Three Sisters (11 page)

The movie was over, and Yuye was still not home, which could only mean that she was with Yuxiu, who was probably up to no good. Yumi knew Yuxiu well. Since Yuye was with her, she could dump all the blame for coming home late on her younger sister. Yumi waited until it was all quiet outside, and there was still no sign of Yuxiu and Yuye. Finally, having run out of patience, she threw a jacket over her shoulders, slipped on a pair of shoes, and stormed out the door.

Her search took her to a haystack beside the threshing floor, where she found her sisters among a crowd of moviegoers who had lingered around a blazing lantern.

"Yuxiu!" she shouted.

"Yuye!"

No answer, although all the heads turned to see who it was. Disembodied faces silhouetted in the light of the lantern lit up the surrounding darkness, creating a strange tableau of dark and light. Not a word emerged from the expressionless faces carved into the ghostly night. As Yumi stood dazed by the sight, a premonition of dread burst from her chest. The crowd parted for her as she walked up to where Yuxiu and Yuye sat dumbly on a bed of straw, both naked from the waist down. Straw clung to their bodies, stuck to their hair, and poked out from between their teeth and the corners of their mouths. The only movement from Yuxiu was the rapid blinking of eyes that were virtually lifeless. Yumi, who knew at once what had happened, stood there staring at her sisters, her mouth hanging slack. Now that Yumi was among them, the crowd left the lantern where it was and drifted off. The outlines of their backs bled into the darkness. There was no one left, but it felt as if no one
had
left.

Yumi knelt down on the straw and put her sisters' pants back on. Both girls' crotches were soaked in blood that was mixed with another sticky substance. A strange and eerie odor rose from their pants. After cleaning them off with handfuls of straw, Yumi took each of them by the hand and led them home in the darkness. The lantern remained on the ground, throwing its light on the haystack, a mound of gold ringed by inky darkness. A passing breeze tossed Yumi's hair, which nearly covered her face. Yuxiu and Yuye shivered. They looked like a pair of wobbly scarecrows. Yumi stopped suddenly, turned, and grabbed Yuxiu by the shoulders.

"Tell me, who did this?" she asked, shaking her. "Who did it?" she shouted. The shaking sent her own hair flying. "Who..." she screamed.

It was Yuye who answered. "I don't know. Lots of them."

Yumi sat down on the ground—hard.

Even though he was far away from the village, news of the incident still managed to reach Peng Guoliang. His next letter was but a single sentence: "Tell me, did someone take you to bed?" The accusatory tone was obvious to Yumi more than one thousand
li
away and ushered in a dramatic change in her situation. That one sentence knocked the wind out of her; suddenly, she felt cold, her strength gone. Fear gripped her. She saw a hand circle over Yuxiu and Yuye before slowly turning to point at her. Even though the sun lit up the area, she could not identify the hand as it vanished into total darkness. Not only had her fellow villagers read Peng Guoliang's letters, but they had also written to him for her. How was she going to answer him now? How could she tell him what had happened? She thought and thought until her brain virtually stopped functioning. Peng Guoliang was the family's last potential mainstay. If this airplane flew away, Yumi's sky would fall. She took out her packet of stationery and laid it on the desk. After crumpling up several sheets and ripping up several more, she began to see herself as a sheet of paper floating in the air, and no matter where the winds took her, the result was always the same—she was either ripped to shreds or trampled into the ground. Which of those passing feet would willingly pass up the chance to step on it? The curiosity of feet would determine the fate of the sheet of paper. As a veil of silence settled over the deepening night, Yumi picked up her red Hero fountain pen with its iridium nib, not to write a letter, but to start a conversation with Peng Guoliang, even though she knew it was an empty gesture. She dawdled for the longest time until she discovered that she had actually written something, lines that she found utterly shocking. When had she written that? How incredibly brazen it was—and incredibly self-indulgent. This is what she'd written: "Elder Brother Guoliang, I hold you fast in my heart. No one is closer to me. You are the love of my life." Already sensing that she was not overburdened with shame, Yumi was surprised to discover that she had the nerve to write such things.

