Three Sisters Read online

  The reference to marriage as her only opportunity had the desired effect on Yumi. This time Youqing's wife pressed the bundle into Yumi's arms and walked off. But she'd only taken four or five steps when she turned and, with tears glistening in her eyes and looking quite heartbroken, smiled sadly. "Don't wind up like me," she repeated. This comment surprised Yumi. Suddenly the woman no longer seemed so overbearing. Who'd have thought that she could have such a low opinion of herself? Yumi found it hard to believe that the woman could feel such bitterness, and she nearly softened her attitude toward Fenxiang. The simple act of the woman's turning back had brought Yumi pain. She had to consider the encounter as a victory, but in a way it was a lackluster one, though she could not have said why. As Yumi stood in the street looking at the bundle in her hands, Youqing's wife's words swirled in her head.

  Yumi felt like throwing the gift away, but its history as a propaganda troupe costume—even though it had been worn by Youqing's wife—held a special attraction for her. It was a spring-and-autumn blouse with a turned-down collar and a fitted waistline. Though she and Youqing's wife had similar figures, the blouse seemed a bit tight in the waist. But when she looked in the mirror, Yumi nearly jumped out of her skin. She'd never looked so good—as pretty as a city girl. Girls in the countryside tend to have bent backs, sunken chests, and prominent hip bones because of the years spent carrying heavy loads on their shoulders. But not Yumi.

  Standing straight and tall and graced with a full figure, she was able to wear nice clothing as it was meant to be worn. Her figure and the blouse were complementary—they each improved the other. How does the saying go? "A woman needs her clothes; a horse needs its saddle."

  But the most stunning effect came from the bustline, where the blouse made her natural curves seem more prominent—as if she were wearing nothing at all. Her breasts jutted out as if they were capable of suckling everyone in the village. Liu Fenxiang must have had a lovely figure back then. No matter how hard she tried, Yumi could not keep from imagining what Youqing's wife had looked like as a young woman. And the images she conjured up were replicated in herself—and that spelled danger. Reluctantly, she took off the blouse and looked at it from all angles as she held it up. She still felt like throwing it away, but she could not bring herself to do so. A sense of self-loathing began to creep in. How, she wondered, could she be so firm in other things, but see her resolve fail over a blouse? I'll put it aside, she said to herself, but I'll be damned if I'll wear it.

  Peng Guoliang arrived at Yumi's door in the company of Party Secretary Peng. When Shi Guifang, who was standing in the doorway as usual, saw Secretary Peng walking up with a young man in uniform, she knew what was happening. Standing up straight after putting away her sunflower seeds, she welcomed them with a ready smile. "Sister-in-law," Secretary Peng addressed her when he reached the door. Peng Guoliang stood at attention and saluted stiffly. With a wave of her arm, Shi Guifang invited her guests in. Her prospective son-in-law had made a wonderful first impression despite the excessively formal salute. Initially tongue-tied, all Shi Guifang could do was smile. But fortunately for her, as the wife of a Party secretary, she was not easily flustered. She flipped on the PA system. "Wang Lianfang," she said into the microphone, "please return home at once. The People's Liberation Army is here." She repeated the announcement.

  The broadcast was an announcement to the whole village. Within minutes, men and women—young and old, tall and short, fat and skinny—crowded around Shi Guifang's gate. No one needed to be told what she'd meant by announcing the People's Liberation Army. In time Wang Lianfang appeared, buttoning up his collar as the crowd made room for him to stride energetically up to Secretary Peng. They shook hands.

  Peng Guoliang snapped to attention and saluted once again. Wang Lianfang reacted by taking out a pack of cigarettes and handing one to each of his visitors. With yet another snappy salute, the younger man said, "Sir, Peng Guoliang respectfully reports that he does not smoke."

  Wang met the announcement with a laugh. "Good," he said, "that's good." With one courtesy on top of another, the atmosphere seemed formal, tense even. "So, you're back," Wang Lianfang said.

  "Yes," Peng Guoliang replied. Even the crowd outside the door appeared affected by the mood inside, for no one said a word. Peng Guoliang had impressed them with his smart salutes, all perfectly executed, smooth but decisive and resolute.

