Northern Girls Sheng Keyi pdf

Northern Girls by Sheng Keyi Translated by Eric Abrahamsen Secret’s Out 1 This is Qian Xiao Hong, from Hunan. Five foot plus, short wavy hair, roundish face – she’s the very image of re- spectability, the type who’ll marry a man and bear his children and never put a foot out of line. Unfortunately for Hong, however, her bosom is too big. She didn’t do it on purpose, but all the same it has banished her from respectability with no room for appeal, drawing the kind of gossip usually reserved for merry widows. It must be said, though, Hong’s bosom is a beauty! Even through her cloth- ing its qualities are evident; it promises to respond terrifically to the touch; it’s a real sight for straying eyes. But we all live within the crowd and must conform to the crowd’s view; if you insist on doing things your own way, that’s you being headstrong. And so Hong’s bosom became something of a local eyesore. Hong’s mother died early, of cirrhosis of the liver. Certain busybodies have confirmed that the mother’s chest was flat as a board, so Hong’s bosom couldn’t have been inherited. Hong was raised by her grandmother. Her grandmother died at the age of eighty after fifty years as a widow. Only she knew the secret of Hong’s body, and she never spoke of it. She carried the answer to that riddle with her into the coffin. The year after her grandmother died, Hong turned sixteen. Since the fifth grade she’d been pointed at and slavered after; men trailed her like a cloud of flies. All the decent girls in the village wore loose clothing and hunched their shoulders – protecting their chests was the first step in protecting their repu- tations. Only Hong walked with her mounds thrust forward, as oppressive as thunderclouds, bearing down mercilessly. It was heaven’s will that she should Sheng Keyi Northern Girls grow such a pair of breasts, but it was sheer human courage the way she carried them. By the age of thirteen Hong was fully ripe. She had no thought for her studies, and once out of middle school she packed it in and went to roam the countryside. Hong’s voice was high pitched and whiny. When her father came home every couple weeks she sat on his lap and whinged like a child, her cheek pressed up against his. It was unsettling, that closeness between them. Hong’s father was the boss of a work gang, and after his fortunes picked up he build a two- storey house, all separate apartments, even more Western-looking than a city house. Hong chose a room on the second floor, with its own exterior staircase. Plenty of young fellows had their eyes on her family’s money and wanted to be her man. People said she’d been going with boys since elementary school – first with older students, later with young men from the area. She brought them home to do it, and her bed was perpetually wet and stained; on summer nights she’d do it in the cool, or in the concrete outflow pipe of the power station in broad daylight. At any rate, she had quite a reputation. They said Hong’s breasts weren’t for touching; they were like power switches; both toucher and touched would get an electric shock. Hong only had one sister, eight years older. At the age of ten she slept in a room with her sister and grandma, she and her sister in one bed. After her sister found a fiancè she figured Hong was still a kid, and the three of them quietly squeezed in together. Hong got along great with her brother-in-law; her brother-in-law got along great with Hong. Most country rumors can’t be trusted, but as for the business between Hong and her brother-in-law, you won’t find anyone who wouldn’t swear to it on their life. It happened the year after Hong’s grandmother died. The fields ran wild and unimpeded that spring, the golden rape flowers stretching all the way to the horizon. Those flowers swayed like Hong’s bosom as the wind pushed at them, broadcasting desire. Hong, her sister and brother-in-law were planting in a plot of land not far from the house when Hong said she was thirsty, and swung her rear end back home. That rear end was a signal; it danced before the eyes of her brother-in-law and muddled his thoughts. The poets sing of spring as the nuptial season, when the bees fly and warm sunlight caresses the body, and the brother-in-law was suddenly taken with the desire to lay down, to lay in a woman’s arms. His own wife lay stiff as a corpse at night, submitting to him as the family plot submitted to the plow – even changing positions was a struggle. The more the brother-in-law thought about it, the less he felt like working. His eyes slid left to right, then rolled up and down, his brow clenched, Translation by Eric Abrahamsen, © 2009 Paper Republic Sheng Keyi Northern Girls and after a moment of ferment he succeeded in squeezing out a resounding fart. His stomach hurt, he said to his wife, he couldn’t hold it; his face was a picture of urgency. His wife giggled foolishly, saying ”Lazy man, nothing works but your bowels. Go take