Bi Feiyu - Three Sisters

Worst of all for Yuxiu were the men. They never failed to give her the eye when they walked by and greeted her with salacious smiles, as if they were reliving indulgent pleasures. Such knowing looks were unspoken claims of mutual understanding as if the men were tied to her in countless ways. In front of others, the smiles were replaced by sanctimonious looks that said “Nothing wrong here.” How sickening. That’s not to say she was unaware that something had happened between them and her. But terrifying fear kept her from bringing it into the open. They, of course, weren’t about to either. Which made them coconspirators—joint keepers of a secret. She was one of them.

Fortunately Yuxiu had enough self-awareness to avoid crowds unless it was absolutely necessary. That brought her a measure of tranquillity, but not without a cost: She became unbearably lonely. As someone who was used to being popular, this change was especially hard to take. The only people she felt comfortable around were the most inferior, those shunned by everyone else. Either they came from families with bad backgrounds, or they weren’t very smart, or they were seen as flighty. Before all this had happened, Yuxiu would have shunned them too. Now that she had no choice, she derived little joy and rather a lot of unhappiness and bitterness from her association with them. But there it was again—she had no choice.

That’s not to say they didn’t get along, mainly because they idolized her and were proud to be seen as her friends. They looked up to her and saw her as their model, and she found that gratifying. They followed in her wake, emulating everything she did and said, as if she had joined their ranks. Their looks of pride, however, only made them appear even more stupid. If they had a disagreement with someone else, words that Yuxiu had used became their weapon.

“That’s what Yuxiu said,” was their declaration of war. “That’s how Yuxiu does it” would be spoken with passion, the speakers secure in the knowledge that they had nothing to fear. It removed all doubt. This gave Yuxiu a sense of accomplishment, for she placed great stock in the effect she had on people.

“Better to be the head of a chicken than the tail of a phoenix” was her motto. Everything seemed to be going well, but the good times could not last. One day she made such a fool of herself that she could no longer stay in Wang Family Village. The incident centered on Zhang Huaizhen, who lived nearby, one lane over. Although Zhang and Yuxiu had never been close in the past, she was an intelligent girl, not one to be taken lightly. Fate had dictated that she be born into the wrong family—a very bad family, in fact.

Just how bad was complicated and requires more than a brief explanation. The girl had reached marrying age, but none of the prospective matches had panned out. So the matchmaker proposed what she considered the perfect match—in this case, the grandson of a national traitor. The boy agreed and sent over a jin of brown sugar, another of white sugar, coupons for two jin of grain, a coupon for six chi of fabric, and two and a half jin of streaky pork. All in all, a generous amount of betrothal gifts. Huaizhen said no, and nothing could change her mind, not even her mother’s persuasive arguments.

She returned the gifts and immediately turned into a willing mute, going all day long without saying a word. People in the village assumed that the matchmaker had said something so hurtful that the girl had stopped talking. The matchmaker, who’d suffered a great loss of face, pointed at a bitch on the side of the road and said, “You think you can open those legs of yours and win over the masses. Well, dream on.” At that moment, Zhang Huaizhen vowed to never marry. From that day on, she walked around with the face of a widow, ignoring everyone who came to her door with marriage proposals.

Then for some reason she and Yuxiu became friends, able to talk freely about all manner of things. Having a friend like Yuxiu instilled a sense of pride in Huaizhen, who was transformed into a real chatterbox, never failing to sing Yuxiu’s praises to anyone who would listen. On this particular afternoon, she met Yuxiu on the bridge on her way home from the fields, carrying a hoe on her shoulder.

Huaizhen was not quite herself that day, possibly because there were so many people around. Wanting to show everyone that she and Yuxiu were more than ordinary friends, she ostentatiously draped her arm around Yuxiu’s shoulder just as a group of young men were walking up. Wanting to look good, Yuxiu tried to toss her hair, but it was caught under Huaizhen’s arm.

“Take your arm away, Huaizhen,” she said. But instead, Huaizhen hugged Yuxiu even closer, which pulled Yuxiu’s blouse to the side and gave her a slovenly look. Yuxiu was very unhappy, so she wrinkled her nose and said, “Huaizhen, why is your underarm odor so strong?”

Everyone heard her. Huaizhen was stunned that Yuxiu would say something like that. Without a word, she removed her arm, turned, and walked home. By dinnertime that night, Yuxiu’s calamity was on its way, although she did not know it. She was eating a bowl of rice porridge at the head of the lane when a group of a dozen or so boys from five to about eight years in age walked up to her door, each with a handful of broad beans. “ Kuang kuang kuang, ” they hollered as they ate the beans, “Piss Pot Wang, kuang kuang kuang, Shit Can Wang.” At first she didn’t pay attention and wasn’t sure what Piss Pot Wang and Shit Can Wang referred to. But she quickly figured out what they meant.

The real hurt came from the word “Wang.” In other words, the boys were calling her “Queen of the Piss Pot” and “Queen of the Shit Can.” She simply stood there, rice bowl in one hand, chopsticks in the other, and acted dumb. She couldn’t make them stop, and they were so loud that several other kids walked up to join them. Crowds are like that: As long as they make enough noise, plenty of people will join in. This particular crowd kept getting bigger and began taking on the look of a parade.

They yelled so loud that their faces turned red and their necks thickened.

“ Kuang kuang kuang, Piss Pot Wang, kuang kuang kuang, Shit Can Wang, kuang kuang kuang, Piss Pot Wang, kuang kuang kuang, Shit Can Wang.”

Too young to realize what they were doing, they thought that they were just having fun. But while they may not have known what they were saying, people who heard them did. Things were getting interesting. Before Yuxiu knew it, the lane was filled with people, mostly adults. As if they were watching an outdoor opera, they laughed and talked and had a grand time. Piss Pot and Shit Can.

At first the words had only hinted at something, and were little more than a verbal game. But not now. They had floated to the surface, had gone public, and had taken on fixed meanings. They had become slogans invested with deep emotional impact. Everyone who witnessed the incident knew that.

Meanwhile, Yuxiu stood there not knowing what to say or do, and her face underwent a slow change. She felt a greater shame than if she had been standing there naked. She might as well have been a dog. The sun was about to set behind the mountain, and the sky above Wang Family Village turned blood red. As she stood in the lane, Yuxiu felt like biting someone, but she didn’t have the strength. The soupy rice had long since dribbled down her chin. “ Kuang kuang kuang, Piss Pot Wang. Kuang kuang kuang, Shit Can Wang! Kuang kuang kuang, Piss Pot Wang. Kuang kuang kuang, Shit Can Wang!” It had a nice ring to it, like a chant.

Before she left home, Yuxiu swore that once she walked out the front door, she would never again set foot in Wang Family Village. She’d be ashamed to show her face in this place. She had no interest in settling scores with its residents. If everyone is your enemy, it is the same as having no enemies. When there are too many lice, you stop scratching.