  The arrival of Yumi would bring the story to a climax. She was dragged along after the women had taken Wang Hongbing from her and opened a path to her home. This was a scene they had long anticipated, and once it was acted out they could breathe easier. So they walked her home, one step at a time; all she had to do was lean back and let the others do the work. But when she reached her gate, her courage abandoned her, and she refused to take another step. So a couple of the bolder unmarried girls pushed her up until she was standing in front of Peng Guoliang.

  The crowd thought that he might actually salute her, but he didn't. There was total silence. He didn't salute, and he didn't snap to attention. He was, in fact, barely able to stand, and he kept opening and shutting his mouth. When Yumi stole a look at him, the expression on his face put her at ease, though she fidgeted bashfully. Beet-red cheeks made her eyes seem darker, highlighting their sparkle as her gaze darted here and there. To the villagers outside the door she was a pitiful sight, and they could hardly believe that the shy girl they were looking at was actually Yumi. In the end, it seemed, she was a girl like any other. So, with a few lusty shouts from the crowd, the climax passed and the tense mood dissipated. Of course they were happy for Peng Guoliang, but mostly they were happy for Yumi.

  Wang Lianfang walked out to treat the men in the crowd to cigarettes and even offered one to the son of Zhang Rujun, who was cradled in his mother's arms, looking foolish as only a baby can. Wang tucked the cigarette behind the boy's ear. "Take it home and give it to your daddy," he said. The people had never seen Wang be so cordial; it was almost as if he were joking with them. A chorus of laughter made for a delightful atmosphere before Wang shooed the crowd away and, with a sigh of relief, shut the door behind him.

  Shi Guifang sent Peng Guoliang and Yumi into the kitchen to boil some water. As an experienced housewife, she knew the importance of a kitchen to a young couple. First meetings always turned out the same, with a pair of timid, unfamiliar youngsters seated behind the stove, one pumping the bellows while the other added firewood until the heat turned their faces red and slowly loosened them up. So Guifang closed the kitchen door and told Yuying and Yuxiu to go outside. The last thing she wanted was for the other girls to hang around the house. Except for Yumi, not one of her daughters knew how to behave around people.

  While Yumi was lighting the fire, Peng Guoliang gave her a second gift. The first gift, in accordance with age-old customs, had to be a bolt of fabric, some knitting yarn, or something along those lines. But he also presented her with a second set of gifts, proving that he was different from others. He gave her a red Hero fountain pen and a bottle of Hero blue-black ink, a pad of forty-weight letter paper, twenty-five envelopes, and a Chairman Mao pin that glowed in the dark. There was a hint of intimacy attached to all of the gifts, each of which also represented a cultured and progressive spirit.

  He placed them all on top of the bellows next to his army cap—its star shining bright and deep red. With all these items arrayed on the bellows, silence spoke more loudly than words. Peng Guoliang worked the bellows, each forceful squeeze heating up the fire in the stove. Flames rose into the air like powerful pillars each time he brought his hands together. For her part, Yumi added rice straw to the pillars of fire, moving in concert with Peng Guoliang as if by design and creating a moving tableau.

  When the straw fell from the tongs onto the flames, it leaped into the air first, then wilted and turned transparent before finally regaining color, creating both heat and light. Their faces and chests were reddened rhythmically by the flames; the rising and falling of their chests,
too, had a rhythmic quality that required some adjustment and extra control. The air was so hot and in such constant oscillation it was as if private suns hung above their heads and all but baked them joyously in a sort of heated tenderness. Their emotions were in chaos, rising and falling in their breasts. There was at least a little confusion, and there was something in the air that could easily have led to tears, here one moment and gone the next. Yumi knew she was in love, and as she gazed into the fire, she could not stop the flow of hot tears. Peng Guoliang noticed, but said nothing. Taking out his handkerchief, he placed it on Yumi's knee. But instead of using it to dry her tears, she held it up to her nose. It smelled faintly of bath soap and nearly made her cry out loud. She managed to hold back, but that only increased the flow of tears. Up to that moment they had not exchanged a single word and hadn't touched one another, not even a finger. That suited Yumi perfectly. This is what love is supposed to be, she told herself, quietly sitting close but not touching—remote but in silent harmony. Close at hand, though longing in earnest and calling to mind some distant place—all as it should be.

