Bi Feiyu - Three Sisters

The supply and marketing co-op had not been Yumi’s first choice. She’d have preferred an assignment to the grain-purchasing station. And for good reason. The purchasing station was on the river, near Broken Bridge’s largest concrete pier, and it was where all boats to and from the commune tied up or passed by. She figured that if she was put in charge of the scales, a position of authority, anyone who came to town from Wang Family Village could not help but notice her. She had it all worked out. But on second thought, managing scales was dirty work that would keep her out on the pier, and that was not a proper job for someone who lived in town. Clerking at the co-op was more respectable. Better surroundings, lighter work. So, after carefully weighing the pros and cons of each, she settled on the co-op. It was not a permanent position, but she’d get nearly three yuan more in wages. But then, what about the purchasing station job? That should go to someone in her family, of course. At first she thought of Yusui, but she was too empty-headed for that kind of work. No, Yuxiu was the right choice. Intelligent and attractive, she was better suited for life in town than Yusui.

But Yumi had no sooner arrived at her decision than a troubling thought surfaced. I’ve been pinned down in bed, selling what’s between my legs, while that little tramp Yuxiu would land a good job. She’d be in better shape than me.

But that thought did not last. Isn’t what I’m doing the best way to win back some dignity for my family? It’s worth it.

Now Yumi’s most important tasks were to keep performing in bed—doing what he liked best—and to get pregnant as soon as possible. It was critical to take advantage of his sense of newness; if she got pregnant now, managing him would be easy. If not, once the novelty wore off, who’s to say what he’d do? Men are like that. What they want is sex. Feelings mean nothing to them. A woman could have a ton of feelings for a man, and that would not count as much to him as the several ounces she carries on her chest.

Yumi had barely begun working at the co-op and had not found the right moment to talk to Guo Jiaxing about Yuxiu when her sister unexpectedly came to town. She showed up at Guo Jiaxing’s office before nine in the morning, her face wet with dew and sweat. Guo was at his desk reading the paper, but not taking in a word because he was dreamily recalling some of Yumi’s tricks in bed. Sex was all he had on his mind. He rubbed his bald head and sighed, sounding like a man disappointed in himself.

The old house has gone up in flames and can’t be saved, he said to himself. He was not really upset; the sigh was more a display of that special happiness only an aging man knows. So there he sat, happily analyzing the good fortune that had befallen him, when a girl appeared in the doorway of his office. He’d never seen her before and guessed her to be about sixteen or seventeen.

Quickly wiping the expression off of his face, he lowered his newspaper and coughed dryly. He stared at the girl, who showed no hint of fear or any sign of leaving. So, after laying the paper down on the glass top of his desk and sliding the teacup to one side, he leaned back in his chair and said gruffly, “Who let you in here?”

The girl blinked several times and smiled sweetly. “Comrade,” she said abruptly, “you’re my brother-in-law, aren’t you?”

That sounded so funny to Guo that he felt like laughing, but he didn’t. He stood up, clasped his hands behind his back, and shut his eyes. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Wang Yumi’s third sister, my name is Wang Yuxiu. I arrived this morning from Wang Family Village, and you’re my brother-in-law. That’s what the man at the entrance said. You’re my brother-in-law.” The word “brother-in-law” in her crisp voice carried a distinct feel of intimacy, the closeness of family. The deputy director of the revolutionary committee in charge of the People’s Militia could tell at a glance that the girl was Yumi’s sister; the resemblance was unmistakable. But she obviously lacked Yumi’s manners and did not appear to share her sister’s temperament. She was like one of those unbalanced Japanese machine guns, indiscriminately strafing the area— tatatata. Guo walked to the doorway and pointed outside. Then he curled his finger and said, “She’s in the shoe and hat department at the co-op.”

Yuxiu had arrived in Broken Bridge at a little after seven and had already taken a turn around the open-air market. This was not a casual visit. She had come with the express and unwavering purpose of putting herself in the hands of her elder sister. She could no longer stay in Wang Family Village, and the main reason was that Yusui had forced her to wear two labels: “Piss Pot” and “Shit Can.”

Once those epithets began making the rounds, she could not hold her head up in the village. Worst of all, it had been her sister, not a stranger, who had coined those terms of abuse in front of a bunch of girls. There was no one else to blame. Piss Pot. And Shit Can. They had quickly become her nicknames. While a nickname isn’t a real name, often it can be more you than your real name. It zeroes in on your flaws and your most vulnerable sore spots.

Hearing one is like being skinned alive. Even ten thousand pairs of pants cannot cover up your shame. Nicknames are poison to the person they’re given to, everyone knows that. But they are not static; they have an uncanny ability to expand, and that is what Yuxiu found intolerable. Piss Pot for instance. Why not piss bottle, or vat, or jug, or jar, or ladle, or basin, or bowl, or saucer, or vase, or roof tile?

None of these had had any intrinsic relationship to Yuxiu, but that had all changed. Now they constituted a sinister threat, the ability to ruthlessly reveal the unspeakable secret of her shamed body.

These common objects could be found anywhere; and so could Yuxiu’s shame. She was not being paranoid, that was not it at all. When she was talking with someone who mentioned one of those objects, the person would stop and flash an apologetic look, pregnant with meaning. It was a true affirmation, binding all those everyday objects to Yuxiu, quietly but with inescapable permanence. Once something like that attaches itself to you, it strips you naked in front of a crowd. Covering the top exposes the bottom, and covering the bottom reveals the top. Sure, the crowd feels sorry for you. Out of sympathy they keep from saying anything, pretending, as if by mutual agreement, that they didn’t hear what was said. To protect your feelings, no one laughs. At least not out loud. But you can see laughter in their eyes, and that silent laughter is far more hurtful, holds greater cruelty than spoken curses. Like sharp teeth that can snap shut on you at any time, it is an embodiment of the explosive power of jaws that can crush you at will. Deadly. Too much for Yuxiu. Even the most tenacious head must bow before it. It is a situation against which no defense is possible. In her case, such indefensible situations did not always involve external forces. Sometimes they cropped up within Yuxiu herself. Shit Can is one example. It was a taboo, and so she avoided all words dealing with toilets and such, whether she was relieving herself or emptying the commode. And as the restrictions grew, her freedom of movement diminished. She hated having to use the commode, for big or for small. Every time she peed, it made a despicable sound, underscoring her loss of dignity, her shamefulness. If only she didn’t have to go. But she did. So she only went on the sly, each visit to the toilet making her feel like a thief. She held it in during the day and she held it in at night, and she even had nightmares about peeing that woke her up. In one of those terrible dreams she hunted for a place to pee, and this eventually led her to a deserted sorghum field. But she no sooner squatted down than a crowd of girls descended upon her. “Yuxiu,” they whispered, “Shit Can.” With a start she woke up. She saw people everywhere, faces with mouths and pairs of laughing eyes above them.