‘I know you don’t believe in ghosts, Kongzi, but I’m convinced the fetus has a spirit. I saw it the moment I became pregnant. It often speaks to me. Why do you think babies cry when they’re born? It’s because the infant spirits that have been assigned to their bodies don’t want to go through another incarnation. They want to break free and fly away.’
Nannan grips Mother’s hand. ‘I want nice food, Mum.’
‘What kind of food?’ says Mother, her belly jutting out as she sits up straight.
‘That!’ says Nannan, pointing to the deep-fried fish being eaten by the four bare-chested workers who, in the soft light cast from the lamp behind them, resemble four smooth eggs. At the bow, a few men are leaning against the railing having a smoke. Other figures are sitting or lying down in clusters on the still-warm metal deck.
‘Try this meatball,’ Mother says to Nannan. ‘I sprinkled some magic powder on it just for you. And here’s a tomato. You like tomatoes.’
‘Me want fish,’ says Nannan, stamping her feet. ‘Me want
that
fish!’
‘Don’t be so rude!’ Mother whispers, slapping her bottom. ‘It’s their fish, not yours.’
Nannan frowns and tries to hold back her sobs. ‘You bad mummy,’ she splutters. ‘You no wear glasses, so you bad mummy.’
‘Come and sit down here by the mosquito coil,’ Mother says, pulling Nannan close to her. ‘Remember what I told you? If anyone asks you how old you are, you
must say you’re five years old. Don’t tell them you’re only two and a half. Do you hear? If you do, I’ll have to spank you again.’ She watches Nannan crawl onto Father’s lap. ‘You’re too soft on her, Kongzi,’ Mother says. ‘If she blabs out our secrets, the authorities will arrest me, and our family will be finished.’
‘Stop worrying,’ says Father, lighting a cigarette. ‘Nannan’s a good girl. She won’t blab.’
‘Oh, what are we going to do? This baby will never get a residence permit. It will be one of those “Black Children” who are born without permission and banned from getting free schooling and medical treatment. When it grows up, it won’t even be able to marry, and it’ll curse us for condemning it to a life as an outcast.’
‘Me not black children!’ says Nannan, punching Mother’s thigh. ‘You bad mummy.’ She kicks a leg in the air, sending her flip-flop flying across the deck.
‘I’m sure that in a couple of years Nuwa County will have calmed down,’ says Father, lifting a meatball with his chopsticks. ‘Then we can go home and do our best to get little Happiness registered.’
‘Stop kicking my bladder, little one!’ Mother says, glancing down at her belly. ‘I’m sick of having to go to the toilet every five minutes.’
‘Do me kick you when me inside you, Mum?’ asks Nannan, wiping a scrap of meatball from her hot face.
‘No, you didn’t have as much strength as this one,’ Mother says, then mutters to Father: ‘Nannan’s getting so naughty. She threw your lighter into the river this morning.’ A speedboat passes, churning up waves that tip the barge to the side. Mother puts her hands over the bowls on the cardboard box to stop them falling off.
‘Me no throw lighter away!’ Nannan protests, wrinkling her nose. ‘Baby Crab wanted lighter, so I borrowed it him.’
‘Look – see how she thinks she can get away with everything!’ Mother says, wiping the sweat from her face with the corner of her shirt. A damp breeze lifts her skirt and Father’s cigarette smoke into the air. Flies encrusting the remains of the food flutter up briefly then settle back down again. The long dank barge, crammed with male guests, floats beside the bank like the corpse of an old woman, its lower half soaking in cool water, its upper half still swollen from the intense heat of the day. As the night air cools, the metal decks and wood-panelled cabins contract, letting out creaks and groans.
‘Stop kicking, will you, and allow me to finish my dinner in peace!’ Mother says, rubbing her belly and expelling a loud fart.
KEYWORDS:
bamboo bird cage, the wise in water, housewife, safe refuge, wild duck, floating happiness.
IT’S AN OLD
fishing boat, about five metres long, with a bow and stern wide enough for two people to sit side by side. The cabin at the centre has a bitumen-coated canopy attached to a bamboo and metal frame. Although you have to crouch down to enter it, once you’re inside it feels like a proper room, almost the size of a double bed. Plastic sheets can be lowered over the front and back openings to block out the wind and rain. Meili has become fond of this new home. She likes the washing lines strung between the canopy and the bow, and the bamboo birdcage attached to the side of the boat. The only problem is her constant fear that Nannan might fall overboard. When Meili stepped onto the boat for the first time, she immediately tripped and fell, landing hard on her swollen belly. The thought of Nannan falling into the river makes her twitch with alarm.