When she wrote them a second time, she felt her chest swell. Her eyes fell on the lantern wick, which would now take Peng Guoliang's place. His warmth and brightness were arrayed before her. "Elder Brother Guoliang, I hold you fast in my heart. No one is closer to me. You are the love of my life," she wrote again; it was the only thing she was able to write, since nothing else came to her. They were, after all, words that had been hidden in the deepest recesses of her heart, and it took all the courage she possessed to bring them out into the open. Now, for the first time ever, she found the boldness to "say" them. What else was there for her to say at this point? Only this, over and over, just these few words. And so she filled five sheets of paper with them and would have filled more if she'd had them. Five sheets of paper all covered with those few words. The next morning she read every word on those five sheets of paper several times until she could no longer bear it and bathed all five with her tears. If Guoliang cannot hear the words that fill my heart, she told herself, then everything I say will fall on deaf ears, separated as we are by tall mountains and long rivers.

She mailed her letter, after which she looked for something to keep herself busy; but she found nothing. So she decided to simply rest, and as she sat in a chair, she fell asleep.

During the days that Yumi waited for a return letter, she turned Hongbing over to Yusui, since she wanted to wait for the postman at the bridgehead. She fretted over the contents of Peng Guoliang's return letter. If he was going to tell her he no longer wanted her, that letter must not fall into the hands of anyone else. She was prepared to take a knife to anyone who even attempted to open her letter. That would be too great a loss of face. So she waited at the bridgehead, but no letter came. What arrived in its place was a bundle that included Yumi's photographs and all the letters she'd sent to Peng Guoliang. All those ugly missives in her own hand. As she looked down at her photographs and handwritten letters, the anguish she'd anticipated did not materialize for some reason. What she felt instead was a crippling embarrassment, such a deep-seated embarrassment she felt like jumping off the bridge.

And then, at that very moment, Youqing's wife appeared. Wanting to hide the contents of her bundle, Yumi carelessly let something fall to the ground. It was her photograph. It lay there, a base, shameless object that had the audacity to smile. Youqing's wife saw it before Yumi could grind it into the roadway with her foot, and the look on her face revealed that she knew everything. Yumi was ashamed to even look at Youqing's wife, who bent down and picked up the photograph. But when she straightened up she saw danger in Yumi's eyes. Fierce determination showed in those eyes, the composure of someone unafraid to face death. Youqing's wife grabbed Yumi by the shoulders and dragged her off to her house, where she led her into the bedroom, a poorly lit room in which Yumi's gaze appeared unusually bright and extraordinarily hard. Emerging from a face that was otherwise blank, that brightness and hardness had a terrifying effect. Taking Yumi by the hand, Youqing's wife pleaded with her, "Yumi, go ahead and cry, for my sake at least."

That comment softened Yumi's gaze, which slowly shifted toward Youqing's wife. As her lips twitched, Yumi said softly, "Sister Fenxiang." Though barely audible, those two words seemed to spray from her mouth like flesh and blood, like beams of blood-tinged light. Youqing's wife was stunned, never expecting Yumi to call her that. In all the years since marrying into Wang Family Village, what, in effect, was she, Youqing's wife? A sow, maybe, or a bitch? Who had ever actually viewed her as a woman? Being addressed as Sister Fenxiang by Yumi knocked over her emotional spice bottle and filled her with even greater sadness than Yumi felt. She could not contain herself; a shout burst from her throat as she flung herself onto Yumi's body and smothered her sobs on the girl's breast. As she did so, there was a sudden movement in her belly. It was, she knew instinctively, a kick from the tiny Wang Lianfang. Thoughts of what was inside her took the edge off her emotional turmoil and kept her from sobbing or making any more sounds. If not for Wang Lianfang, she and Yumi could well have enjoyed a close sisterly relationship. But the girl was Wang's eldest daughter, an inescapable fact that closed off all possibilities. Youqing's wife could say nothing. And so, after steadying her breathing, she managed to get her emotions under control.

As Youqing's wife raised her head and dried her tears, she saw that Yumi's gaze had settled on her. The absence of any observable emotion behind that look threw a fright into her. Yumi's face was ashen, but there was nothing unusual about her expression, and Youqing's wife found that hard to imagine. But there it was, not something that could be faked. "Yumi," she said warily.

Yumi pulled her head back. "Don't worry, I'm not about to kill myself. I want to see what happens next. You can help me by not saying anything to anybody about this."