your crap.” The brother-in-law went off at a trot. One hole, one seedling. Hong’s sister embroidered the earth with pepper plants, and when she was finished she looked over her land with a maternal eye and smiled in satisfaction, her face a dark flower. It was time to irrigate but those two still weren’t back. The wind slid over the solitary sister, her dust- colored clothes spattered with yellow mud, her feet sunk in the earth so that she appeared shorter. After a while she climbed onto the ridge of earth beside the field and put her right hand to her forehead, squinting her eyes, just able to make out their parents’ house in the distance. The glass fragments set into the top of the wall flashed and glittered, making the house shine in the sunlight. She could see neither Hong nor her husband – what could they be doing? She grew uneasy. Brushing the dirt from her clothes and washing her hands, she left the field, returning home quickly and quietly. She looked for her husband first in the bathroom but he wasn’t there – perhaps in the kitchen getting a drink of water? But the kitchen was empty. Her heart began to beat more heavily and she sensed that something was wrong. As she mounted the stairs to Hong’s room she pressed one hand her heart, the other to the wall, and panted open- mouthed. The sun dazzled and confused her. The door was unlatched, and open an inch. “Feng, get dressed and go, my sister will suspect.” “That stump, she knows nothing!” “But what if she gets wind of us?” “She won’t get wind of us.” “You might have got me a little one this time…” “You bear it, I’ll rear it!” Hong’s sister’s legs trembled; she kicked open the door with a bang and stepped into the doorframe. The sun drew her shadow out along the floor. On the bed, two faces parted in the shade. A bee buzzed into the room; dust swirled in the sunlight; for a moment it was still as death. Hong wasn’t in the least embarrassed; she dressed herself slowly. At first she’d been afraid of hurting her sister, but now that it had finally happened and they were face to face, it was like a stone had settled into place inside her, and she felt relaxed. She said nothing. When she’d finished dressing she rolled to face the wall, her back to the door, and awaited her sister’s scolding. Translation by Eric Abrahamsen, © 2009 Paper Republic Sheng Keyi Northern Girls The brother-in-law stood, his bare body shivering with contentment, as if he’d just performed the most satisfying act of his life. Hong sister stuttered, her dark face like a bitter melon. She stared at her husband’s naked body, then with a sudden “Wa!” she covered her face and fled. At the bottom of the stairs she stopped, feeling something was wrong here – it was those two curs who ought to be ashamed, it was those two curs who ought to flee. I’m no thief, why am I running? The thought restored her courage, and she cut loose a full-throated wail, pointing up at Hong’s room, swearing in a drawn-out ear-piercing screech. “Pig-fucking bastard! Stinking shameless slut! Whore! Rotten cunt! Wa… have you no shame!?” Contained in Hong’s sister’s denunciation was an appeal for her neighbors support, and sure enough neighbors from both sides came filing out like ants from a nest when they heard her earth-rending screams, gathering in a crowd at the foot of the stairs. 2 “You lay low now, I’ll deal with your sister.” The brother-in-law was attending to the aftermath, and it sounded as if he had his wife in hand. “What about you? You’re not laying low?” she asked sullenly. “You haven’t found a husband yet! I’m a man, what’s a little thing like this to me?” he said loyally. Hong pursed her lips, swallowed what she was going to say. The next day, she left for a job in a small hotel in the county capital. The hotel was on the edge of town. It looked a bit run-down: bare concrete walls and bare concrete floors, thirty-odd rooms spread over three floors. Hong forgot all about the ugly business in her village, telling herself that there was nothing unnatural about it if it was your brother-in-law. Plenty of fathers slept with daughters-in-law, or brothers-in-law with sisters, the whole thing was just a bout of bad luck. At first she worried he’d knocked her up, but then “Aunt Flo” showed up on time, and that meant a brand-new start. Predictably, Hong’s bosom was most prominent among all the hotel em- ployees. Her behind was perky, too, and it swiveled like mad when she walked, like a dog beside itself with joy. Her behind spoke as it swiveled; it invited the men who saw it to mount her. Guests called the front desk from their rooms, asking to chat with Hong, and Hong was only too happy to oblige, giggling from time to time as though someone were tickling her armpits. Hong made a habit of chatting with one guest in particular, a northeastern man. “Come to my room”, he told her, “I’ve got some northeastern specialties for you to try.” She went to his room after she got off work at midnight that night. He