Mo Yan - Frog

I forced a smile. I know all about you, I said, you’re a mighty hero. Aren’t you insisting you want a second child? Well, that won’t happen if you ruin your health with this one.

Suddenly there was life in her eyes. You agree we’ll have a second child, she said excitedly. You just said so, I heard you. Did you hear that, Wuguan? You’re my witness.

Okay, I’m your witness, Wuguan said in a soft, muffled voice up front.

She lay back down compliantly and drew the quilt up over her head. You’d better be true to your word, Xiaopao, her voice came from underneath. You’ll have me to deal with if you don’t.

When our tractor reached the head of the village, we saw two people arguing on the bridge, and blocking our way.

My classmate Yuan Sai was having an argument with the villager who made clay figurines, Hao Dashou (Big Hand).

Hao Dashou was holding Yuan Sai by the wrist.

Let me go! Yuan Sai was yelling as he tried to break free. Let me go!

His struggles weren’t working.

Wuguan got down off the tractor and walked up to them. What’s going on here, guys? Who gets into a fight this early in the morning?

I’m glad you’re here, Wuguan, Yuan Sai said. You can talk some sense into him. He was pushing his cart in front of me, and I wanted to pass him on my bicycle. He was bearing to the left, so I went to the right. But when I got up right behind him, he shifted his arse and moved to the right. Fortunately, I’ve got good reflexes. I let go of the handlebars and jumped onto the bridge. I could have been dumped into the icy river with my bicycle. If it didn’t kill me, it would have crippled me. But Uncle Hao blames me for his cart winding up under the bridge.

Hao said nothing in rebuttal; he just held onto Yuan Sai’s wrist.

So I stepped down off the tractor with the baby in my arms. When my foot hit the ground, a sharp pain shot up my leg. Damn, it was cold that morning.

I hobbled up the bridge, where I saw a bunch of coloured clay dolls. Some were smashed, others were fine. A beat-up old bicycle lay on the icy surface of the eastern side of the bridge, a little yellow flag curled up alongside it. I knew without looking that the words ‘Little Immortal’ were embroidered on the flag. Yuan Sai, different from other people, had been odd even as a child. He could draw nails out of a cow’s belly with a magnet, he could geld pigs and dogs, and he was proficient in physiognomy, feng shui, geomantic omens, and the eight trigrams of the Book of Changes . Complimented by some people as the ‘Little Immortal’, he affixed an apricot yellow flag embroidered with those words to the rear rack of his bicycle, where it snapped in the wind. At the market, he planted the flag in the ground. His business flourished.

A wheelbarrow lay tipped over on the icy surface to the west; one handle was broken, as were the two willow baskets it had been carrying, the contents — dozens of clay dolls, most of them smashed — strewn across the ice. A tiny few remained whole and undamaged. Everyone was in awe of Hao Dashou, a true eccentric. Holding a lump of clay in his large, skillful hands, he’d fix his eyes on you and, in hardly any time, produce a remarkable likeness. He didn’t stop making his dolls even during the Cultural Revolution. Both his father and grandfather had made fine clay likenesses of children, but his were better than theirs. He made his living creating and selling human dolls only. He didn’t have to. He could also have made simple figurines of dogs, monkeys and tigers, which were popular with children, who were the primary customers for such artisans. Adults would not spend money on something their children did not like. But Hao Dashou made only children. He lived in a large house with five main rooms, two side rooms, and a big tent out in the yard; all were filled with clay figurines. Some were finished, with powdered faces and all the features in the right places; others were awaiting the application of colour. There was only enough empty space on his kang for him to lie down; the rest was cluttered with clay figurines. A man in his forties, he had a ruddy face and grey hair that was combed into a braid at the back. Even his beard was grey.

Neighbouring counties had figurine artisans too, but their dolls came from a single pattern and were identical. His were all made by hand, every one unique. People said: He made all the dolls in Northeast Gaomi Township. People said: Every resident of Northeast Gaomi Township can see what he looked like as a child. People said: He only went to market to sell dolls when he was out of rice. He sold his dolls with tears in his eyes, as if he were selling his own children. I could barely imagine the pain all those shattered dolls caused him. Why wouldn’t he hold Yuan Sai by the wrist?

I walked up, holding my baby in my arms. I’d been in the army so long, it would have felt unnatural to be in civilian clothes, so I’d accompanied Renmei to the hospital in uniform. A young military officer carrying a newborn infant had plenty of authority. Let Yuan Sai go, Uncle, I said. He didn’t mean to do it.

Yes, that’s right, Uncle, I didn’t mean it, Yuan Sai sobbed. Be forgiving. I’ll find someone to fix your wheelbarrow and baskets, and I’ll pay for the broken dolls.

For my sake, I said, and for the sake of my daughter and her mother, let him go so we can cross the bridge.

Renmei poked her head out from the cabin. Uncle Hao! she shouted. Can you make me an identical pair of boy dolls?

Popular wisdom in the township had it that if a woman bought one of Hao Dashou’s dolls, tied a red string around its neck, laid it at the head of the kang, and made offerings to it, she’d have a baby exactly like it. But Hao would not let people choose the dolls they wanted. Artisans in other counties laid their wares out on the ground for people to choose. Hao Dashou kept his in covered willow baskets. After sizing up the buyer, he’d reach into one of his baskets to take one out, and that would be the only one he’d sell you. If you complained it wasn’t attractive enough, he would not exchange it. With a sad smile on his lips, though he’d say nothing, you could almost hear him saying, Are there really parents who complain that their children are ugly? The more you look at the doll in your hand, the more it appeals to you, and the more alive it becomes, like a living breathing child. He won’t bargain with you, and if you don’t offer him money, he won’t ask for any. No one ever heard him say thanks when they did pay, and people gradually came around to feeling that buying one of his dolls was much the same as ordering a real child from him. The talk kept getting stranger. If the doll he sold you was a girl, they’d say, when you went home, you’d have a girl; if it was a boy doll, that’s what you’d have. And if he took out two, you’d go home and have twins. This was a totally mystical arrangement, one that held up as long as you didn’t talk about it. People like my wife were impossible to reason with, and no one but she would blatantly try to get a pair of boys out of him. By the time the mysterious talk about Hao Dashou first reached our ears, she was already pregnant. It only worked before a woman was pregnant.

For my sake, Dashou let go of Yuan Sai, who rubbed his wrist and sobbed, This has been a terrible day for me. I walked out the gate and saw a bitch piss in my direction, and, sure enough, I walked into trouble.

Hao bent down to pick up the broken doll pieces and tucked them into his jacket. Then he moved to the side of the bridge to let us pass. There was frost on his beard and a solemn look on his face.

What did she have? Yuan Sai asked.

A girl.

No problem. The next one will be a boy.

There’ll be no next one.