3
On the twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month, the day the kitchen god is sent off, my daughter was born. Cousin Wuguan brought us home from the commune health centre on his tractor. Before we left, Gugu said to me: I inserted an IUD in your wife. Wang Renmei ripped the scarf off her head and confronted her: How could you do that without my permission? Gugu put the scarf back. Keep that on, so you won’t catch cold. Inserting IUDs right after birth has been ordered by the family-planning group. No exceptions. If you had married a farmer and your first child was a girl, you could remove the IUD eight years later and have a second child. But you married my nephew, an army officer, for whom the rules are more stringent. A second child means immediate dismissal and a return to the farm. So don’t ever think about a second child. There’s a price to be paid for the opportunity to marry an army officer.
Renmei sobbed like a baby.
With our infant wrapped tightly in my overcoat, I climbed onto the tractor. Let’s go, I said to Wuguan.
We chugged down the pitted country road, black smoke puffing from the exhaust pipe. Renmei lay in the cab, covered by a quilt, her sobs punctuated by each bump in the road. Who said she could insert an IUD… no permission… how come I can’t have more than one… who says so…
Stop crying, I said. She was trying my patience. It’s national policy. That only made her cry harder. She stuck her head out from under the quilt; her face was pale, her lips blue, and there were flecks of straw in her hair. Who says? It’s something your aunt dreamed up. They’re not this strict in Jiao County. Your aunt is just looking for commendations and a promotion. No wonder people rage against her.
Shut up, I said. If you’ve got something to say, wait till we get home. If you cry and carry on the whole way, people will laugh at us.
She threw off the quilt and sat up. Glaring at me, she snarled: Who will laugh at me? I’d like to see who has the guts to laugh at me.
Bicycles kept passing us. We were pummelled by a cold north wind, with frost on the ground as a red sun climbed into the sky. Steam from the riders’ mouths frosted their eyebrows. The sight of Renmei, with her dry, chapped lips, dishevelled hair, and staring eyes was nearly unbearable, and I had to say something kind. No one’s going to laugh at you, now lie back and cover up. Getting sick during the first month is no laughing matter.
That doesn’t scare me. I’m like a pine tree atop Mount Tai, fighting the bitter cold and warding off the wind and snow. I have a morning sun in my chest.
I forced a smile. I know all about you, I said, you’re a mighty hero. Aren’t you insisting you want a second child? Well, that won’t happen if you ruin your health with this one.
Suddenly there was life in her eyes. You agree we’ll have a second child, she said excitedly. You just said so, I heard you. Did you hear that, Wuguan? You’re my witness.
Okay, I’m your witness, Wuguan said in a soft, muffled voice up front.
She lay back down compliantly and drew the quilt up over her head. You’d better be true to your word, Xiaopao, her voice came from underneath. You’ll have me to deal with if you don’t.
When our tractor reached the head of the village, we saw two people arguing on the bridge, and blocking our way.
My classmate Yuan Sai was having an argument with the villager who made clay figurines, Hao Dashou (Big Hand).
Hao Dashou was holding Yuan Sai by the wrist.
Let me go! Yuan Sai was yelling as he tried to break free. Let me go!
His struggles weren’t working.
Wuguan got down off the tractor and walked up to them. What’s going on here, guys? Who gets into a fight this early in the morning?
I’m glad you’re here, Wuguan, Yuan Sai said. You can talk some sense into him. He was pushing his cart in front of me, and I wanted to pass him on my bicycle. He was bearing to the left, so I went to the right. But when I got up right behind him, he shifted his arse and moved to the right. Fortunately, I’ve got good reflexes. I let go of the handlebars and jumped onto the bridge. I could have been dumped into the icy river with my bicycle. If it didn’t kill me, it would have crippled me. But Uncle Hao blames me for his cart winding up under the bridge.
Hao said nothing in rebuttal; he just held onto Yuan Sai’s wrist.
So I stepped down off the tractor with the baby in my arms. When my foot hit the ground, a sharp pain shot up my leg. Damn, it was cold that morning.
I hobbled up the bridge, where I saw a bunch of coloured clay dolls. Some were smashed, others were fine. A beat-up old bicycle lay on the icy surface of the eastern side of the bridge, a little yellow flag curled up alongside it. I knew without looking that the words ‘Little Immortal’ were embroidered on the flag. Yuan Sai, different from other people, had been odd even as a child. He could draw nails out of a cow’s belly with a magnet, he could geld pigs and dogs, and he was proficient in physiognomy, feng shui, geomantic omens, and the eight trigrams of the Book of Changes. Complimented by some people as the ‘Little Immortal’, he affixed an apricot yellow flag embroidered with those words to the rear rack of his bicycle, where it snapped in the wind. At the market, he planted the flag in the ground. His business flourished.
A wheelbarrow lay tipped over on the icy surface to the west; one handle was broken, as were the two willow baskets it had been carrying, the contents — dozens of clay dolls, most of them smashed — strewn across the ice. A tiny few remained whole and undamaged. Everyone was in awe of Hao Dashou, a true eccentric. Holding a lump of clay in his large, skillful hands, he’d fix his eyes on you and, in hardly any time, produce a remarkable likeness. He didn’t stop making his dolls even during the Cultural Revolution. Both his father and grandfather had made fine clay likenesses of children, but his were better than theirs. He made his living creating and selling human dolls only. He didn’t have to. He could also have made simple figurines of dogs, monkeys and tigers, which were popular with children, who were the primary customers for such artisans. Adults would not spend money on something their children did not like. But Hao Dashou made only children. He lived in a large house with five main rooms, two side rooms, and a big tent out in the yard; all were filled with clay figurines. Some were finished, with powdered faces and all the features in the right places; others were awaiting the application of colour. There was only enough empty space on his kang for him to lie down; the rest was cluttered with clay figurines. A man in his forties, he had a ruddy face and grey hair that was combed into a braid at the back. Even his beard was grey.
Neighbouring counties had figurine artisans too, but their dolls came from a single pattern and were identical. His were all made by hand, every one unique. People said: He made all the dolls in Northeast Gaomi Township. People said: Every resident of Northeast Gaomi Township can see what he looked like as a child. People said: He only went to market to sell dolls when he was out of rice. He sold his dolls with tears in his eyes, as if he were selling his own children. I could barely imagine the pain all those shattered dolls caused him. Why wouldn’t he hold Yuan Sai by the wrist?