Translation by Eric Abrahamsen, © 2009 Paper Republic Sheng Keyi Northern Girls opened the door and pinched her as she squeezed by, saying, “What a waist!” Hong twisted away, her mounds colliding with the wall; by the time they re- bounded the man had closed the door. The room was cramped and smelled of mildew; the lamplight a dim yellow; the bedclothes stained; the bed narrow. In an ashtray on the wooden shelf at the head of the bed a cigarette butt smoked. The northeasterner made some exploratory moves, to which Hong’s body tac- itly acceded, and he grew bolder. The man had apparently never seen such prodigious growths as hers, and he squeezed for all he was worth, as though he suspected a fake. It was almost more than he could take – he needed both hands for a single balloon-round breast, and he felt a current of energy buzzing in his palms. He went on squeezing, now rough, now gentle, until Hong was whin- ing like a mosquito. Suddenly she thought of something. She pushed him away, giving him a coy glance, and asked,“What about your northeastern specialties?” He brought his face close to hers, chuckling, and said, “Right here.” Hong giggled uncontrollably: “You’re such a joker!” His hand ventured boldly downward, but she stopped him. “Playing chaste?” he laughed. “I’m having my period, can’t do it!” He didn’t believe her, said, “I’ll pay you!” Hong said, “Look for yourself!” She raised her skirt and dropped her underpants, showing the man a stain of blood. He said “That’s not dirty, I don’t mind. It proves I really like you, right?” Back in the village there was a taint on this business, Hong thought, no one there would dare look, let alone touch. City people really are different. She gave the man another coquettish look, thinking again what a fine figure he cut. She said, “You look like a teacher to me.” “Middle school teacher,” he said. Hong bit her lip and asked, “You don’t have a wife?” “Sure I do, that’s why I’m here.” Hong didn’t see the logic. “You only have affairs if you’re married; you only want other women if you have a wife. You wouldn’t understand.” That’s what the man said. “Who needs to understand that crap? I’m going to wash.” After Hong had finished splashing around in the bathroom she was still hesitant, but in the end she listened to her body, and went ahead. The man flipped her and flapped her like a fried salt fish, and when he was done he pulled up his pants and asked, “How much?” Hong blinked at him. “How much what?” He was even more nonplussed than she. “Haven’t you ever sold it before?” “Sold… what?” Translation by Eric Abrahamsen, © 2009 Paper Republic Sheng Keyi Northern Girls “Sex!” 3 The cars dragged dust up in spurts; long-bodied buses squeaked by. Hong was wearing a light blue singlet and a miniskirt – most of her body was exposed but her expression was as guileless as a child in swaddling clothes. She peered around her aimlessly, cracking sunflower seeds beneath the bus stop sign. She was turning a few things over in her mind: her first time; the xiaosheng actor in the opera troupe who’d never sent word; her brother-in-law and the mess they’d made. All her thoughts were ground beneath the wheels of the cars and cast into the air in fluttering pieces, and to hell with all of it. The cleft of Hong’s bosom formed part of an axis that began at her fore- head and fell past the tip of her nose all the way down to the parting of her legs. Men and women waiting for the bus all cast sideways glances over her bo- som, their teeming imaginations coming to rest at that most crucial of spots, as rivers converged on the sea. The women gazed with grudging envy, lifting their chins haughtily; the men’s bodies tingled with warmth as they indulged in bold fantasies. They imagined themselves as flower stalks, comfortably ensconsed in Hong’s bewitching vase, then they fell into disarray, using their bodies to crush and rub her, as a dog rolls in the hay or crunches the dry stalks in its teeth just to hear the sound. The bus staggered in like someone’s drunken grandfather. When it drew to a halt all eyes within swept together to a single point – Hong’s cleavage. In a small town like this it took real courage to wear something that revealing. The men at the bus stop took their last few reluctant peeps, then filed resignedly onto the bus. Hong hummed to herself,“follow your feelings, hold tight to your dreams”, her foot tapping out a lazy rhythm, and got in line behind them. A gust of wind raised the dust around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again all she saw was the back of the bus belching a cloud of gray smoke. “Pig-fucker”, she swore, and stamped her foot, causing her chest to tremble. “Qian Xiao Hong, Qian Xiao Hong!” called a girl’s voice. A tall shadow loomed: she had a head full of fluffy curls – a fashionable bird’s nest – and two enormous silver loops swinging from her ears. Her scarlet lips were split in a smile. “Yang Chunhua! Hong cried in answer. Yang Chunhua