she wails: ‘Darling child, I call out to you from my sleep . . . Dearest Mother, I repeat your name, and kneel before you filled with remorse . . .’ The lament fills every part of her body then bursts into the air. A rancid, yeasty smell starts to escape from her. After another intense push, blood drips out from her vagina onto the damp deck, forming blossom-like stains, then gushes out with greater force. ‘Little Heaven, come down to earth now,’ Meili cries. ‘Mummy’s waiting for you . . .’ She thrusts her left hand inside again, grabs hold of a leg and, with one final tug, rips the child from her womb and lets it flop down onto the deck.
Desperate for a first glimpse of her child, she cranes her neck down between her legs and sees it lying in a pool of blood, its body as green and shiny as an apple, its eyes and mouth wide open. Kongzi steps aboard again and hurriedly opens its legs. He hears another plank crack underfoot. ‘My God, you shook this boat about so much, it’s falling apart,’ he says. He lifts the umbilical cord still connecting Meili to their child. ‘Look how long it is! Where shall I cut it?’ Meili points to a place in the middle. He takes the scissors from the bag, severs the cord and ties a tight knot.
‘My hands and feet are numb,’ Meili says, the colour draining from her face. ‘Everything is going black. Can you see me? I’m standing at the wheel now, the wind blowing through my dress and through the clouds in the sky . . . Tear off some toilet paper, Kongzi, and wipe me clean. I’m sorry that our child is a girl. But how sweet she smells. Just like osmanthus.’
‘But Heaven’s a little boy, can’t you see? The pain must have disturbed your mind. Anyway, we knew years ago from the scan that he was a boy. Look, feel here, between his legs. You think he could have changed sex in the womb? Poor child, I don’t think he realises he’s born yet.’ Kongzi leans down and picks his son up in his arms. ‘So, my life has not been in vain. We have produced a seventy-seventh generation male descendant of Confucius. I give my solemn pledge that I will earn enough money to ensure he has a birth certificate inscribed with the name Kong Heaven.’
‘But why is he so green?’ Meili says. ‘He looks like one of those green aliens in the computer games . . . Ah, look over there, Kongzi! What a beautiful dawn! White infant spirits are falling from the sky, like beans scattered by Goddess Nuwa, but as soon as they touch the earth they vanish.’
‘White beans – do you mean snowflakes? Your mind’s playing tricks on you. It can’t be snowing. Today is March the 9th, the first day of spring. Yes, I can see the sun is about to come up.’
Water begins to lap over Meili’s legs. Her white toes rise above the surface like lotuses on a green lake. ‘He still hasn’t cried yet,’ she says. ‘Carry him up onto the field so that the sun can shine on his face.’
Meili isn’t smiling any more. The wreck has completely disintegrated, and she’s lying in the water, her long black hair extending behind her like a boat. Slowly, her body sinks below the surface, and her hair sinks too and wriggles about her face like a shoal of fish.
As Mother’s body descends towards the riverbed, the infant spirit breaks free and begins to retrace its long journey backwards through three incarnations, travelling upstream along the many rivers and waterways towards its final place of rest.
Holding his child close to his chest, Kongzi climbs the bank and heads out into a grey expanse of waste that seems to stretch to the horizon. He treads across corroded circuit boards that poke up from the ground like excavated tiles, across graphic cards stripped of their memory chips, and over the copper and silver shells of mobile phones. He crunches over Intel microchips and bullet-shaped audio connectors, then, his legs shaking from exhaustion, he struggles up a hill of stripped scanner motherboards and lifts the motionless child up to the first light of dawn.
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