(2001) The Bonesetter's Daughter (23 page)

And that’s what happened. Precious Auntie stayed. I was the reason she stayed, her only reason to live. Five months after my birth in 1916, GaoLing was born to Mother, who had been forced by Great-Granny to claim me as her own. How could Mother say she had two babies five months apart? That was impossible. So Mother decided to wait. Exactly nine months after my birth, and on a very lucky date in 1917, GaoLing was born for sure.

The grown-ups knew the truth of our births. The children knew only what they were supposed to pretend. And though I was smart I was stupid. I did not ever question the truth. I did not wonder why Precious Auntie had no name. To others she was Nursemaid. To me, she was Precious Auntie. And I did not know who she really was until I read what she wrote.

“I am your mother,” the words said.

I read that only after she died. Yet I have a memory of her telling me with her hands, I can see her saying this with her eyes. When it is dark, she says this to me in a clear voice I have never heard. She speaks in the language of shooting stars.

CHANGE

In the year 1929, my fourteenth year, I became an evil person.

That was also the year the scientists, both Chinese and foreign, came to Dragon Bone Hill at the Mouth of the Mountain. They wore sun hats and Wellington boots. They brought shovels and poking sticks, sorting pans and fizzing liquids. They dug in the quarries, they burrowed in the caves. They went from medicine shop to medicine shop, buying up all the old bones. We heard rumors that the foreigners wanted to start their own dragon bone factories, and a dozen villagers went to the quarries with axes to chase them away.

But then some of the Chinese workers who dug for the scientists passed along the rumor that two of the dragon bones might have been teeth from a human head. And everyone thought they meant a recently dead one. From whose grave? Whose grandfather? Whose grandmother? Some people stopped buying dragon bones. Big signs in the medicine shops declared: “None of our remedies contains human parts.”

At the time, Precious Auntie still had four or five dragon bones left from our visits to the family cave, not counting the oracle bone her father had given her long ago. The others she had used as medicine for me over the years, and those, she assured me, were not human. Soon after she said this, her father, the Famous Bonesetter, came to her in a dream. “The bones you have are not from dragons,” he said. “They are from our own clan, the ancestor who was crushed in the Monkey’s Jaw. And because we stole them, he’s cursed us. That’s why nearly everyone in our family has died, your mother, your brother, myself, your future husband—because of this curse. And it doesn’t stop with death. Ever since I arrived in the World of Yin, his shadow has been jumping on me from every turn. If I were not already dead, I would have died of fright a thousand times.”

“What should we do?” Precious Auntie asked in her dream.

“Return the bones. Until they’re reunited with the rest of his body, he’ll continue to plague us. You’ll be next, and any future generations of our family will be cursed, too. Believe me, daughter, there is nothing worse than having your own relative out for revenge.”

The next morning, Precious Auntie rose early, and she was gone almost the entire day. When she returned, she seemed more at ease. But then the workmen from Dragon Bone Hill passed along this news: “The teeth,” they said, “are not only human but belong to a piece of skullcap from our oldest ancestors, one million years old!” “Peking Man” was what the scientists decided to call the skullcap. They just needed to find more pieces to make a whole skullcap, and a few more after that to connect his skull to his jaw, his jaw to his neck, his neck to his shoulders, and so on, until he was a complete man. That meant a lot of pieces had to be found, and that was why the scientists were asking the villagers to bring all the dragon bones they had lying around their houses and medicine shops. If the dragon bones proved to be from ancient humans, the owner would receive a reward.

One million years! Everyone kept saying this. One day they had no need to say this number, the next day they could not say it enough. Little Uncle guessed that a person might earn a million coppers for a single piece of dragon bone. And Father said, “Coppers are worth nothing these days. A million silver taels are more likely.” By guesses and arguments, the amount grew to be a million gold ingots. The whole town was talking about this. “Old bones grow new fat,” became the saying people had on their lips. And because dragon bones were now worth so much, at least in people’s wild imaginations, no one could buy them for medicine anymore. Those folks with life-draining ailments could no longer be cured. But what did that matter? They were the descendants of Peking Man. And he was famous.

Naturally, I thought about the dragon bones that Precious Auntie had put back in the cave. They were human, too—her father had said so in her dream. “We could sell them for a million ingots,” I told her. I reasoned I was not just thinking selfishly. If Precious Auntie made us rich, my family might respect her more.

A million or ten million,
she scolded with her moving hands,
if we sell them, the curse will return. A ghost will then come and take us and our miserable bones with it. Then we’ll have to wear the weight of those million ingots around our dead necks to bribe our way through hell.
She poked my forehead.
I tell you, the ghosts won’t rest until all of our family is dead. The entire family, gone.
She knocked her fist against her chest.
Sometimes I wish I were already dead. I wanted to die, really I did, but I came back for you.

“Well, I’m not afraid,” I answered. “And since the curse is on you and not me, I can go get the bones.”

Suddenly Precious Auntie slapped the side of my head.
Stop this talk!
Her hands sliced the air.
You want to add to my curse? Never go back. Never touch them. Say you won’t, say it now!
She grabbed my shoulders and rattled me until a promise fell out of my clacking mouth.

Later I daydreamed of sneaking to the cave. How could I sit by while everyone in the Mouth of the Mountain and the surrounding villages went looking for immortal relics? I knew where the human bones were, and yet I could say nothing. I had to watch as others gouged where their sheep chewed grass, gutted where their pigs wallowed in the mud. Even First Brother and Second Brother, along with their wives, dredged the remaining land between our compound and the cliff. From the muck they yanked out roots and worms. They guessed that these might be ancient men’s finger and toes, or even the fossilized tongue that spoke the first words of our ancestors. The streets filled with people trying to sell all kinds of dried-up relics, from chicken beaks to pig turds. In a short while, our village looked worse than a burial ground dug up by grave robbers.