‘Slow down, Kongzi!’ Meili calls out. ‘We’ve gone far enough. Let’s turn round and go back to our mooring.’ She’s sitting in the cabin with her arms around Nannan. This is the first trip they’ve made on their new boat. Meili can’t swim, so as soon as Kongzi accelerates, her body becomes rigid with fear.
A giant, shark-like fish swims past, its long snout and crenulated spine rising above the water.
‘What’s that strange creature?’ asks Meili.
‘A Chinese sturgeon,’ Kongzi replies. ‘It’s the oldest vertebrate in the world. The government has granted it Class One Protection. They hatch in the upper reaches of the Yangtze then swim down to the sea. Ten years later, they swim back against the river’s flow to spawn in their place of origin.’
‘Class One Protection for fish, indeed! What about us humans? When will
we
be able to return to our place of origin?’ Meili grasps the bottle of lemonade Nannan is drinking and takes a quick sip.
‘The Yangtze has become so polluted, there are only a few hundred sturgeon left. And when the dam is finished, their migration route will be completely cut off. They’re doomed to extinction.’ Kongzi watches the sturgeon sink below the surface. As he slows the boat down, Meili crawls to the bow. The breeze moving through the blazing summer heat feels cool and refreshing. Grassy embankments, mud houses and mandarin trees slip by on both sides. Her fears seem to blow away. Closing her eyes, she imagines soaring over the golden waters like a wild goose, the river mist in her face, seeing the boats and barges behind her form dark silhouettes against the low sun and the Yangtze stretch into the distance, dissolving finally between two cliff faces into a haze of water and sky.
She begins to sense that drifting down the river could offer her a new way of life, a floating happiness. She feels free and at peace.
Kongzi notices a barge approach and bites his lower lip nervously. He’s never driven a boat before, and is afraid of colliding. In a fluster, he decelerates too quickly and the engine stalls. Once the barge has passed, he pulls the start cord again, adjusts the throttle and the boat sets off once more. Eager to regain face, he slows the boat, throws it in reverse then artfully turns it in a circle. Looking both surprised and proud, he glances back at Meili and says, ‘As my great ancestor Confucius once remarked: “The benevolent find joy in mountains, the wise in water.” How right he was! When he left home after offending the Duke of Lu, he wandered from state to state for thirteen years, an exile in his own country. Now two thousand years later, I’m also on the run, but unlike him, I’m not free to travel across the land, so all I can do is drift down the Yangtze.’
At noon, before Nannan has woken from her morning nap, Meili goes to the tiny galley area in the stern, lights the kerosene stove and puts a pan of water on to boil. Beside her is a mound of spinach leaves she cleaned earlier. Whenever she needs to wash vegetables or clothes, she simply leans overboard and scoops up a bucket of water. Thrilled to have a place of their own at last, she has already scrubbed the boat from stern to bow, torn off the mouldy bitumen canopy and replaced it with new tarpaulin. Now when they sleep in the cabin at night, they’re no longer disturbed by a musty smell of rot. Meili has also tied a rope from Nannan’s waist to the cabin frame, short enough to prevent her leaning overboard to dip her hands in the water. But Meili can’t stop the boat rocking. Although she feels more free on the water than she did on the land, she knows it will take time for her to become used to this fluid substance that adapts its form to the contours of the earth and exists in constant flux. The river is a moving landscape which flows in directions she can’t always determine.
After becoming pregnant with Happiness, the earth no longer felt solid underfoot. Not even their house or the dugout Kongzi created beneath Nannan’s bed could provide a safe refuge. The land belongs to the government. Whether it’s rented or borrowed, every patch of soil in this country is controlled by the state; no citizen can own a single grain. If she’d stayed planted in the village like a maize stalk waiting to be trampled on, she too might have had her belly injected with disinfectant like Yuanyuan, or been bundled into a cart a few weeks after childbirth like her neighbour Fang, milk leaking from her bare breasts. Ever since they left the village, her muscles have clenched with fear as soon as her feet touch the ground. Although the barge hotel was on the river, it was in effect an extension of the town. But this wavering fishing boat has liberated her. She will learn to drive it and survive on the little they possess. She told Kongzi that in Guangdong Province there’s a place called Heaven Township where people can have as many children as they wish, making sure, of course, not to tell him that its polluted air renders men sterile. Kongzi said that this was just the kind of enlightened place where Happiness should be born.
