Frog

  On the morning of the season’s first snowfall the sun shone bright red. On our way to school in our hempen sandals, our hands and feet were half frozen. We were running around the playground, whooping and hollering to keep warm, when suddenly we heard a frightening roar in the sky. We looked up, mouths agape, and spotted an enormous object – dark red – trailing black smoke – a pair of staring red eyes – gigantic white teeth – shuddering in the sky – coming right at us. Aeroplane, damn, it’s an aeroplane! Was it going to land on our playground?

  None of us had ever seen an aeroplane so close before, so close its wings blew feathers and dead leaves off the ground to swirl in the air. Just think how great it would be if it could land on our playground! We could walk up and get a good look, we could touch it, and if our luck held, we’d be allowed to climb into its belly and have a great time. We might even be able to talk the pilot into telling us war stories. Maybe he was one of my future uncle’s comrade-in-arms. No, my uncle-to-be flew a Jian-5, which was much better looking than this dark thing. My uncle-to-be wouldn’t have a comrade-in-arms who flew something this big and slow. But, how should I put it, anyone who could fly anything was pretty impressive, don’t you think? Anyone who could get something this big, made of steel, up into the air had to be a hero. I couldn’t see the pilot’s face, but years later, lots of my classmates swore up and down that they saw it through the windshield. The aircraft, which we thought was going to land in our midst, veered to the right almost reluctantly and scraped its belly on the top branches of a poplar tree on the eastern edge of the village before crash-landing in a wheat field. We heard a thunderous explosion, louder and deeper than a sonic boom, and we felt the ground shake. Our ears rang and we saw spots in front of our eyes. A pillar of dense smoke and fire blasted into the sky, immediately turning the sunlight a deep scarlet and releasing into the air a strange smell that made it hard to breathe.

  It took us a long time to snap out of our stunned state. We started running to the head of the village, and when we reached the road, we were nearly overcome by heat. The plane lay in pieces, one of its wings stuck in the ground like a gigantic torch. The field was on fire, filling the air with a burnt leather odour. Then a second explosion sent shock waves through the air. Wang the cook, who had plenty of experience, screamed, Hit the deck!

  We did as he said and, following his lead, began to crawl.

  Crawl fast, there are bombs under the wings!

  We were later told that the aircraft was outfitted for four bombs, but only carried two that day. If there had been four, none of us would have made it out alive.

  Three days after the crash, Father and other village men carried remnants of the destroyed aeroplane and the body of the pilot to the airport on their carts and wagons. They had barely returned to the village when Eldest Brother came running up out of breath. Our champion athlete had run all the way home from County High without stopping. Fifty li, just short of marathon distance. The moment he entered the yard, he sputtered a single word – Gugu – and simply collapsed, foaming at the mouth, eyes rolled back into his head. He was out.

  Everyone rushed to his side. Someone pinched the spot over his upper lip, someone else pinched the spot between his thumb and finger, and a third person thumped him on the chest.

  What about Gugu?

  Finally, he came around. His mouth twisted and he burst into tears.

  Mother rushed up with water in a gourd and poured some into his mouth. The rest she flung into his face.

  Out with it. What about your aunt?

  Gugu’s pilot defected with his aircraft . . .

  The gourd fell out of Mother’s hand and smashed to pieces.

  Defected to where? Father asked.

  Where else? My brother wiped his face with his sleeve and clenched his teeth. Taiwan! The traitor, the turncoat flew to Taiwan to join Chiang Kai-shek!

  What about your aunt? Mother asked.

  Taken away by county security agents, Eldest Brother said.

  Tears fell from Mother’s eyes. Do not tell your maternal grandmother, not a word, she commanded. And don’t talk about this outside.

  What good will that do? Everyone in the county already knows about it, Eldest Brother said.

  Mother went into the house and came out with a large pumpkin, which she handed to my sister. Come with me, she said, we’re going to see your great-grandma.

  My sister came running back breathlessly before too long. Grandma, she called out the minute she stepped inside, Mother wants you to go over there right away. Something’s wrong with Great-Aunt!

