‘What are you crying about?’ he said impatiently. ‘Little family wrecker!’
The woman took a deep breath. ‘Shall I boil some water?’
‘Go ahead,’ the man replied. ‘A couple of gourdfuls will be enough.’
The woman thought for a moment, then said, ‘Maybe three this time. The cleaner he is, the better our chances.’
The man raised his pipe without replying, then peeked over at the corner of the bed, where the little brat was sleeping soundly.
The woman moved the lantern over to the door, so the light would shine into both rooms. After washing out the wok, she dumped in the three gourdfuls of water, put the lid on, and picked up a handful of straw, which she lit from the lantern and carefully inserted into the stove. The fire blazed as she fed it more straw, golden tongues of flame licking up to the surface and bringing color to the woman’s face. The man sat on a stool beside the bed and stared blankly at the woman, who seemed younger somehow.
The water gurgled to a boil and the woman added more kindling to the stove. The man knocked the bowl of his pipe against the bed, cleared his throat, and said hesitantly:
‘Big-Tooth Sun’s wife, over at East Village, is pregnant again, and she’s still got one at the tit.’
‘Everybody’s different,’ the woman said agreeably. ‘Who wouldn’t like to have a baby every year? And triplets each time?’
‘Big-Tooth’s got it made, the son of a bitch, just because his brother-in-law’s an inspector. He had poor-quality goods, but that didn’t stop him. When he’d have been lucky to reach second-grade, he came out of it with special grade.’
‘Becoming an official’s easy if you’ve got connections at court. That’s the way it’s always been,’ the woman said.
‘But Little Treasure is a cinch to be first-grade. No other family can match our investment,’ the man said. ‘You ate a hundred catties of beancakes, ten carp, four hundred catties of turnips…’
‘I ate? That food may have gone into my stomach, but it stayed there just long enough to turn into milk for him to suck out of me!’
Steam from the boiling water seeped out from under the lid of the wok, causing the lamplight to flicker weakly, like a little red bean, in the misty air.
The woman stopped feeding the stove and turned to the man.
‘Bring me the wash basin,’ she demanded.
He grunted a reply and went into the yard, quickly returning with a chipped black ceramic basin. The bottom was covered by a thin layer of frost.
The woman removed the lid from the wok, releasing a cloud of steam that nearly extinguished the lantern. Slowly the light returned to the room. She picked up the gourd and scooped hot water into the basin.
‘Aren’t you going to add cool water?’ the man asked.
She tested the water with her hand. ‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s just right. Go get him.’
The man went into the next room, bent down, and lifted up the boy, who was still snoring. When he started crying, Jin Yuanbao patted him on the bottom and made cooing sounds.
‘Treasure, Little Treasure, don’t cry. Daddy’s going to give you a bath.’
The woman took the child from him. Little Treasure crooked his neck and nestled against her bosom, groping with his hands.
‘Want Mama… milk…’
She had no choice but to sit in the doorway and open her blouse. Little Treasure took a nipple into his mouth and immediately began gurgling contentedly. The woman was hunched over, as if the child were weighing her down.
The man stirred the water in the basin with his hand.
‘He’s had enough,’ he said to hurry her along. ‘The water’s getting cold.’
The woman patted Little Treasure’s bottom.
‘Treasure,’ she said, ‘my Treasure, stop sucking. You’ve already sucked me dry. Time for a bath. When you’re all clean, we’ll take you to town for an outing.’
She pushed the child away, but Treasure refused to give up the nipple, stretching it as far as it would go, like a worn-out piece of rubber.
The man reached out and jerked the child away. The woman moaned, Treasure shrieked tearfully. Jin Yuanbao patted his bottom, harder this time, and said angrily:
‘What are you screeching about?’
‘Not so hard,’ the woman complained. ‘Bruises will lower the grade.’
After stripping Treasure’s clothes off and tossing them aside, the man tested the water again. ‘It’s pretty hot,’ he mumbled, ‘but that’ll put a little color in him.’ He laid the naked boy down in the basin, drawing yelps of pain louder than the screeches of a moment earlier. As if elevated from a rolling hill to a towering mountain peak. The boy’s legs curled inward as he fought to climb out of the basin. But Jin Yuanbao kept pushing him back. Beads of hot water splashed the woman. Quickly covering her face with her hands, she complained softly:
‘Treasure’s daddy, the water’s too hot. Burning his skin will lower the grade.’
‘This little family wrecker, his water’s got to be just right, not too cold, not too hot. All right, add half a gourdful of cool water.’
The woman scrambled to her feet without covering her droopy breasts; the hem of her blouse hung limply between her legs, like a soggy old flag. After scooping out half a gourdful of water, she dumped it into the basin and stirred it rapidly with her hand.
‘It isn’t hot,’ she said, ‘it really isn’t. Stop crying, Treasure, stop crying.’
Little Treasure’s crying died down a bit, but he continued to struggle. A bath was the last thing he wanted, and Jin Yuanbao had to keep forcing him down into the basin. The woman stood to the side, gourd in hand, as if in a trance. ‘Are you dead, or what?’ Jin Yuanbao barked. ‘Give me a hand here!’
As if waking from a dream, she put down the gourd and knelt beside the basin, where she began washing the boy’s back and his bottom. Their eldest daughter – a girl of seven or eight clad only in baggy red knee-length shorts, her shoulders hunched, hair a mess, barefoot – walked into the room rubbing her eyes.
‘Die [father], Niang [mother], how come you’re washing him? You going to cook him and feed him to us?’
‘Get back to bed, damn it!’ Jin Yuanbao snapped viciously.
At the sight of his elder sister, Little Treasure cried out to her. But the girl, not daring to say another word, turned and slinked back into the other room, stopping in the doorway to watch her parents at work.
Having cried himself hoarse, Little Treasure could only sob, a hollow, listless sound. The grime on his body turned to greasy mudballs in the murky water.
‘Bring me a washing gourd and a piece of soap,’ the man said.
The woman fetched the items from behind the stove. ‘You hold him,’ Jin Yuanbao said, ‘while I scrub.’
The woman and Yuanbao changed places.
Yuanbao dipped the washing gourd first in the water, then in the soap dish, and began scrubbing the boy, his neck and his bottom, and everything in between, including even the spaces between his fingers. Covered with soap bubbles, Treasure cried out in pain; the room was suffused with a strange, offensive odor.
‘Treasure’s daddy, not so rough. Don’t break the skin.’
‘He’s not made of paper,’ Yuanbao said. ‘His skin’s tougher than that! You don’t know how cunning those inspectors are. They even probe the assholes, and if they find any grime, they lower their appraisal by one grade. Each grade is worth more than ten yuan.’
Finally, the bath was finished, and Yuanbao held Little Treasure while the woman dried him off. His skin glowed red in the lamplight and gave off a pleasant, meaty smell. The woman fetched a new suit of clothes and took the boy from his father. Little Treasure began a new search for the breast, which his mother gave him.
Yuanbao dried his hands and filled his pipe with tobacco. After lighting it with the lantern and blowing out a mouthful of smoke, he said: