put you both to so much trouble today,’ Weiwei says, gripping his empty glass. ‘“Where will I be when I wake from my drunken sleep? / On the willow banks, in the dawn breeze, under a fading moon.” That would work. “Drunken” and “banks” both have watery connotations . . .’
‘It’s been no trouble at all. So, how many children did your mother have?’ Meili wants to tell Weiwei that with his round tortoiseshell glasses he looks just like the university professors who give lectures on television.
‘Four boys and one girl. I’m the eldest. Tell me your name again.’
‘Meili.’
‘As in “Beautiful and Pretty”? How apt.’
‘How common, you mean. Every woman in the countryside is called Meili. But my “Mei” is the dawn “Mei”. I was born in the morning.’
‘Ah, that’s different, then. “Beautiful Dawn”, or “Beautiful Beginning”. Very poetic.’
Meili thinks of her mother, and remembers her lying asleep on a chair while breastfeeding Meili’s brother, her milk tricking down his cheek. She wonders whether her grandmother is still well enough to walk about and go out into the garden. ‘When our parents are alive, we’re young,’ she says. ‘But as soon as they die, we become old.’
‘You’re right,’ Weiwei says, looking down. ‘When our parents are alive, they stand in front of us, blocking our view of death. But once they’ve gone, we find ourselves at the cliff edge. Whether we jump now or later doesn’t make much difference. The next step we take will be the end.’
‘Don’t be so negative. Perhaps your mother didn’t throw herself into the river after all. Perhaps she’ll turn up at your home one day. You only have one life: you must be kind to yourself.’
‘Yes, we’re only here once. We’re unlikely to cross paths again.’ Weiwei returns his blank gaze to the window. The only sign of the river now is the trail of light from a passing boat. The flies and mosquitoes swarming the night air are only visible once they hit the glass pane.
‘You have a long life ahead of you, a son who’s off to university . . .’ Meili says, glancing at the educational programme being broadcast on the television now. Moths flit around the bulb above. One of them breaks a wing, falls to the table and flutters about in distress.
‘Somehow, I’d prefer to find out that she was dead. It’s the uncertainty that’s so unbearable. I know now that there is no greater torture in life than to have someone you love go missing.’ Weiwei spots a mosquito on his arm and slaps it.
‘No, you men have no idea. The greatest torture any human being could suffer is to be pregnant with a child and not know which day it might be torn from you; and then, when it is taken from you, to have to watch it being strangled before your eyes. My aborted son often appears to me in my dreams, lying dead in a plastic bag, his face all swollen and purple. If he were alive now, he’d probably call you “Uncle Glasses” . . .’ She sinks her face into her hands and weeps.
‘You’re a good mother, Meili, don’t cry,’ Weiwei says, handing her a paper napkin. ‘My mother had a hard life too. She married at the height of the Land Reform Campaign, when the Party was encouraging the masses to kill rich landowners. The day after her wedding, her father was dragged to the village hall and hanged in public, and my parents were made to watch. My mother told me that as his dead body swung from the ceiling, the peasants whipped it with ropes so fiercely that scraps of his flesh splashed onto her face. I was there too at the time, inside her womb. For the next two years, my parents had to remain “empty-handed”.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It meant that when they left the house they couldn’t take anything with them, no bags or wallets. And in summer, they weren’t allowed to wear socks or long trousers. The authorities were afraid they’d conceal weapons on their bodies and try to avenge her father’s death. Many of the victims’ family members committed suicide during those years. But my mother struggled on, for my sake. I was born three months prematurely. I weighed just three pounds. When I was six she taught me the Three Character Classic and the English poetry she learned at her missionary school. For my sake she clung to life, and now for my sake again