  Yumi's glance fell on Peng Guoliang's foot, which she could see was a size forty-two. No question about it. She already knew his sizes, all of them. When a girl falls for a boy, her eyes become a measuring tape. Her gaze stretches out to take measurements and then, when that's done, snaps right back.

  Custom dictated that Peng Guoliang not stay under the same roof with Yumi before she became his wife. But Wang Lianfang was used to breaking rules and was dedicated to transforming social traditions. "You'll stay here," he announced, for he took pleasure in seeing Peng Guoliang walk in and out of the yard; his presence created an aura of power around the house and brought Wang high honor.

  "It's not proper," Shi Guifang said softly.

  Wang Lianfang glared at her and said sternly, "That's metaphysical nonsense."

  So Peng Guoliang took up residence in the Wang home. When he wasn't eating or sleeping, he spent his time behind the stove with Yumi. What a wonderful spot that was. A sacred spot for village lovers. He and Yumi were talking by this time, though the strain on her was considerable, since words in the standard Beijing dialect kept cropping up in his speech. She loved the way it sounded, even if she didn't always understand it, because those few added words conjured up distant places, a different world, and were made for talk between lovers. On one particular evening the fire in the belly of the stove slowly died out and darkness crept over them, frightening Yumi. But this sense of fear was augmented with hard-to-describe hope and anxiety. Budding love is cloaked in darkness, since there is no road map to show where it's headed; neither partner knows how or where to start, which usually makes for awkward situations. Absorbed in this anxiety, they had maintained a respectful distance out of fear of touching each other.

  Then Peng Guoliang reached out and took Yumi's hand. At last they were holding hands. She was a little frightened, but this was what she'd been waiting for. Letting Guoliang hold her hand instilled in her the satisfaction of a job well done. A sigh of relief emanated from the depths of her heart. Strictly speaking, she was not holding his hand; her hand was caught in his. At first his fingers were stiff and unbending, but slowly they came to life, and when that happened, they turned willful, sliding in between hers, only to back out, unhappily, seemingly in failure. But back they came. The sensitive movements of his hand were so new to Yumi that she had trouble breathing. Then, without warning, he put his arms around her and covered her lips with his. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that by the time she realized what was happening, it was too late. But she did manage to keep her lips tightly shut.

  Oh, no, he's kissed me! But then her body felt electrified, and it was as if she were floating on water, wave-tossed, weightless, and buoyant—isolated and completely surrounded. She tried to free herself from Guoliang's arms, but they only held her more tightly, and she had no choice but to give in. She was gripped by fear, and yet she was still at ease. Yumi knew she could not hold out much longer. Her lips weakened, then parted slightly, cold and quivering. The tremors quickly spread through her body and infected Peng Guoliang. Their two bodies trembled as they pressed together, and the longer they kissed, the more they could not help feeling that they weren't kissing the right place. They kept trying to find that place, only to fail. All the while their lips were actually right where they were supposed to be. The kiss seemed to last all evening, until Shi Guifang cried out from the courtyard, "Yumi, dinnertime." Yumi's acknowledgment of the summons brought the kiss to an end. It took her several moments to catch her breath. She flashed Guoliang a tight-lipped smile to show that their actions had gone unnoticed. They stood up from the pile of kindling straw, but Yumi's knees buckled, and she nearly fell. She pounded her leg as if it had gone to sleep, telling herself that falling in love was hard work.

  Yumi and Guoliang moved out into the open, where they brushed pieces of straw off of each other. She carefully removed every piece from his clothes, no matter how small, making sure that nothing marred his uniform. When she was finished, she wrapped her arms around him from behind, feeling as if she had stored up great quantities of a mysterious liquid that flowed through her body in all directions. She was approaching the point of sentimentality. In her mind she was now his woman. He had kissed her, so she belonged to him, she was his. That does it, she said to herself. Now I'm Guoliang's wife.