  8

  Forty years later, my eldest brother’s son, Xiangqun, was recruited into the air force. There had been many changes in the world in all that time, and lots of things that had once seemed so sacred they could cost you your head had turned to jokes; professions that had once made people sit up and take notice had become the work of the lower classes. But being recruited into the air force was still a joyous development that excited families and made neighbours green with envy. And so, my brother, who had retired as head of the Bureau of Education, returned to the village to host a celebratory banquet for family and friends.

  The meal was served in my second brother’s yard. An electric wire was strung from the house for a light bulb that lit the yard up like the sun. Two tables were put together to accommodate a couple of dozen chairs, on which we sat shoulder to shoulder. The meal was catered, with delicacies of every kind, meat and foul and fish, dish after colourful dish of tasty food. In her heavy Yantai accent, Eldest Sister-in-law said: I hope you enjoy these meagre offerings. Hardly, Father said. Think about the 1960s, when even Chairman Mao could not have eaten a meal like this. My soon-to-be flyboy nephew said: Those days are over, Grandpa.

  After three rounds of toasts, Father stood up and said: Our family managed to produce an air force pilot. Back when your father applied to be one, a scar on his leg was all that kept him out. Now Xiangqun has made our dream come true.

  What’s the big deal about being a pilot? Xiangqun said with a bit of a scowl. If you want to really make it big, become a high-ranking official or a millionaire.

  Hogwash! Father said, holding out his cup, draining it, and banging it back down on the table. An airman is a dragon among men, he said. Your great-aunt had a man way back then, Wang Xiaoti, who was a towering tree standing and a brass bell seated. He took vigorous strides when he walked, and if he hadn’t foolishly flown over to Taiwan, he could be air force commander-in-chief today . . .

  Are you kidding me? Xianqun exclaimed. I thought Great-Aunt’s husband made clay figurines. Where did that airman come from?

  That’s ancient history, Eldest Brother said. Let’s drop the subject.

  No, Xiangqun said. I’m going to ask her. Wang Xiaoti flew his plane to Taiwan. That’s wild.

  Don’t you go looking for that kind of excitement, his father said anxiously. People need patriotism, especially in the military, and that goes double for air force pilots. A man can steal, he can rob, he can commit murder and arson . . . what I mean to say is, you cannot become a traitor. They leave a tainted name forever, and are doomed to a bad end . . .

  That’s really got you scared, hasn’t it? Xiangqun said scornfully. Taiwan is part of the motherland, so what’s wrong with flying over there to have a look?

  I’ll have none of that! his mother exclaimed. If that’s the way you think, then you have no business becoming a pilot. I’ll go phone Chief Liu of the Armed Forces Bureau.

  Don’t get excited, Ma. I’m not that stupid. I wouldn’t sacrifice my family for my own pleasure. But don’t forget, the Nationalists and Communists are all members of the same family. If I flew over there, they’d have to send me back.

  That’s the way to uphold our family’s moral standing, Elder Brother said. Wang Xiaoti was a son of a bitch who ruined your aunt’s life.

  Did I hear my name mentioned? Gugu broadcast her arrival as she squinted in the bright light. She turned and put o
n a pair of sunglasses, looking quite cool, if slightly comical. Do you really need that bright a light? Like Great-Grandma always said, You won’t stuff food up your nose even if you eat in the dark. Electricity requires coal, coal has to be dug by miners three thousand feet underground, hell on earth, corrupt officials, crooked bosses, the miners’ lives as worthless as the dirt above them. Every lump of coal is stained with blood. With her right hand on her hip, she held her left hand out in front, the thumb and outer two fingers curled inward, her index and middle fingers pointing ahead; she was wearing a 1970s-vintage Dacron military uniform, sleeves rolled up. Overweight and greying, she had the look of a commune cadre from the Cultural Revolution. Seeing her provoked mixed emotions in me. This is what Gugu, who had once been pretty as a lotus fresh out of the water, had become.

  Eldest Brother and his wife had gone round and round trying to decide whether or not to invite Gugu to the celebration meal. So they’d asked Father, who had thought long and hard before saying, Better not. Now she’s . . . she doesn’t live in the village anyway . . . we’ll tell her later . . .

