to as “Evil Kong, the Second Son” . . . All right, I’ll help draw up a constitution for your Fertility Freedom Party, but I tell you now, I won’t join any uprising.’ Some of their rice wine has spilt on the mat, filling the cabin with a sweet, heady smell.
‘Look at all the people who’ve signed up: Kong Guo, Scarface, Wang Wu . . . I’ve got a hundred names already. We’ll hold our first party congress soon and elect a chair. I hope you’ll accept the position of secretary general.’
‘No, count me out. Meili’s going to give birth next month – so I’ll be doing my part to ensure the survival of the Kong clan! But I have three points to make. First: if you do launch a rebellion, you must be aware that you will receive no international backing. America and the UN have given full support to China’s population control policies. Second: if you want to get rid of the One Child Policy, you must get rid of the Communist Party first, and that won’t happen without a military coup. Tens of thousands of protests flare up across China every year, and in the end each one is crushed by the army. So, my third point is: bide your time and focus on building a network of contacts. Then, when a national uprising similar to the 1989 protests breaks out, you’ll be able to take advantage of the chaos and launch your attack.’
Mother walks out of the bamboo hut, leans against a tree beside the creek and pisses into the water. Noticing the lamp still shining in the cabin, she shouts, ‘Kongzi, go to sleep! The sun’s almost up.’
MEILI HERDS THE ducks up the muddy path that curls through the lychee grove towards the terraced hill. She wanted them to stay on the lower terrace, but the duck at the front catches a scent and climbs a steep track, and the whole flock soon follows behind, shaking their snow-white tails. There are thirty-two of them. The remaining ten are roosting in the hutch or are too sick to come out. Meili wants them to forage for earthworms and snails while she looks for the water chickweed flowers she likes to add to egg soup.
The July sunlight has softened the earth. Steam is rising from the clumps of willows and eucalyptus trees and bags of rubbish scattered over the fallow field. The heat seeps into Meili’s flesh. Inside her belly, the fetus extends its legs and excretes fluids into the amniotic sac. As she crosses the field, her pulse racing and her head dizzy from the heat, she feels as though the ground beneath her feet is supporting her like a strong and dependable man. She sees a peony bush, buries her nose in a pink bloom, and inhales. The subtle, mysterious scent makes her lose her balance. She undoes the lower buttons of her shirt, and, breathing deeply, lowers herself onto the grass. As her pulse returns to a slow, steady pace, a Tang poem drifts into her mind: ‘Idly I sit while osmanthus flowers fall. / Tranquil is the spring night on the deserted hill. / The moon rises, startling the mountain birds. / All night they call out from the ravine.’ Kongzi once copied this poem for her on bamboo paper in graceful ‘grass style’ calligraphy, and she put it in the wooden box containing the jade earrings her grandmother gave her . . . For an instant, time seems to lose all meaning. She stares at a pink flower in the grass below and tries to remember its name, then looks at the ducks foraging for food in the irrigation ditches, their necks stretching out and shrinking back again. A drake mounts a female duck and waggles its tail as it ejaculates. She saw that pair mate two days ago. As soon as the egg is laid, she’ll have to collect it and place it in the hutch for the duck to incubate. Thinking of the eggs makes Meili’s belly tighten. As she rubs her bamboo herding pole, she remembers Kongzi making love to her on their honeymoon in Beijing, while Teacher Zhou was out at work. The bed had a soft, sprung mattress. He shook her about in a sweaty fervour for hours. By the end, she was drenched and listless, and her groin was scorched and inflamed. For the rest of the