Mother was delighted to see that he appeared to be on the mend. “What would you like to eat, son?” she asked. “Whatever it is, I’ll make it. I went into town and borrowed some money from Old Jin. She’ll bring a cart over one of these days and take away all those bottles in back for repayment.”
“Old Jin…” Jintong’s heart was pounding. “How is she?”
With her one good eye – even it was failing – she looked at her son, puzzled by how uneasy he seemed, and let out an exasperated sigh. “She’s turned into the ‘queen of trash’ of the entire area. She owns a car and has fifty employees who melt down used plastic and rubber. She’s doing fine financially, but that man of hers is worthless. She has a bad reputation, but I had no choice but to go see her. She’s as generous as ever, a woman in her fifties, and, strangely, she even has a son…”
As if slapped in the face, Jintong bolted upright, like someone who has seen the merciful, bright red face of God. A happy thought came to him: My feelings weren’t wrong after all. He was sure that the one-eyed breast of old Jin was heading toward his room and that the sandpapered breasts of Long Qingping were retreating. “Mother,” he blurted out with a degree of bashfulness, “could you step outside before she comes?”
Momentarily at a loss, she regained her composure and said, “Son, you’ve managed to send away the death demon, so I’ll do anything you ask. I’m going now.”
Jintong lay back down, filled with excitement, and was quickly immersed in that life-giving aroma. It came from his memory, not from anywhere outside, bursting upon him. He closed his eyes and saw her fuller yet still smooth face. Her eyes were as dark as ever, moist and seductive, every movement intended to snatch away a man’s soul. She was moving quickly, like a comet, and that breast of hers, left unseated by time, jiggled under her cotton shirt, as if straining to get out. Very slowly, the spiritual aroma emanating from his heart and the material aroma emanating from Old Jin’s breast drew together like a pair of mating butterflies. They touched and quickly merged. He opened his eyes, and there, standing by his bed, was Old Jin, just as he had imagined her.
“Little brother,” she said emotionally as she bent down and took his brittle hand in hers, her dark eyes awash with tears, “my dear little brother, what is wrong with you?”
Feminine tenderness melted his heart. Arching his neck like a newborn puppy that has yet to open its eyes, he nibbled at her breast with his feverish lips. Without a moment’s hesitation, she lifted her shirt and lowered her overflowing breast, full as a muskmelon, onto his face. His mouth sought out the nipple; the nipple sought out his mouth. Once his trembling lips encircled her and she entered his mouth trembling, they were both boiling hot and moaning madly. Powerful jets of sweet, warm milk hit the membranes of his mouth and converged at the opening of his throat, where it coursed down into a stomach that had retched up everything it held. At the same time, she felt the morbid infatuation for this onetime beautiful little boy she had stored up for decades leave her body along with the milk…
He sucked her dry, then, like a baby, fell asleep with the nipple in his mouth. She stroked his face tenderly and gently pulled the nipple away. His mouth twitched, but she could see the color returning to his sallow face. Mother was standing by the door, watching sadly. But what she detected in the weather-worn face of the old woman was neither rebuke nor jealousy; rather, it was self-rebuke and gratitude. Old Jin stuffed her breast back under her shirt and said resolutely, “I wanted to do it, aunty. It’s something I’ve wanted to do all my life. He and I had a bond in a previous life.”
“Since that’s the case,” Mother said, “I won’t thank you.”
Old Jin took out a roll of bills. “Old aunty, the other day I calculated wrong. That pile of bottles out back is worth more than I gave you.”
“Sister-in-law,” Mother said, “I don’t think Brother Fang will be happy when he finds out.”
“As long as he’s got a bottle around, he’s happy. I’m awfully busy these days, and I can only come once a day. When I’m not around, give him something light and watery.”
Under the ministrations of Old Jin, Jintong quickly regained his health. Like a molting snake, he shed a layer of dead skin. For two whole months, the only nutrition he received was from Old Jin; on those frequent occasions when his stomach rumbled, all he had to do was think about regular, coarse food for darkness to settle around him and his intestines to knot up painfully. His mother’s brow, smoothed out after he had been pulled back from the brink of death, now began to knit again. Every morning he stood in front of the wall of bottles behind the house, the wind whistling in the bottlenecks, like a child waiting for its mother or a woman waiting for her lover, eyes cast anxiously in the direction of the road that led from the bustling new city, through the open fields, to where she stood, nearly bursting with anticipation.
One day Jintong waited from dawn to dusk for Old Jin, but she didn’t show. He stood until his legs were numb and his eyes began to glaze over, so he sat down and leaned up against the wall of whistling bottles. At dusk, the chorus of music sounded mournful, only deepening his sense of dejection. Tears slipped unnoticed down his cheeks.
Supporting herself on her cane, Mother stood beneath the darkening sky looking scornfully at him, her expression a mixture of pity over his misfortunes and anger over his inability to overcome them. She watched him for a while without saying a word, then turned and walked back into the house, accompanied by the taps of her cane on the ground.
The following morning, Jintong picked up the family sickle and a basket and walked over to the nearby trench. At breakfast, he’d eaten a pair of mushy yams, staring wide-eyed as if someone were stripping the skin from his body. Now his stomach ached badly and he had a sour taste in his throat. He had to fight not to throw up as he followed his nose to the delicate fragrance of wild peppermint. He recalled that the co-op’s purchasing station was willing to buy peppermint. Naturally, earning some extra money wasn’t the only reason he wanted to gather peppermint; even more importantly, he thought it might help him break his addiction to Old Jin’s milk. The stuff grew from halfway down the slope all the way to the water’s edge, and its odor was invigorating. He even found that he could see more clearly. He breathed in deeply, wanting to fill his lungs with the fragrance of peppermint. Then he began cutting it down, using skills he’d honed during his fifteen years in the labor reform camp and quickly leaving a trail of fallen peppermint stalks, with their white sap and fine hairs.
As he moved down the slope, he discovered a hole the size of a rice bowl. His initial fright over the discovery quickly turned to excitement as it occurred to him that it must be a rabbit hole. Presenting Mother with a wild rabbit would bring a little joy into her life. He began by sticking the handle of his sickle into the hole and shaking it. Something moved down there – he heard it – which meant the hole was occupied. So he sat down, gripping his sickle tightly, and waited. The rabbit stuck its head up out of the hole until its furry mouth showed. Jintong swung his sickle, but the rabbit pulled its head back just in time. The next time, however, he felt the sickle cut deeply into the rabbit’s head; jerking it back, the rest of the animal appeared, still twitching, and landed at his feet. The tip of the sickle had entered the rabbit’s eye, from which trickles of blood emerged and ran down the glistening blade of the weapon. The little marble-like eyes were barely visible through tiny slits. Suddenly chilled to the bone, Jintong threw down the sickle, scrambled up to the top of the slope, and looked around like a boy in deep trouble who needs help.