‘Cooking lunch?’ Meili calls out to the pregnant woman in the houseboat moored a few metres away. ‘It smells good.’
The woman is sitting at the bow, her toes like chicken claws gripping the edge of the boat. She and her husband already have a baby, and two daughters who are old enough to go into Sanxia and buy provisions on their own. Meili glanced at the baby when the woman held it over the river to defecate, and saw that it was a girl. The woman’s boat is twice the size of Meili’s. It has a tall control room and a shorter cabin behind with a bitumen-coated felt roof held down with bricks. When the boat is stacked with polystyrene panels the husband hauls to construction sites, it looks like a sparkling iceberg. While he’s away on a trip, the woman and her daughters often wander around the wharf, hawking home-made snacks, shaking plastic bags of eggs boiled in tea, spiced tofu and marinated broad beans below the windows of buses waiting to board the ferry.
‘It’s imported Thai rice,’ the woman calls back to Meili. ‘I bought it in the supermarket. What are you having?’
‘Fried celery and some reheated chicken soup.’
‘You shouldn’t drink hot liquids in the middle of the day,’ says the woman, hoisting up a bundle of garlic shoots she’s been soaking in the river. ‘And with a belly that size, you should move more slowly around the boat.’
‘Let those soak a little longer if you want to wash off the chemicals. I planted half a field of garlic shoots last year and had to spray pesticides on them twice a week to keep the insects away.’
‘No need – I’m going to boil them for ten minutes. The river water may look clean, but it’s riddled with threadworm.’
Meili grimaces. They’ve been drinking boiled river water since they moved onto the boat. ‘But the water’s safe to drink, surely, if you boil it?’ she asks.
‘No, not at this time of year! You should fetch your drinking water from the barge hotel’s washroom. Go at lunchtime when no one’s about. Or give the man at the diesel station a couple of mao and he’ll let you fill your bucket at his tap. You can drink river water in the winter, but in the summer, it’s infested with germs and parasites.’
‘How come your stove doesn’t give off smoke?’ Meili asks, looking at the broad beans the woman has laid out to dry on the deck.
‘It’s a gas stove. Cost me a hundred yuan. Come and have a look at it, if you want.’
Meili fetches her hooked bamboo pole.
‘Always turn off your stove before you disembark,’ the woman says, her eyes beady as a cormorant’s. ‘If it topples over, your boat will burn to a cinder.’
Meili extends her pole, drags the woman’s boat towards hers then ties them together with rope.
‘The current is strong,’ the woman says. ‘Your boat will break free with a knot like that.’ She loosens Meili’s knot and reties it. ‘This is a bowline knot. It won’t slip.’
‘I should learn how to do that,’ says Meili, gripping her canopy. She glances into the woman’s spacious cabin, and inhales the fragrant smell of rice wafting from the pot on the gas stove.
After checking that Nannan is still asleep, Meili steps over onto the woman’s boat and squats on the cabin’s vinyl-covered floor. ‘What a great stove!’ she says, and looks at the clothes and hats hanging neatly on the wall next to a glossy calendar with a photograph of a woman in a long silver dress.
‘You should buy one. One canister will last you a whole week. And another tip: when a large vessel approaches head on, slow down and turn towards the bank so the waves hit you at right angles, or your boat will capsize. Ha! I could tell from the way you were gripping your canopy just now that you haven’t been on the river long. Is that your daughter sleeping in the cabin? Make sure she stays inside when the boat is moving, or she might fall overboard.’
‘You’re right. We only bought the boat a week ago. I haven’t got used to the constant movement. I feel as though I’m rocking on a swing the whole time. You have a television and an electric fan, I see. What luxury.’
‘We’ve lived on this boat for ten years. I still get seasick, though. Summers are tolerable, but in winter, if you don’t have an electric heater it’s as cold as the grave. Before the frost sets in, tell your husband to buy a mini generator and a heater or you’ll freeze to death.’