just so funny.
SUPERVISOR: (plays with the phone) I want to see just what it was that had you laughing so hard . . . ‘In an effort to produce a champion sprinter, the National Athletic Commission ordered a marriage between men’s hundred-metre-dash gold medallist Qian Bao and women’s distance gold medallist Jin Lu. When Jin Lu’s pregnancy had reached full term, she delivered a baby in the hospital. Qian Bao asked the doctor: Is it a boy or a girl? The doctor rep
lied, I couldn’t tell. It ran off as soon as it was out.’ You laughed at that old joke? I’ve got a couple of good ones here. (He takes out his cell phone, but before he starts reading, he realises what he’s doing and stuffs both phones into his pocket.) Tonight’s the Mid-Autumn Festival. Department Head Liu said we have to double our vigilance on special holidays.
SECURITY GUARD: (sticks out his hand) My phone!
SUPERVISOR: I’m keeping it for now. You can have it back when you’re off-duty.
SECURITY GUARD: (pleading) This is a holiday, sir. Families are having happy reunions, enjoying moon cakes, setting off firecrackers, gazing at the full moon, falling in love, but not me. I’m stuck here like a pole, and you’re taking even the pleasure of exchanging text messages with my girlfriend from me.