  Her arrival created an awkward situation. We all stood, at a total loss.

  What’s this? After spending most of my life on the road, I come home to find there’s no seat for me. There was an edge to her voice.

  That woke us up. Mass confusion followed, as we all stepped back to offer her our seats.

  Eldest Brother and his wife rushed to explain: You were the first person we planned to invite. The Wan family seat of honour is always reserved for you.

  Bah! Gugu sat down next to Father. She chided Eldest Brother. Do you really expect me to take the seat of honour while your father is alive, Dakou? Or, for that matter, after he dies? When a daughter marries, it’s like spilled water, isn’t it, Eldest Brother?

  You never were an ordinary daughter, Father said as he pointed to each of us. Your contributions are greater than anyone’s. Is there a single one of these youngsters you didn’t bring into the world?

  A hero is silent about past glories, Gugu said. Back then . . . what’s the point of dredging up the past? Let’s drink! What’s that? I don’t have a glass. Well, I’ve brought my own. She reached into her oversized pocket and brought out a bottle of Maotai, which she banged down on the table. Fifty-year-old Maotai, she said. Given to me by an official in the city of Tinglan whose mistress – twenty years his junior – wanted nothing more than to give him a son, and since she’d heard that I had a secret formula for changing the sex of a foetus from female to male, that’s what she wanted me to do. I told her that was just a quack doctor’s trick, but she didn’t believe me. She cried and refused to leave, all but getting down on her knees to beg. She said the man’s wife had given him two daughters, and if she could produce a son, the man would be hers. His head was filled with feudal ideas like favouring boys over girls, not the sort of thing you’d expect from someone so important. Hell, Gugu spat out angrily, those people’s fortunes are all ill-gotten, so whom should I take advantage of if not the likes of him? So I made up nine packets of herbal concoctions, with things like angelica, Chinese yam, rehmannia and licorice, stuff you can buy for ten cents a bunch, no more than thirty yuan in total, and I asked her for a hundred for each packet. She was so happy she sort of waddled as she climbed into a red car and drove off, leaving a trail of exhaust fumes. This afternoon the official and his mistress came to see me with their pudgy little baby boy and gifts of fine tobacco and liquor to thank me. If not for my miracle prescription, they said, they wouldn’t have such a wonderful son. Ha ha! Gugu laughed loudly, grabbed the glass my brother was respectfully holding out to her, and drank it down in one swallow. I can’t tell you how happy I am! she said as she smacked herself on the thigh. I ask you, how could a high-ranking official, someone who’s supposed to be educated, be such a simpleton? Changing the sex in the womb! If I could do that, I’d have won the Nobel Prize for Medicine a long time ago. Pour me another. She held out her empty glass. Don’t open the Maotai. Save that for Eldest Brother. No, no, no, my father said. Putting something that good into my stomach is a waste. But she stuffed the bottle into his hand and said, This is from me, so you drink it.

  He fingered the red ribbon at the top. How much does something like this cost? he asked gingerly. At least eight thousand, Elder Brother’s wife said. The price has gone up recently. My god! Father exclaimed. That’s not liquor. Dragon slobber and phoenix blood aren’t worth that much. Wheat sells for eighty cents a jin. Can one bottle of liquor be worth ten thousand jin of wheat? I could work like a dog all year and not be able to afford half of one of these bottles. He handed the bottle back to Gugu. You keep it, he said. I can’t drink liquor like this. I’m afraid it’d shorten my life.

  I gave it to you, so you drink it, Gugu said. It didn’t cost me anything. You’d be crazy not to enjoy it. Like back in Pingdu city. I’d have been crazy not to eat the spread the Japanese devils prepared. Don’t be crazy. Drink it.

  I understand what you’re saying, my father said, but I ask you, can a bottle of peppery liquor really be worth that much money?

  Eldest Brother, you don’t get it. Nobody who drinks this stuff ever pays for it. People who have to pay for their liquor can only afford to drink this – Gugu held out her glass and drained it. You’re over eighty years old, she said. How many more years do you have to enjoy a good drink? Patting herself on the chest, she said dramatically: I’ll make you a crazy offer in front of all these members of the younger generation: I will supply you with Maotai from today on. What’s there to be afraid of? I used to be scared of my own shadow, and the more scared I was the worse things got. Pour some more! Do you people have no vision? Feel sorry for the liquor?