and Hong had once shared a table in class. Now she was made up so heavily she looked like an honest-to-God whore, though somehow she was still not sexy. “So what are you doing now?” Yang Chunhua asked, glancing surreptitiously Translation by Eric Abrahamsen, © 2009 Paper Republic Sheng Keyi Northern Girls at Hong’s bosom. “Working at the county hotel.” “How much?” “150 yuan a month.” “Not enough! Come work in my friend’s company.” As Chunhua nattered on she took Hong’s hand and led her away, as though she were leading away a chick. The office was only a bus stop or so away. It was a good area of town, plenty of restaurants and bars nearby, not exactly prosperous but definitely lively. County towns were all like this: the streets narrow and uneven, the walls plastered with political slogans, tree leaves coated in dust, the ground littered with chewed-up betelnut, the marks of life strong and deep, the whole place a roiling potful of turbid water. People lived in this city the way you chewed a mouthful of betelnut – while you chewed the savor was strong, but when you spit it out it left your mouth dry and numb. Yang Chunhua’s grip was tight, as though she feared Hong might fly away. Through a wide revolving door and past a long reception desk they came to an office with black sofas and men chatting amid cigarette smoke. A girl clattered away at a desktop calculator. Yang Chunhua said, “Boss Tan, this my old classmate! Take a gander!” Yang Chunhua was suddenly speaking in a false voice, and it gave Hong a start. The man she addressed as Boss Tan stood up; he was around 40, balding, not particularly tall, running to fat. His gaze swept swiftly over Hong’s chest, then he smiled and waved a cigarette-clenched hand, saying, “So what’s your name?” Yang Chunhua answered first: “Qian Xiaohong! The qian for ‘money’, the xiao for ‘small’, the hong for ‘red’!” Then she sat down very close to a younger man, who wound his arm around her waist. Qian Xiao Hong gave Boss Tan a radiant smile. Boss Tan acceded swiftly: “Excellent! Come to work tomorrow morning.” Boss Tan treated them to dinner that night, in a private room at the “Yingchun Pavilion”. Factory Head Liu of the Hongqi Chemical Factory, Manager Zhang of the Peach Orchard Shopping Mall, Director Li of the Import/Export Com- pany… One by one, Hong toasted them all on behalf of Boss Tan. Factory Head Liu, his face shining red, was fat as an aging hog; his eyes rolled across Hong’s chest in a way she didn’t like. Hong didn’t know how to decline the drink grace- fully, and she finished it all obediently, not spilling a drop. She’d never really drank before, and was feeling dull and sleepy, like she used to feel in the class- room in summertime, listening to the cicadas’ numb roar. “You brought a real pro today!” the men said approvingly to Boss Tan, their eyes bloodshot. Hong knew an onerous task lay before her. She made a trip to the washroom, where Translation by Eric Abrahamsen, © 2009 Paper Republic Sheng Keyi Northern Girls she puked and crapped and felt a bit more clear-headed. Glass after glass: from wuliangye to erguotou, from erguotou to red wine, from red wine to beer. She tossed it all down, as though her gut were a latrine and she were producing com- post. At the exact moment required by protocol she stood and took another round on behalf of Boss Tan; even Yang Chunhua looked stunned. The next day the bare crest of Boss Tan’s skull was gleaming. Two diehard holdouts had finally folded, he said, and the money would soon be rolling in! Hongqi was a major factory, signing a deal with them meant a fat harvest year. “Come with me,” he said, “and I’ll get you acquainted with the goods.” Boss Tan opened his warehouse. Hong saw only heaps of trash and junk metal. Boss Tan said they were valves; these flimsy little bits of brass were worth hundreds each. “So what are they good for?” “They’re good for plenty!” Boss Tan seemed to have brought her into the heart of his operation; Hong felt flattered, but also alarmed. She didn’t understand – she’d only just arrived, had hardly done anything for the company, why had the boss taken her into his confidence? Boss Tan seemed to know what she was thinking. “You can tell someone’s character by the way they drink. You’re a straight-shooter, and trustworthy, I’m never wrong about people.” After a bit he added,“Starting tomorrow you sleep in this warehouse. There’s a room through that door, you’ve got a bed, blankets, TV, everything.” “Whatever the boss says!” It was the first time Hong had really kissed ass. Boss Tan just chuckled, saying, “You learn quick.” A few days later Hong found out that Chunhua was someone’s mistress; a man in the same line of work as Boss Tan, scrap and junk metal, and his name was Ma Xun – ‘Boss Ma’. Everyone around here was a ‘Boss’. You could call a betelnut-seller ‘Boss’ and he’d get so worked up he’d practically give away his betelnuts. Boss Tan said he and Boss Ma were blood brothers. Chunhua star