Bi Feiyu - Three Sisters

She could not bear to look at herself. You call that a figure? Is that really Yuxiu? She was a startling, scary sight to herself. She could not see her feet. They were blocked by a bulge, a protrusion that stretched her belly into a round, thin, inky, ugly balloon that would pop if pricked with a needle. With the belly unbound, the naughty little imp inside was so happy it couldn’t keep its little paws quiet. It even knew how to tease her. When she put her hand on the left side, it would rush over to kick that spot, as if to remind her that it was still there. When she moved her hand to the right, it took no time for the imp to rush over and give her another kick, as if inviting her to come in for a visit. So she moved her hand around, left and right, here and there, sending the imp into a flurry of movement until, exhausted and upset, it began to ignore her.

She whispered to herself, “Come, come over to Mama.” Never imagining that she would say something like that, Yuxiu was shocked and stunned by how she had blurted out the word “Mama.” She froze at the thought. But Yuxiu was going to be a mother. Tender feelings rose up inside, causing her shoulders to sag, as if she were gradually swirling into herself, one eddy after another. She seemed to be on the verge of total collapse as she thought to herself, Yuxiu, you’re soon to be a mother; you’re going to have your own child. Her heart constricted, nearly crushed by the thought. She could not face herself; she simply couldn’t. She sat vacantly on the edge of the bed for a long time before snatching up the sash, wrapping it around her belly, and pulling at it, tighter and tighter, as if to crush herself. “Don’t move again. Do you hear me?” she said to her belly. “It’s your fault, and I’m going to crush you.”

While she wanted to hate the baby, nothing could subdue the love she felt for it; they were bound by flesh and blood. Sometimes she’d think about only herself and at other times about the baby; she was happy sometimes and anguished at others. In the end, she could no longer tell how she felt. She was lost. She had originally planned to enjoy a pleasant New Year’s holiday, since it wasn’t far off and wouldn’t last long. When it was over, she’d steel herself and end it all. But she abruptly changed her mind because she could not and would not live on. She was too tired and near the point of exhaustion and fatigue; a single day began to feel like a year. If she couldn’t go on, then why force the issue? Why not end it early and save herself all that trouble? So one evening, when dinner was over, she finished her chores, hummed a few lines of Henan opera, and chatted briefly with Yumi. Then she locked herself in the room behind the kitchen, where she began combing and braiding her hair, making sure the braids were tight so they would not come loose in a strong wind or become unraveled from the motion of rolling waves. It would be terrible if her hair spread out in the water and gave her a crazed look. When her hair was done, she wrapped her wages in a piece of cloth and tucked the bundle under her pillow so Yumi could buy some nice clothes for her. She laid down the house key, turned out the light, and walked over to the cement pier at the grain-purchasing station.

The night sky was black; the air freezing cold. The wide river flowed past the station; a lake stood off in the distance. Nothing stirred on the surface of the water except the flickering lights on a couple of fishing boats, creating a static, gloomy chill. Yuxiu shivered as she walked down the cement steps all the way to the water’s edge, where she dipped her right foot in to see how cold it was. An icy chill bored into her bones and quickly spread through her body. She pulled her foot out and stepped backward. But only for a moment. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the cold, she mocked herself. You’re here to die, so go ahead.

She took four steps into the water, stopping when it reached her knees and looking out at the eerie dark surface; there was nothing to see, but she sensed an empty vastness, a submerging depth. Tiny wavelets beat at the legs of her pants like small hands grabbing at her. Tiny hands that filled the watery depth reached out for her, each with many furry fingers cramming their way into her heart. A bone-piercing panic sent her back to dry land, where, because of her big belly, she fell the moment she reached the steps. Sprawled on the ground, she gulped down mouthfuls of air before she could get up and walk back toward the water. This time she did not get far before her thoughts grew tangled and she was gripped by fear. She managed only two steps.

Throw yourself in, she demanded. Go ahead, do it and everything will be fine. She couldn’t do it. The terror of dying is the most intense right at the moment before death. Yuxiu shook all over, desperately wishing there was someone to push her. Standing up to her knees in water, she exhausted her courage and returned to dry land in despair. Death, naturally, begets greater despondence than life. But sometimes the reverse is true.

The purchasing station held a secret, which was that everyone at the station knew Yuxiu’s secret. And that meant that all of Broken Bridge held a secret, which was that everyone in town knew Yuxiu’s secret. She assumed that no one knew, but they all did. This is generally how private matters are treated. It is as if they were screened by a sheet of paper so flimsy it cannot withstand a simple poke but so sturdy that everyone will avoid it. Only country folk are so uncouth and impatient that they need to get to the bottom of things at once. Townsfolk aren’t like that at all. Some things are not meant to be poked open; exposing them spoils the fun. What’s the hurry? You cannot wrap fire in paper; sooner or later it will burn through and everything will be exposed. That is more spectacular, more appealing.

So everyone in Broken Bridge waited patiently; they were in no hurry. One fine day our comrades will reveal themselves, so let’s wait and see. It won’t take long. Why be in such a hurry if they’re not? Really, there’s no need.

The winter of 1971 was bitterly cold, particularly at the purchasing station, where the open space let the wind blow in from all directions. During lunch breaks the older employees preferred to stand in front of the wall, facing the sun for warmth. But not the younger ones—they had their own ways to keep warm. They gathered in groups in an open space to play shuttlecock or jump rope or play hawk catching a chicken. [8] A game resembling tag. Yuxiu told everyone that she did not know how to play shuttlecock, but she actively participated in jumping rope and worked hard at hawk catching a chicken because that was a way to show that she was like everyone else. She tried her best, but her bulging clumsiness was revealed for all to see. It was a sight they enjoyed. She did relatively well jumping rope since that was something she could do alone. Hawk catching a chicken was different because it required the cooperation and coordination of all the “chickens.” As part of the group, Yuxiu’s obvious difference made her the weakest link, and this always led to the group’s defeat. But the people preferred watching her play hawk catching a chicken over jumping rope, especially when she was last in line. The sluggish “tail” became the hawk’s favorite target. But it was in no hurry to catch her; instead, just when it was about to get her in its clutches, it turned and attacked from the other side. As a result, Yuxiu was forced to keep dashing around without ever being able to catch up with the rest of the “chickens.”

Her neck stretched out ahead of her as she was constantly being flung out of the team and onto the ground. It was an amusing sight to see her sprawled on the ground, where she took in little air no matter how hard she breathed. All she could do was open her mouth wide while more air went out than came in. It was even more entertaining when she tried to get up; lying flat on her back, she smiled like a flower in bloom but could not pick herself up. She looked like an overturned turtle that can only paw the air as it tries but fails to right itself. At such times, she had to roll over and then bend forward to push herself up onto her knees. Everyone laughed at the childish movements; so did she. “I’ve put on some weight,” she’d say. No one would respond, unwilling to agree that she’d gained weight or refute that she’d gotten heavier. Consequently, her comment turned into a pointless monologue, devoid of any real significance.