She actually smiled when she said this, and although the smile lacked the appearance of mockery, the intent was unmistakable. Youqing's wife knew that Yumi was chiding her for being nosy. Yumi took off her jacket and wrapped the photographs and letters up in it. Then, without a word, she opened the door and walked out, leaving Youqing's wife alone and frozen in her bedroom.

See what I've done,
she said to herself.
I wanted to help out but wound up being a busybody. If any of this gets out, Yumi will hate me even more.

Yumi slept through the afternoon. Then in the quiet, late hours of the night she went into the kitchen and lay down behind the stove, where she unbuttoned her blouse and gently fondled her breasts. Although it was her hands that were moving, the sensation was the same as if Peng Guoliang were fondling her. What a shame it had to be her own hands. Slowly she moved them down to the spot where she had stopped him. But this time she was going to do for him what she had not allowed him to do. She lay weakly on the straw, her body gradually heating up, hotter and hotter, uncontrollably, feverishly hot, so she forced herself to stir. But no matter how she moved, it didn't feel right. She hungered for a man to fill her up and, at the same time, finish her off. It didn't matter who, so long as it was a man. In those quiet, late hours of the night, Yumi was again consumed by regret. And as remorse took over, her fingers abruptly jammed their way inside. The sharp pain actually brought with it enormous comfort. The insides of her thighs were irrigated by a warm liquid. You unwanted cunt, she thought to herself, what made you think you should save yourself for the bridal chamber?

Unhappy women are all subject to the same phenomenon: Marriage comes with unanticipated suddenness. During the three months of summer, the busiest season, farmers are fighting for time with the soil. Yumi shocked everyone by getting married during these busy days. Acres of wheat had turned yellow under a blazing sun, spiky awns reaching up to reflect light in all directions like static fountains. At this time of year the sun's rays are fragrant, carrying the aroma of wheat as they light up the ground and cast a veil over the villages. But for farmers, these are not pleasure-filled days, for the feminine qualities of the earth are heaving with the passion of ovulation and birthing, passions beyond their control as they grow soft in the sunlight and exude bursts of the rich, mellow essence of their being. The earth yearns to be overturned by the hoe and the plow, and thus be reborn, and to let the early summer waters flow over and submerge it. Moans of pleasure escape at the moment the earth is bathed and slowly freed from its bindings, bringing contentment and tranquillity. Exhausted, it falls into a sound, blissful sleep. The earth takes on the new face of a watery bride. With her eyes shut, a blush rises and falls on her face, a silent command and a silent plea: "Come on, more, I want more." The farmers dare not slack off; their hair, their sleeves, and their mouths are covered with the smell of new wheat.

But, filled with elation, they put that smell aside, muster their strength, and rush about, picking up seedlings and planting them in the ground, one at a time, each in a spot that satisfies the earth. Bent at the waist, the farmers never cut corners, for every seedling that enters the ground depends on their movements. Ten acres, a hundred, a thousand, vast fields of seedlings. At first the little plants are strawlike, pliant, bashful, and because of the water, narcissistic. But in a matter of days the earth becomes aware of the secret it possesses and is at peace. It is languid; soft snores emerge from its sleep.

Amid this flurry of activity, Yumi's wedding got under way. Viewed in retrospect, she was in too big a hurry to get married, much the same as Liu Fenxiang. But Yumi's wedding easily outstripped Fenxiang's. She was fetched in a speedboat reserved for the exclusive use of commune officials, on which two red cut-out "double happiness" characters were affixed to the windshield.

Yumi's match had been arranged by her father. Shortly after the Qingming festival had passed and the weather began to warm, just as farmers were soaking their seeds, Wang Lianfang returned to Wang Family Village to pick up some clothes for his use elsewhere. After supper, having no place to go, he sat at the table smoking a cigarette. Yumi stood in the kitchen doorway and called to him. She did not say "Papa," but called him "Wang Lianfang."

Hearing his daughter call him by name struck Wang Lianfang as unusual. He stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and walked slowly into the kitchen, where Yumi was looking down at the floor, hands behind her back as she stood against the wall. Wang Lianfang pulled up a stool, sat down, and lit a second cigarette. "So," he said, "what do you want?"