  The following afternoon Peng Guoliang reached under Yumi's blouse. Before she realized what he had in mind, he was already cupping one of her breasts, terrifying her, though the chemise kept his hand from her skin. How daring she felt. They had reached an impasse, but what can stop a hand capable of flying an airplane into the sky? The way Guoliang touched Yumi had her gasping for breath. She threw her arms around him, holding him so tight that she was dangling from his neck, nearly suffocating him. But then his fingers crept under her chemise, and this time there was nothing between his hand and her bare breast. "Don't. Please don't," Yumi pleaded, grabbing his wrist.

  His fingers stopped moving, but then he whispered in her ear, "Dear Yumi, I don't know when I'll be able to see you again." That melted her resolve and saddened her at the same time. She began to weep silently as a cloud of gloom settled over her heart. Within seconds she was crying openly, but managed to choke out, "Elder Brother." Under normal circumstances she would have never called him that, but now that was what the situation called for. As she released his hand, she said, "Don't let anything keep you from wanting me, Elder Brother."

  By then he was crying too.

  "Dear Little Sister, don't let anything keep you from wanting me."

  Even though he'd simply echoed her plea, the fact that he'd said it made it sound so much sadder; that worried her. Straightening up, she quietly gave herself to him. He lifted her jacket, exposing nicely rounded, lustrous breasts. Taking the left one in his mouth, he detected a salty taste. Suddenly, Yumi's mouth fell open as she arched her back and grabbed him by the hair.

  Their last night together—Peng Guoliang had to return home early the next day and report back to his unit—they abandoned themselves to desperate kissing and touching, their bodies pressed together, writhing in agony. For days they'd been engaged in alternating attack and defense. Yumi now knew that love was not a matter of words but of deeds, the mouth giving way to the body. From holding hands they had moved to kissing and from there to touching; now the barriers were falling. Yumi advanced cautiously, and Peng Guoliang took advantage of every step to go further as Yumi yielded. She could not have stopped if she'd wanted to, and in truth, she did not want to. Finally, inevitably, Peng Guoliang told Yumi he wanted to "do it." By then she was close to fainting, but sensing a critical moment, she forced herself to be clearheaded and firm. As she grabbed his wrists, their two pairs of hands pushed and pulled atop Yumi's belly.

  "I'm in agony," Peng Guoliang pleaded.

  "I am too," Yumi replied.

  "Do you know what I mean, dear Little Sister?"

&n
bsp; "Of course I know, dear Elder Brother."

  Peng Guoliang was falling apart. So was Yumi, but she was not going to give in this time, no matter what he said. This stronghold could not be breached. It was her last defense. If she was going to hold on to this man, she needed to keep at least one fire of desire burning in him. Wrapping her arms around his head, she kissed his hair and said, "Don't hate me, Elder Brother."

  "I don't," he said.

  She was already in tears the next time she said it. "You mustn't hate me, Elder Brother."

  Peng Guoliang looked up, as if to say something, but all he said was, "Yumi."

  She shook her head.

  With one last military salute to Yumi, Peng Guoliang left. His retreating back was like an airplane rising into the clear blue sky, leaving no trace behind. When he disappeared behind an embankment, Yumi's thoughts scrolled backward.

  Peng Guoliang is gone. We just met, just got to know each other, and now he's gone.

  She stood there like a simpleton, but now something was stirring in the pit of her stomach, stronger and stronger, more and more aggressive—a willfulness that was impossible to keep at bay. But there were no tears; her eyes were as empty as the cloudless sky. She hated herself and was filled with heartbreaking regret. She should have said yes, should have given herself to him. How important was keeping that last stronghold from being breached? What was she saving herself for anyway? Who was she saving herself for? If the meat turns mushy in the family pot, what difference does it make which bowl it goes into?

  "How could I have been so stupid?" Yumi demanded of herself. "He was in such agony, why did I refuse him?" She looked behind her. The crops were green, the trees dried up, and the roads yellow. "How could I have been so stupid?"