Frog

Virtually every person who trod the marble steps was a woman with a doll, and I felt like a spectator as I mixed with the feminine crowd. Reproduction is so solemn yet so commonplace, so serious yet so absurd. I was reminded of that time in my childhood when with my own eyes I watched the ‘Down with the Four Olds’ struggle corps of the Number One County High School Red Guard faction come to tear down temples and destroy idols. They — boys and girls — picked up the Goddess idol and flung it into the river, accompanied by shouts of: Family planning is the only good path, the Goddess goes in the river to take a bath! Grey-haired old women lining the banks fell to their knees, and I wondered if their mutterings were prayers that the Goddess would come down in spirit to punish those unruly youngsters. Or were they asking the Goddess to forgive them for the sinful actions? No way to tell. ‘Rivers flow east for thirty years, and west for the next thirty.’ This is what proved the wisdom of that saying: a new temple had been built where the old one had once stood, and a golden idol now stood in the central hall. Not only did it carry on the cultural heritage, but it created a new convention; not only did it fulfill the people’s spiritual needs, but it also was a great draw for tourists. The service industry was flourishing with visible economic growth, so better to construct a temple than to build a factory. My fellow townspeople and old friends all lived for and through the temple.

I gazed up at the idol: a face as round as the moon, hair like black clouds; thin brows that arched to her temples, eyes filled with compassion. She was cloaked in white, with jewels draped around her neck. A long-handled round fan in her right hand rested against her shoulder; her left hand lay atop the head of a child riding a fish. A dozen children in a variety of poses were arrayed around her. With lively expressions, filled with childish delight, the children were universally adorable, and all I could think was, the only people in Northeast Gaomi Township capable of crafting such figures were Hao Dashou and Qin He. If Wang Gan had been telling the truth, then the figures had to be Qin He’s handiwork, which led me to thoughts of comparing the white-clad goddess with a youthful Gugu. The nine mats in front of the goddess were filled by kneeling women who were in no hurry to give up their spots; they kowtowed and they clasped their hands in prayer as they gazed up at the goddess’s face. Women also filled the space on the marble floor behind the prayer mats, all with clay dolls laid out in front of them, as they faced the goddess. Little Lion knelt on the floor and banged her head loudly to demonstrate her devotion. Tear-filled eyes were proof of her abiding longing for a child. I knew, however, that she could never realise her dream of having one. Born in 1950, she was now fifty-five years old and already post-menopausal, despite the fullness of her breasts. I knelt alongside her and faced the goddess. People looking at us would have assumed that the old couple on the floor was praying for a child for their son or daughter.

Their prayers finished, the women stuffed money into the red wooden box at the feet of the goddess. Those who gave little did so in a hurry; those who gave more made a show of it. The offering completed, a nun standing alongside the donation box handed each woman a red thread to tie around her doll’s neck. Two grey-cassocked nuns, one on each side, eyes lowered, beat the temple blocks in their hands and chanted prayers. One might think they saw nothing, but whenever someone dropped a hundred yuan or more into the box, the wooden fish sang out loudly, maybe to get the goddess’s attention.

Since this was not a planned visit to the temple, we hadn’t brought any money, throwing Little Lion into a bit of a panic, so she slipped the gold ring off her finger and dropped it into the box. The three loud beats on the wooden fish sounded like the starter’s pistol I’d heard at a race I’d run in years before.

Minor goddesses stood in secondary halls to the rear: the Immortal Goddess, the Vision Goddess, the Goddess of Sons and Grandsons, the Typhus Goddess, the Mother’s Milk Goddess, the Goddess of Dreams, Peigu Goddess, the Goddess of Early Birth, and the Goddess of Delivery. Women were on their knees praying in front of each of them, with nuns standing by to pound their temple blocks. When I checked the time by the sun, I told Little Lion we could come back tomorrow; she nodded reluctantly, and while we were on the temple path, nuns chanting in a little side building saw us off:

Benefactress, don’t forget a longevity lock

for your child!

Benefactress, don’t forget to buy a rainbow

shawl for your doll!

Benefactress, don’t forget to buy cloud slippers