Bi Feiyu - Three Sisters

And then, at that very moment, Youqing’s wife appeared. Wanting to hide the contents of her bundle, Yumi carelessly let something fall to the ground. It was her photograph. It lay there, a base, shameless object that had the audacity to smile. Youqing’s wife saw it before Yumi could grind it into the roadway with her foot, and the look on her face revealed that she knew everything. Yumi was ashamed to even look at Youqing’s wife, who bent down and picked up the photograph. But when she straightened up she saw danger in Yumi’s eyes. Fierce determination showed in those eyes, the composure of someone unafraid to face death. Youqing’s wife grabbed Yumi by the shoulders and dragged her off to her house, where she led her into the bedroom, a poorly lit room in which Yumi’s gaze appeared unusually bright and extraordinarily hard. Emerging from a face that was otherwise blank, that brightness and hardness had a terrifying effect. Taking Yumi by the hand, Youqing’s wife pleaded with her, “Yumi, go ahead and cry, for my sake at least.”

That comment softened Yumi’s gaze, which slowly shifted toward Youqing’s wife. As her lips twitched, Yumi said softly, “Sister Fenxiang.” Though barely audible, those two words seemed to spray from her mouth like flesh and blood, like beams of blood-tinged light. Youqing’s wife was stunned, never expecting Yumi to call her that. In all the years since marrying into Wang Family Village, what, in effect, was she, Youqing’s wife? A sow, maybe, or a bitch? Who had ever actually viewed her as a woman? Being addressed as Sister Fenxiang by Yumi knocked over her emotional spice bottle and filled her with even greater sadness than Yumi felt. She could not contain herself; a shout burst from her throat as she flung herself onto Yumi’s body and smothered her sobs on the girl’s breast. As she did so, there was a sudden movement in her belly. It was, she knew instinctively, a kick from the tiny Wang Lianfang. Thoughts of what was inside her took the edge off her emotional turmoil and kept her from sobbing or making any more sounds. If not for Wang Lianfang, she and Yumi could well have enjoyed a close sisterly relationship. But the girl was Wang’s eldest daughter, an inescapable fact that closed off all possibilities. Youqing’s wife could say nothing. And so, after steadying her breathing, she managed to get her emotions under control.

As Youqing’s wife raised her head and dried her tears, she saw that Yumi’s gaze had settled on her. The absence of any observable emotion behind that look threw a fright into her. Yumi’s face was ashen, but there was nothing unusual about her expression, and Youqing’s wife found that hard to imagine. But there it was, not something that could be faked. “Yumi,” she said warily.

Yumi pulled her head back. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to kill myself. I want to see what happens next. You can help me by not saying anything to anybody about this.”

She actually smiled when she said this, and although the smile lacked the appearance of mockery, the intent was unmistakable. Youqing’s wife knew that Yumi was chiding her for being nosy. Yumi took off her jacket and wrapped the photographs and letters up in it. Then, without a word, she opened the door and walked out, leaving Youqing’s wife alone and frozen in her bedroom.

See what I’ve done, she said to herself. I wanted to help out but wound up being a busybody. If any of this gets out, Yumi will hate me even more.

Yumi slept through the afternoon. Then in the quiet, late hours of the night she went into the kitchen and lay down behind the stove, where she unbuttoned her blouse and gently fondled her breasts. Although it was her hands that were moving, the sensation was the same as if Peng Guoliang were fondling her. What a shame it had to be her own hands. Slowly she moved them down to the spot where she had stopped him. But this time she was going to do for him what she had not allowed him to do. She lay weakly on the straw, her body gradually heating up, hotter and hotter, uncontrollably, feverishly hot, so she forced herself to stir. But no matter how she moved, it didn’t feel right. She hungered for a man to fill her up and, at the same time, finish her off. It didn’t matter who, so long as it was a man. In those quiet, late hours of the night, Yumi was again consumed by regret. And as remorse took over, her fingers abruptly jammed their way inside. The sharp pain actually brought with it enormous comfort. The insides of her thighs were irrigated by a warm liquid. You unwanted cunt, she thought to herself, what made you think you should save yourself for the bridal chamber?

Unhappy women are all subject to the same phenomenon: Marriage comes with unanticipated suddenness. During the three months of summer, the busiest season, farmers are fighting for time with the soil. Yumi shocked everyone by getting married during these busy days. Acres of wheat had turned yellow under a blazing sun, spiky awns reaching up to reflect light in all directions like static fountains. At this time of year the sun’s rays are fragrant, carrying the aroma of wheat as they light up the ground and cast a veil over the villages. But for farmers, these are not pleasure-filled days, for the feminine qualities of the earth are heaving with the passion of ovulation and birthing, passions beyond their control as they grow soft in the sunlight and exude bursts of the rich, mellow essence of their being. The earth yearns to be overturned by the hoe and the plow, and thus be reborn, and to let the early summer waters flow over and submerge it. Moans of pleasure escape at the moment the earth is bathed and slowly freed from its bindings, bringing contentment and tranquillity. Exhausted, it falls into a sound, blissful sleep. The earth takes on the new face of a watery bride. With her eyes shut, a blush rises and falls on her face, a silent command and a silent plea: “Come on, more, I want more.” The farmers dare not slack off; their hair, their sleeves, and their mouths are covered with the smell of new wheat.

But, filled with elation, they put that smell aside, muster their strength, and rush about, picking up seedlings and planting them in the ground, one at a time, each in a spot that satisfies the earth. Bent at the waist, the farmers never cut corners, for every seedling that enters the ground depends on their movements. Ten acres, a hundred, a thousand, vast fields of seedlings. At first the little plants are strawlike, pliant, bashful, and because of the water, narcissistic. But in a matter of days the earth becomes aware of the secret it possesses and is at peace. It is languid; soft snores emerge from its sleep.

Amid this flurry of activity, Yumi’s wedding got under way. Viewed in retrospect, she was in too big a hurry to get married, much the same as Liu Fenxiang. But Yumi’s wedding easily outstripped Fenxiang’s. She was fetched in a speedboat reserved for the exclusive use of commune officials, on which two red cut-out “double happiness” characters were affixed to the windshield.

Yumi’s match had been arranged by her father. Shortly after the Qingming festival had passed and the weather began to warm, just as farmers were soaking their seeds, Wang Lianfang returned to Wang Family Village to pick up some clothes for his use elsewhere. After supper, having no place to go, he sat at the table smoking a cigarette. Yumi stood in the kitchen doorway and called to him. She did not say “Papa,” but called him “Wang Lianfang.”

Hearing his daughter call him by name struck Wang Lianfang as unusual. He stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and walked slowly into the kitchen, where Yumi was looking down at the floor, hands behind her back as she stood against the wall. Wang Lianfang pulled up a stool, sat down, and lit a second cigarette. “So,” he said, “what do you want?”