she says to Kongzi. ‘I want to look at the lake. Can you believe how big it is? You could fit every duck in China onto it, and still have room left over.’ She and Kongzi have only had intercourse once since she returned to Guai Village last month. She was so anxious at the time, she couldn’t feel a thing, and pushed him off her before he was finished.
‘A wife’s duty is to produce children,’ Kongzi says. ‘Let’s see if I can plant another seed in your womb.’ He presses her onto the deck, causing the boat to dip forward at the bow. ‘We’ll capsize if you’re not careful!’ Meili says, breaking free and crawling into the cabin. Kongzi follows her inside and pins her onto the deck again. ‘Get off me. You’ll wake Nannan! It’s past midnight. Stop being so rough.’
‘You’ve been pushing me away for weeks. Come on, let me stroke your feet, your stomach, your soft, cushiony . . .’ Outside, the black night and the black lake sway back and forth, extending to invisible heights and depths.
‘Be kind to me, Kongzi,’ Meili says. She relaxes at last, and feels her body float like peach blossom on water. ‘All right, go ahead then. Pour your sperm into me. I’m not afraid any more . . .’ She sucks the night air deep into her lungs, and a tear falls from her eyes.
The infant spirit watches Mother drift down the narrow river and arrive at Womb Lake, then sees itself swim up the dark road between her legs towards the lake of her womb. It knows that this is where its final incarnation began. A third gestation, a third birth, a third fate.
Later that night, unable to sleep, Mother sits at the bow crunching deep-fried broad beans and stares at the multitude of stars and lights shining in the sky and on the lake, inhaling deep breaths of air and spitting out the odd tough shell. The infant spirit watches itself being carried through the cervix by fumes smelling of burnt plastic, then curl up inside a dirty uterine fold and twitch as metallic waste waters seep into its new home, along with an occasional whiff of turnip soup. Mother is not aware of its arrival yet. In her mind, she is saying: my womb is a fishbowl which these chemicals will smash into pieces. Never again will I have to carry a child inside me. I will be free . . . In the distance, near the bridge they passed a few hours ago, a heap of old circuit boards and plastic tubing has been set alight. Smoke as black as night billows from the orange flames, making the strips of tarpaulin caught in overhanging branches flap to and fro like dogs locked in combat. The plastic and metal waste shrivels and melts. When it trickles down the banks into the water, red sparks crackle and dance above the dark lake.
KEYWORDS: shady willows, tiger descending the mountain, god and goddess, electronic waste, seedlings, plastic granules.
THEIR NEW HOME is across the river from the former residence of a Qing Dynasty scholar. Above its high perimeter walls, they can glimpse ancient trees and yellow-tiled roofs. Kongzi has rented a tiny metal hut on stilts which juts out into a river flowing from the lake. It’s sheltered by a willow, has a window from which they can see their boat, and the rent is only thirty yuan a month. Unfortunately, the river itself is as red and rancid as mouldy Oolong tea. After they wash any clothes or vegetables in it, they have to rinse them in tap water.
The river should flow eastwards into the sea, but its passage is almost entirely blocked by the electronic waste and household refuse dumped into it daily. Along the banks are shady willows and ancient courtyard houses which a century ago belonged to prosperous merchants. These quadrangle compounds are built in the traditional style locally known as ‘tiger descending the mountain’, with rear quarters taller than the front quarters. Now damp and crumbling, most of them have been rented out to migrant workers, while the owners have moved to new residential estates far from the filth of the lake. The willow tree beside the metal hut is two hundred years old. At its foot are statues of a local god and goddess. Nannan is terrified of them because they have no legs. Last week, villagers came here and ceremoniously slaughtered a pig,