Day and night the family talked of Peking Man and almost nothing else. “Million years?” Mother wondered aloud. “How can anyone know the age of someone who has been dead that long? Hnh, when my grandfather died, no one knew if he was sixty-eight or sixty-nine. Eighty was how long he should have lived, if only he had had better luck. So eighty was what our family decided he was—luckier, yes, but still dead.”

I, too, had something to say on the new discovery: “Why are they calling him Peking Man? The teeth came from the Mouth of the Mountain. And now the scientists are saying that skullcap was a woman’s. So it should be called Woman from the Mouth of the Mountain.” My aunts and uncles looked at me, and one of them said: “Wisdom from a child’s lips, simple yet true.” I was embarrassed to hear such high words. Then Gao-Ling added, “I think he should be called Immortal Heart Man. Then our town would be famous and so would we.” Mother praised her suggestion to the skies, and the others did as well. To my mind, however, her idea made no sense, but I could not say this.

I was often jealous when GaoLing received more attention from the mother we shared. I still believed I was the eldest daughter. I was smarter. I had done better in school. Yet GaoLing always had the honor of sitting next to Mother, of sleeping in her
k’ang,
while I had Precious Auntie.

When I was younger, that did not bother me. I felt I was lucky to have her by my side. I thought the words “Precious Auntie” were the same as what others meant by “Ma.” I could not bear to be separated from my nursemaid for even one moment. I had admired her and was proud that she could write the names of every flower, seed, and bush, as well as say their medicinal uses. But the bigger I grew, the more she shrank in importance. The smarter I thought I had become, the more I was able to reason that Precious Auntie was only a servant, a woman who held no great position in our household, a person no one liked. She could have made our family rich, if only she did not have crazy thoughts about curses.

I began to increase my respect for Mother. I sought her favor. I believed favor was the same as love. Favor made me feel more important, more content. After all, Mother was the number-one-ranking lady of the house. She decided what we ate, what colors we should wear, how much pocket money we received for those times she allowed us to go to the market. Everyone both feared her and wanted to please her, all except Great-Granny, who was now so feeble-minded she could not tell ink from mud.

But in Mother’s eyes, I had no charms. To her ears, my words had no music. It did not matter how obedient I was, how humble or clean. Nothing I did satisfied her. I became confused as to what I must do to please her. I was like a turtle lying on its back, struggling to know why the world was upside down.

Often I complained to Precious Auntie that Mother did not love me.
Stop your nonsense,
Precious Auntie would answer.
Didn’t you hear her today? She said your sewing stitches were sloppy. And she mentioned your skin was getting too dark. If she didn’t love you, why did she bother to criticise you for your own good?
And then Precious Auntie went on to say how selfish I was, always thinking about myself. She said my face looked ugly when I pouted. She criticized me so much I did not consider until now that she was saying she loved me even more.

One day—I remember this was sometime before Spring Festival—Old Cook came back from the market and said big news was flying through Immortal Heart. Chang the coffinmaker had become famous and was soon to be very rich. Those dragon bones he had given to the scientists? The results had come back: They were human. How old was not certain yet, but everyone guessed they were at least a million years, maybe even two.

We were in the ink-making studio, all the women, girls, and babies, except for Precious Auntie, who was in the root cellar, counting the ink-sticks she had already carved. I was glad she wasn’t in the studio, because whenever anyone mentioned Chang’s name, she spat. So when he delivered wood, she was sent to her room, where she cursed him by banging on a pail so long and loud that even the tenants yelled back.

“What a peculiar coincidence,” Big Aunt now said. “The same Mr. Chang who sells us wood. His luck could have been ours just as easily.”

“The association goes back even farther than that,” Mother boasted. “He was the man who stopped his cart to help after Baby Brother was killed by the Mongol bandits. A man of good deeds, that Mr. Chang.”

It seemed there was no end to the many ways we were connected to the now famous Mr. Chang. Since Mr. Chang would soon be even richer than before, Mother thought he would surely reduce the price of his leftover wood. “He should share his luck,” Mother agreed with herself. “The gods expect him to do no less.”

Precious Auntie came back to the ink studio, and in a short while she realized who it was everyone was talking about. She stamped her feet and punched the air with her fists.
Chang is evil,
she said, her arms flailing.
He killed my father. He is the reason Hu Sen is dead.
She made a rasping sound as if the whole of her throat would slough off.

That was not true, I thought. Her father had fallen off a wagon when he was drunk, and Baby Uncle had been kicked by his own horse. Mother and my aunts had told me so.

Precious Auntie grabbed my arm. She looked into my eyes, then talked fast with her hands,
Tell them, Doggie, tell them what I’m saying is true. And the dragon bones Chang has,
and she poured imaginary ones into her palm,
I realise now that they probably are the ones that belonged to myfather, my family. Chang stole them from us on my wedding day. They were my dowry. They are bones from the Monkey’s Jaw. We need to get them back from Chang, return them to the cave or the curse will go on and on. Hurry, tell them.

Before I could, Mother warned: “I don’t want to hear any more of her crazy stories. Do you hear me, Daughter?”

Everyone stared at me, including Precious Auntie.
Tell them,
she signaled. But I turned to Mother, nodded, and said, “I heard.” Precious Auntie ran out of the ink studio with a choking sound that twisted my heart and made me feel evil.