Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

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    “There was a time when your future couldn’t have been brighter,” she said. “We were happy for you. But Laidi ruined everything. Of course, it wasn’t all her fault. Mother’s foolishness also …”
    “If you have nothing more for me,” I said, “I’ll report to the chicken farm.”
    “Well, I see you’ve developed a temper since I last saw you!” she said. “That’s encouraging. Now that our Jintong is twenty, it’s time to sew up the crotch of his pants and throw away the nipple.”
    I swung my bedding over my shoulder and headed off to the chicken farm.
    “Stop right there! There’s something you need to understand. Things have not gone well for us these past few years. Every time we open our mouths, people accuse us of rightist leanings. We’ve had no choice.” She took the slip of paper out of her pocket and reached into a little bag hanging around her neck for a pen. After scribbling something, she handed the slip to me and said, “Ask for Director Long and give him this.” I took it from her. “Is there anything else? If so, let’s hear it.” She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for old Lu and me to get to where we are today? Please don’t cause us any trouble. I’ll do what I can for you in private, but in public …”
    “Don’t say it. When you decided to change your name, you ended your relationship with the Shangguan family. You’re no sister of mine, so don’t give me any of that Til do what I can for you in private.’“
    “Terrific! Next time you see Mother, tell her that Lu Shengli is doing fine.”
    Paying her no more attention, I started walking, following the rusty, symbolic fence that had gaps big enough to allow a cow in to graze among the relics of war, heading for the white wall of the chicken farm and feeling quite pleased with how I’d handled myself. I felt as if I’d won a decisive battle. Go to hell, Ma Ruilian and Li Du, and go to hell all you rusty gun barrels, like a bunch of turtles sticking your heads out of your shells. All you mortar chassis, all you artillery gun shields, all you bomber wings — you can all go to hell. I rounded some towering plants and found myself at the edge of a field covered with a sort of fishnet between two rows of red-roofed buildings. Inside, thousands of white chickens were in constant, lazy movement. A single large rooster with a bright red comb was perched high up, a king surveying his harem, crowing loudly. The clucking of the hens was enough to drive a person crazy.
    I handed the slip given to me by Ma Ruilian to a one-armed woman, Director Long. One look at her cold face told me that this was no ordinary woman. “You’ve come at the right time, youngster,” she said after reading the note. “Here are your duties. Every morning you will rake up the chicken droppings and deliver them to the pig farm. Then you’ll go to the feed processing plant and bring the coarse chicken feed we’ll need back with you. In the afternoons, you and Qiao Qisha, who will be here soon, will deliver the day’s output of eggs to the farm management office, and from there you’ll go to the grain storehouse and bring back enough fine chicken feed for the next day. Got it?” “Got it,” I replied as I stared at her empty sleeve. She sneered when she saw where I was looking. “There are only two rules around here. One, no lying down on the job, and two, no sneaking food.”
    The moon lit up the sky that night as I lay on some flattened cardboard boxes in the storage room of the chicken farm dorm, finding it hard to sleep amid the soft murmuring of hens. I was next to the women’s dorm, which held a dozen or so chicken tenders. Their snores came though the thin wall, along with the sound of someone talking in her sleep. Cheerless moonlight streamed in through the window and the gaps in the door, illuminating the words on the boxes:
    AVIAN FLU VACCINE
KEEP DRY AND OUT OF SUNLIGHT
FRAGILE, DO NOT STACK
THIS SIDE UP
    Slowly, the moonlight slipped across the floor, and I heard the roar of East Is Red tractors out in the early summer fields, driven by members of the night-shift tractor detail cultivating virgin land. The day before, Mother had walked me to the head of the village, holding in her arms the baby left behind by Birdman Han and Laidi. “Jintong,” she said, “remember that the tougher the job, the harder you have to work at living. Pastor Malory used to say that