Frog

She ran all the way to a riverbank, where she spotted a little stone bridge washed by silvery moonlight. By then hardly anything remained of her skirt, and when she reached the bridge, nearly naked, she ran into Hao Dashou.

Thoughts of modesty did not enter my mind at that moment, nor was I aware that I’d been stripped naked. I spotted a man in a palm-bark rain cape and a bamboo coned hat sitting in the middle of the bridge kneading something that shimmered in his hands. I later learned he was kneading a lump of clay. A moon child can only be made from clay bathed in moonlight. I didn’t know who he was, and I didn’t care. Whoever he was, he was bound to be my saviour. She rushed into the man’s arms and crawled under his rain cape, and when her breasts came into contact with the warmth of his chest, in contrast to the damp, foul-smelling chill of the frogs on her back, she cried out, Help, Big Brother, save me! She promptly passed out.

Gugu’s extended narration called up images of frog hordes in our minds and sent chills up and down our spines. The camera cut to Hao Dashou, who still sat like a statue; the next scenes were close-ups of clay figures and of the little stone bridge, before returning to Gugu’s face, focusing on her mouth as she continued her story.

I awoke to find myself on Hao Dashou’s brick bed, dressed in men’s clothes. He handed me a bowl of mung bean soup, the simple fragrance of which cleared my head. I was sweating after a single bowlful, and was suddenly aware that I felt painfully hot all over. That cold, slimy feeling that had made me scream was fading. I had itchy, painful blisters all over my body, I spiked a fever, and was delirious. But I’d passed an ordeal by drinking Hao Dashou’s mung bean soup; I’d shed a layer of skin, and my bones ached dully. I’d heard a legend about rebirth, and I knew I’d become a new person. When I regained my health, I said to him: Big Brother, let’s get married.

When she reached this point, Gugu’s face was awash with tears.

The program continued with an account of how Gugu and Hao Dashou together produced clay dolls. With her eyes closed, she said to Hao, whose eyes were also closed and who was holding a lump of clay in his hands: This child’s name is Guan Xiaoxiong. His father is five feet, ten inches tall, has a rectangular face with a broad chin, single-fold eyelids, big ears, a fleshy nose tip, and a low bridge. His mother is five feet ten, has a long neck, a pointed chin, high cheekbones, double-fold lids, big eyes, a pointed nose tip, and a high bridge. The child is three parts father and seven parts mother… In the midst of Gugu’s verbal portrait, Guan Xiaoxiong was born in Hao Dashou’s hands. The camera zoomed in for a close-up. His features were crisp and clear, but he wore a hard-to-describe doleful expression that brought me to tears.

5

I accompanied Little Lion on a visit to the Sino-American Jiabao Women and Children’s Hospital. She had wanted to work there, but had no one to open the door.

My first impression as we stepped into the lobby was that it looked more like an elite private club than a hospital. Cool breezes from the air-conditioning system took the bite out of a midsummer day. The background music was pleasant and relaxing, the fragrance of fresh flowers surrounded us. Inlaid in the wall facing us was the hospital’s logo in light blue and eight oversized words in pink:

Say Yes to Life, Embrace Trust and Hope.

Two lovely young women in nurse’s outfits with little white caps welcomed guests with broad smiles, bows and soft voices.

A middle-aged woman in a nurse’s outfit, wearing a pair of white-framed glasses, walked up to us. May I help you, sir, madam? she asked cordially.

No, thank you, we’re just here to look around.

She invited us into a waiting room to the right of the lobby. The room was furnished with a large wicker table and chairs, a simple bookshelf filled with glossy obstetrics-related magazines, and a tea table on which fancy brochures introducing the hospital were laid out.

After filling two glasses from a water fountain for us, she smiled and left us alone.