  Of course not, Gugu, Father said. It’s for you to drink.

  How much do you think I can manage? she said, a note of melancholy creeping into her voice. Back then, I held my own with those bastards from the People’s Commune. A bunch of guys who figured they could easily make a spectacle of me wound up under the table barking like a pack of dogs – come on, you youngsters, down the hatch.

  Have something to eat, Gugu.

  Something to eat, you say? Your great-uncle could drink half a jug of sorghum liquor with only a leek to go with it. Real drinkers don’t need food. You people are eaters, not drinkers.

  Warming up from the alcohol, Gugu unbuttoned her blouse and patted Father on the shoulder. If I tell you to drink, Elder Brother, you have to drink. You and I are the only two left from our generation. We should be eating and drinking anything we want. What’s the point in saving money? Money is just paper until you spend it. I have a skill, so I’m not afraid I’ll ever be short of money. You can be an official, high or low, but you’ll still get sick, and then you’ll have to come see me. Besides, Gugu roared in laughter, I have that special talent to change a foetus’s gender. People would happily shell out ten thousand for the complicated technique of turning a female foetus to male.

  But what if they still got a baby girl after taking your gender-bending potion? Father asked anxiously.

  You don’t get it, Gugu said. What’s traditional Chinese medicine anyway? All practitioners of traditional medicine are adept at fortune-telling, and fortune-tellers are adept at going round and round when telling someone’s fortune without ever getting themselves tangled up.

  Xiangqun managed to slip a question in when Gugu paused to light a cigarette. Can you talk about the pilot, Great-Aunt? Maybe one day on a whim I’ll fly to Taiwan to see him.

  Stop that nonsense, my elder brother said.

  You’re out of line, his wife said.

  A seasoned smoker, Gugu puffed away, sending clouds of smoke up through her uncombed hair.

  When I think about that now, Gugu said after draining the liquor in her cup, I can say he destroyed me, but he also saved me.

  She took a couple of deep puffs before flicking the butt away with her middle finger. It described a dark red arc before landing on a distant grapevine trellis
. I’ve had too much to drink, she said. The party’s over and it’s time to go home. She stood up, looking stoutly clumsy, and swayed her way towards the entrance. We hurried over to steady her. Do you really think I’m drunk? she asked. You’re wrong. I can drink a thousand cups without getting drunk. At the gate, Hao Dashou, the clay-doll maker who’d recently been named a county folk artist, was waiting patiently for her.

  9

  Sensei, the next day my nephew, curious to learn more about Wang Xiaoti, came home on his motorcycle and asked my father to take him to see Gugu. You don’t want to do that, my father said. She’s nearly seventy and she’s had a difficult life. I’m afraid you’ll upset her by bringing up the past. Besides, she’d find it hard to talk about that in front of her husband.

  Xiangqun, I said, listen to your grandfather. Since you want to hear what happened, I’ll tell you what I know. Actually, all you have to do is go online to get most of the details.

  I’ve long planned to write a novel based on Gugu’s life – now, of course, that’s changed into a play – and Wang Xiaoti will figure prominently. The work has been twenty years in preparation. Relying on connections, I’ve interviewed many people from that time, made special trips to the three airfields where Wang had served, visited his hometown in Zhejiang, interviewed one of his squadron comrades-in-arms as well as his commander and deputy commander, actually climbed into the cockpit of his Jian-5, and interviewed the one-time head of the county security bureau’s anti-espionage unit, and the one-time security division head at the county health department. I don’t mind saying that I know more than anyone else; my only regret is that I never got to meet Wang Xiaoti himself. But your father got Great-Aunt’s OK to sneak into a theatre before they arrived to see a movie. He saw Wang and Gugu enter hand-in-hand. He was sitting close enough to Wang to be able to describe him for us: Five-nine, maybe a bit taller, fair skin, a long, gaunt face, eyes on the small side, but alert. Sparkling white, even teeth.