Frog

The river roiled, day and night. The clouds parted, freeing the sun to send down bolts of light. The flotilla of rafts and boats rode downriver with its loads of peaches. My raft, now pilotless, actually followed the flow of water with them.

I was hoping expectantly, hoping amid the sound of Wang Dan’s shrieks, hoping amid the pounding of the surf, and hoping amid the braying of animals on the bank.

A baby’s first cries came on the air.

I spun around and saw Gugu holding a newborn, early-arriving baby in both hands. Little Lion was wrapping gauze around its middle.

Another girl, Gugu said.

Chen Bi, head down, was devastated, like a deflated tyre. He pounded his head with both fists. The heavens have abandoned me… The agony he felt was unmistakable. The heavens have abandoned me… five generations of the Chen family will end with me. I can’t believe it!

What a scumbag you are! Gugu cursed him.

Even though Gugu sped Wang Dan and the baby back up the river in her speedboat, the mother could not be saved.

According to Little Lion, Wang Dan rallied just before she died, her mind clear for a brief spell. She had lost so much blood her face was like a sheet of gold foil. With a smile on her face, she mumbled something to Gugu, who bent down to hear what she was trying to say. Little Lion told me she did not hear what was said, but Gugu did. The gold pallor on Wang Dan’s face faded to grey, her eyes were opened wide, though the radiance was gone. Her curled body looked like an emptied sack or a cast-off cocoon. Gugu sat beside Wan Dan’s lifeless body, her head hanging low. A long time passed before she stood up, heaved a long sigh, and said, either to Little Lion or to herself: What was all that for?

Gugu and Little Lion cared for Wang Dan’s baby, Chen Mei, until she was out of danger and healthy enough to go on living.

Book Four

~ ~ ~

Dear Sugitani sensei,

I find it hard to believe it’s already been three years since we retired and moved back to Gaomi. Though the period has not been without its hardships, they have been more than offset by one very pleasant surprise. With fear and trepidation I read the high praise over the material on Gugu in the letter I sent. You said that a bit of reorganisation could turn it into a publishable novel, but I’m not so sure. First, publishers may not welcome a novel on this theme or topic. Second, if it is published, it could seriously upset Gugu. Though I have taken pains to show my respect, many painful episodes are still there for all to see. As for me, I am using this epistolary narrative form as a way to atone for my sins and find a way to lessen their impact. Your comforting remarks and reasoning have eased my mind considerably. Since writing can serve as an apology or an appeal for forgiveness, I will keep at it. And since writing must be sincere to make that appeal, that will be my goal.

Over a decade ago I said that writing must touch the most painful spots in one’s heart as it records mankind’s most unbearable memories. Now I believe that one must write things about which people feel most discomfited, about people’s most uncomfortable conditions. The writer must put himself on the dissection table and under the microscope.