Three Sisters (15 page)

It was an antiquated sentiment, an unhealthy remnant of the old society, and Guo was not happy when word of the comment reached him. But it made him think, and he had to admit that there was truth to it. He was not in line for promotion and had not gotten rich, but his wife had died, and by rights he should have been in the throes of depression and self-pity. And he'd expected to be. But he wasn't. No, he was upbeat, energized, vigorous, inflamed.

Why?

Because his wife had died. Out with the old and in with the new. And there was more: His beautiful new wife, who was young enough to be his daughter, had satiny skin. While he would not have admitted it publicly, in his heart, Guo Jiaxing knew that the source of his happiness could be traced to his bed and Yumi's body.

As he thought back over the past several years, he realized what a lethargic sex life he'd had. He and his wife were an old married couple, too familiar for their own good; and having sex was like attending a meeting: first, setting up the room, then calling to order, followed by reports and finally adjournment. A seemingly significant act was, in fact, an insipid experience. And, understandably, there had been no more meetings after his wife had contracted her fatal illness. To put a fine point on it, Guo Jiaxing had not had sex for more than a year, maybe two. Fortunately, his interest and desire had not been pronounced. There's something to be said for celibacy.

Who'd have thought that spring would come to a dying tree; that the sago palm would bloom again? Guo Jiaxing would have been the last person to believe that he could be revitalized at that age, and for that he had to thank Yumi, a sex partner who knew exactly how to please him. More than that, she was very considerate. If he was lusting after her, she'd rest his head on her breasts and say, "Don't overtax your body. Slow water runs far. Besides, who would want to take a hag like me away from you? And what am I supposed to do if you ruin your health? I'd be left with nothing." Then she'd shed a tear or two to show how sad she'd be, though the effect was more endearing than sad. Guo was puzzled over how sex had become so important in his life after having given it little thought for so long—until Yumi arrived, that is. She could not hold him off, so she moved with him until they were both sweaty. Their bed was always wet afterward, and Yumi never could figure out why sex made her sweat so much. It was hard work for her, so one day she said, "Why don't you go find a woman? You're too much for me." Obviously, that comment did not square with what she'd said in the past, but pillow talk has a way of defying logic. And Guo Jiaxing loved to hear her talk like that. It was music to the ears of this fifty-year-old man, since it meant that Guo Jiaxing wasn't old, that he was still in the prime of life. In order to recapture his youth in the marital bed, Guo secretly began doing push-ups. At first he'd barely managed one; but he was now up to four or five, and at this rate, twenty or more should be no problem by the end of the year.

As far as Guo Jiaxing was concerned, Yumi was best off staying at home to sew and wash and clean. When he told her that, she kept her head down and said nothing, as was expected from the obedient young wife of an older man. That pleased him just fine. So she became a proper housewife, serving her husband in and out of bed. Until the night she took it into her head to be slightly roguish. Her husband had gone out drinking with commune colleagues, and when he came home, thanks to the alcohol, he wanted to take her straight to bed. She said no, which was out of character. So, without a word, he undressed her. She did not resist at first, but when she was naked, she covered herself with one hand and grabbed him with the other. "I said no." She looked tantalizing, a blend of propriety and promiscuity. She was being playful, and he did not get angry. Instead, inflamed with desire, his heart snapping like a banner in a gale, he reached a point where he'd have inserted his whole body if he could. "I need it," he said. Yumi ignored him and turned her head away. "I said I need it."

This time she let go, pressed her breasts against him, and said, "Get me a job at the supply and marketing co-op."

Guo's passion had nearly frozen his tongue, and he did not know what to say.

"Do it for me tomorrow," she said.

He agreed.

Yumi ran her fingers through her hair and lay back, arms and legs open for him. He was so excited by this time that the passionate lovemaking he'd been anticipating turned out to be a disappointment—he finished almost before he began.

"I'm sorry," she said softly as she lay beneath him, her arms wrapped around his neck.

"I'm really sorry." She said it so many times that it saddened her and she was soon in tears.

Actually there was no need to apologize. It had not gone well, but ultimately it had no effect on his passion. If anything, it had been an intoxicating experience. He was breathing hard, experiencing a growing attachment to his young wife. She was definitely worth keeping.

The supply and marketing co-op had not been Yumi's first choice. She'd have preferred an assignment to the grain-purchasing station. And for good reason. The purchasing station was on the river, near Broken Bridge's largest concrete pier, and it was where all boats to and from the commune tied up or passed by. She figured that if she was put in charge of the scales, a position of authority, anyone who came to town from Wang Family Village could not help but notice her. She had it all worked out. But on second thought, managing scales was dirty work that would keep her out on the pier, and that was not a proper job for someone who lived in town. Clerking at the co-op was more respectable. Better surroundings, lighter work. So, after carefully weighing the pros and cons of each, she settled on the co-op. It was not a permanent position, but she'd get nearly three yuan more in wages. But then, what about the purchasing station job? That should go to someone in her family, of course. At first she thought of Yusui, but she was too empty-headed for that kind of work. No, Yuxiu was the right choice. Intelligent and attractive, she was better suited for life in town than Yusui.

But Yumi had no sooner arrived at her decision than a troubling thought surfaced.
I've been pinned down in bed, selling what's between my legs, while that little tramp Yuxiu would land a good job. She'd be in better shape than me.

But that thought did not last.
Isn't what I'm doing the best way to win back some dignity for my family? It's worth it.

