“Take a seat,” Bea said.
Tang sat down and explained what was on his mind. Blind Bea asked his name and the hour and date of his birth. Then he closed his eyes and sat back, mumbling something to himself while fingering a string of green-jade beads. Tang rolled up a cigarette and lit it. A dragonfly was fluttering on the wire gauze of the window, struggling in vain to get out.
“I don’t see any problem here,” Bea said three minutes later.
“Not because of my ancestors’ graves?”
“No. According to the Diagram, you should have a mighty life. You were born to be a big general. Those graves can’t stop you at all.”
“Really?” Tang was surprised. “You say I’m going to be a general?”
“Maybe. Although the Diagram says you were born to decide the life or death of thousands, it depends on whether you can realize your destiny.”
Tang turned his head aside and thought for a moment. “Then how come I had bad luck these years?” he asked.
“Let’s see. What’s your son’s name?”
“Da Long.”
“What? A great dragon?”
“Yes.”
Blind Bea shook his head and began leafing through a dogeared book. He stopped at a page and read for a minute. “That won’t do,” he said.
“What won’t do?”
“Your son’s life is too strong. His fortune reduces yours, and he is the evil star over your head. ‘Da Long,’ what a name! Only a king should have such a name. The truth is that he is a dragon, while you’re a tiger. His life has overcome yours. See, you’re forty-three now. At your age lots of men have already made their fame and wealth, but you’re still a cart driver, commanding only a couple of scabby horses.” Blind Bea chuckled and lit his long pipe. Smoke came out through his yellow teeth.
“What should I do?” Tang asked.
“How old is your son?”
“Fourteen.”
“Too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“If he was under ten, you could change his name without hurting your fortune.”
“But what am I to do now?”
“Have his name changed. It’ll hurt, but it’s better than do nothing about it.”
Silence.
The two men seemed deliberately to avoid looking at each other. Then Tang said, “What name should he have?”
Bea opened a notebook, tore a page out, and handed it to Tang. His other hand removed the horn-rimmed glasses from his broad face, revealing eyes like a dead fish’s.
Taking the paper, Tang lowered his head to read it. He found five bold characters in a vertical line: “Horse, Ox, Dog, Mountain, Spirit.”
“Damn it,” he cursed, and struck his thigh with a fist as thick as a horse hoof, his long eyes tilting up to his temples.
“You’d better hurry. There aren’t many years left,” Bea said absently. “A man over forty is like the day in the afternoon. You know that.”
Tang Hu got up and produced a one-yuan bill. “Old Bea, I understand. Thank you for telling me the truth.” He placed the money in Bea’s hand and put on his straw hat. He turned to the door, whose frame seemed too low for his large body, and bent down to get out.
The horses were drawing a large load of rocks along Eternal Way in Dismount Fort, a small town that in the ancient times had been a transfer post where Chinese troops stopped for rest and preparation on their expeditions to Korea. It was a hot windless day, and all the windows of the houses on the street were open. Flies were buzzing around Tang and landed on the horses. At a street corner a grinder was chanting “Hone a knife and sharpen scissors.”
Brandishing the whip once in a while, Tang was lost in thought and let the horses find the way home by themselves. From the moment of his birth, I knew he was a jinx to me, Tang thought. He never slept quietly at night, waking up every other hour, playing and crying. My wife had to take care of him day and night. He allowed nobody in the house to have a good sleep. A selfish brat from the beginning. … He shat on my neck. I never carried him again. Everybody in the village laughed at me. A son shat on his dad’s neck. Son of a rabbit, he’s been shitting on me all these years! … My fortune is going down day by day, while his fortune is growing like grass. In the first grade he was a group leader in the Young Pioneers; a year later, a bugler; then a brigade leader. Always got high grades. So many awards on the walls. Only fourteen, already attractive to girls. Orchid of the Lius comes to do homework with him three times a week in the evenings. A small womanizer, learning fast. No, a born one.
I never touched a woman until I was twenty-seven. No girls would look at me, because of my cross-eyes. They wouldn’t think of me as a man, because I was poor and my folks were humble. Who knows I was born to be a general and would command thousands of men and horses? Do for their ancestors, they think me no more than a sheep that anyone can kick, a dumb ass that anyone can flog, a chamber pot that anyone can pee into. A caged tiger is a puny animal compared with a free dog…. Dragon boy, you’re strong because you have a tiger dad, because I spilled the best of mine into your life. Cocky boy, you laughed at me because I misread the character “vicious” as “wolf.” It served you right. Those slaps were a good lesson, to teach you to be filial. Young wolf, you’ve been eating away my fortune all these years. This time we must settle everything and you must change your name.
The cart entered Sand Village. The tall cypresses thrust themselves into Tang’s field of vision. Cracking the whip, he hurried the horses to the construction site in the orchard to unload the rocks.
The sun had just gone down behind the western hill and cast on the woods and fields the vast shade that was gliding east rapidly. The chime for ceasing work was sent out from a yard of I-steel hung on an ancient elm outside the production brigade’s office. Hearing the chime, the commune members wiped the blades of their sickles and hoes and began going home. Soon the winch at the well by the village entrance started squeaking, buckets were clanking on the streets, and bellows were burring in every house. A loudspeaker announced repeatedly that all newlyweds must attend a family-planning meeting at seven in the evening.
After dinner, Tang talked to his son about changing his name. His wife, Zhen, was stitching the sole of a cloth shoe, and Hsia, his daughter, lay prone on the brick bed reading a textbook on nature.
“No, I don’t want to change my name,” Da Long said.
“You must,” Tang said. “From now on, you’ll be called Horse.”
“No, I’m not a horse! What a dumb name.”
“All right, you’re Ox.”
“No, I’m not stupid like an ox. I’m smarter than the other boys at school.”
“Don’t be so arrogant. Chairman Mao says everyone should be a willing ox in serving the revolutionary cause. Don’t you remember that?”
“My old man,” Zhen put in, “why do you want to have his name changed all of a sudden?”
“His name is a jinx to me.” Without waiting for a response, Tang turned to his son again. “It’s an honor to be Ox.”
“I don’t want to be that. Everybody is used to my name already.”
“Damn it, then from now on you are Dog.”
“What a joke! All my classmates will make fun of me for such a name.”
“All right, you’re Mountain then.”
“Why don’t you call yourself Mountain?”
Tang stood up and went for his son. “Don’t, please,” Zhen begged, holding his arm.
“Dad,” Hsia said and sat up, “you’re too superstitious. We’re in the New China now. Who would believe a name is a jinx?”
“Shut up, girl!” Again Tang turned to his son. “Da Long, now you must call yourself Spirit.”