Now Yumi's most important tasks were to keep performing in bed—doing what he liked best—and to get pregnant as soon as possible. It was critical to take advantage of his sense of newness; if she got pregnant now, managing him would be easy. If not, once the novelty wore off, who's to say what he'd do? Men are like that. What they want is sex. Feelings mean nothing to them. A woman could have a ton of feelings for a man, and that would not count as much to him as the several ounces she carries on her chest.

Yumi had barely begun working at the co-op and had not found the right moment to talk to Guo Jiaxing about Yuxiu when her sister unexpectedly came to town. She showed up at Guo Jiaxing's office before nine in the morning, her face wet with dew and sweat. Guo was at his desk reading the paper, but not taking in a word because he was dreamily recalling some of Yumi's tricks in bed. Sex was all he had on his mind. He rubbed his bald head and sighed, sounding like a man disappointed in himself.

The old house has gone up in flames and can't be saved,
he said to himself. He was not really upset; the sigh was more a display of that special happiness only an aging man knows. So there he sat, happily analyzing the good fortune that had befallen him, when a girl appeared in the doorway of his office. He'd never seen her before and guessed her to be about sixteen or seventeen.

Quickly wiping the expression off of his face, he lowered his newspaper and coughed dryly. He stared at the girl, who showed no hint of fear or any sign of leaving. So, after laying the paper down on the glass top of his desk and sliding the teacup to one side, he leaned back in his chair and said gruffly, "Who let you in here?"

The girl blinked several times and smiled sweetly. "Comrade," she said abruptly, "you're my brother-in-law, aren't you?"

That sounded so funny to Guo that he felt like laughing, but he didn't. He stood up, clasped his hands behind his back, and shut his eyes. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Wang Yumi's third sister, my name is Wang Yuxiu. I arrived this morning from Wang Family Village, and you're my brother-in-law. That's what the man at the entrance said. You're my brother-in-law." The word "brother-in-law" in her crisp voice carried a distinct feel of intimacy, the closeness of family. The deputy director of the revolutionary committee in charge of the People's Militia could tell at a glance that the girl was Yumi's sister; the resemblance was unmistakable. But she obviously lacked Yumi's manners and did not appear to share her sister's temperament. She was like one of those unbalanced Japanese machine guns, indiscriminately strafing the area—
tatatata.
Guo walked to the doorway and pointed outside. Then he curled his finger and said, "She's in the shoe and hat department at the co-op."

Yuxiu had arrived in Broken Bridge at a little after seven and had already taken a turn around the open-air market. This was not a casual visit. She had come with the express and unwavering purpose of putting herself in the hands of her elder sister. She could no longer stay in Wang Family Village, and the main reason was that Yusui had forced her to wear two labels: "Piss Pot" and "Shit Can."

Once those epithets began making the rounds, she could not hold her head up in the village. Worst of all, it had been her sister, not a stranger, who had coined those terms of abuse in front of a bunch of girls. There was no one else to blame. Piss Pot. And Shit Can. They had quickly become her nicknames. While a nickname isn't a real name, often it can be more
you
than your real name. It zeroes in on your flaws and your most vulnerable sore spots.

Hearing one is like being skinned alive. Even ten thousand pairs of pants cannot cover up your shame. Nicknames are poison to the person they're given to, everyone knows that. But they are not static; they have an uncanny ability to expand, and that is what Yuxiu found intolerable. Piss Pot for instance. Why not piss bottle, or vat, or jug, or jar, or ladle, or basin, or bowl, or saucer, or vase, or roof tile?

None of these had had any intrinsic relationship to Yuxiu, but that had all changed. Now they constituted a sinister threat, the ability to ruthlessly reveal the unspeakable secret of her shamed body.

These common objects could be found anywhere; and so could Yuxiu's shame. She was not being paranoid, that was not it at all. When she was talking with someone who mentioned one of those objects, the person would stop and flash an apologetic look, pregnant with meaning. It was a true affirmation, binding all those everyday objects to Yuxiu, quietly but with inescapable permanence. Once something like that attaches itself to you, it strips you naked in front of a crowd. Covering the top exposes the bottom, and covering the bottom reveals the top. Sure, the crowd feels sorry for you. Out of sympathy they keep from saying anything, pretending, as if by mutual agreement, that they didn't hear what was said. To protect your feelings, no one laughs. At least not out loud. But you can see laughter in their eyes, and that silent laughter is far more hurtful, holds greater cruelty than spoken curses. Like sharp teeth that can snap shut on you at any time, it is an embodiment of the explosive power of jaws that can crush you at will. Deadly. Too much for Yuxiu. Even the most tenacious head must bow before it. It is a situation against which no defense is possible. In her case, such indefensible situations did not always involve external forces. Sometimes they cropped up within Yuxiu herself. Shit Can is one example. It was a taboo, and so she avoided all words dealing with toilets and such, whether she was relieving herself or emptying the commode. And as the restrictions grew, her freedom of movement diminished. She hated having to use the commode, for big or for small. Every time she peed, it made a despicable sound, underscoring her loss of dignity, her shamefulness. If only she didn't have to go. But she did. So she only went on the sly, each visit to the toilet making her feel like a thief. She held it in during the day and she held it in at night, and she even had nightmares about peeing that woke her up. In one of those terrible dreams she hunted for a place to pee, and this eventually led her to a deserted sorghum field. But she no sooner squatted down than a crowd of girls descended upon her. "Yuxiu," they whispered, "Shit Can." With a start she woke up. She saw people everywhere, faces with mouths and pairs of laughing eyes above them.

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.