Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

with people; there were even more inside the church itself, all of them listening to a sermon delivered by a wizened old pastor who slurred his words. His wrinkled hands were folded on the pulpit, illuminated by a ray of sunlight. The parishioners included old people and small children, but the majority consisted of girls and young women, all seated on benches and making notations in open Bibles in their laps. An old woman who recognized Mother made room for the two of us against the wall, beneath the canopy of an aged locust tree, covered with white blossoms like oversized snowflakes. The air was stifling. A loudspeaker attached to the trunk of the tree spread the old pastor’s words throughout the gathering. Hard to say whether the crackles and static stemmed from the age of the loudspeaker or of the pastor. We sat quietly and listened as he droned on and on, exhorting the parishioners to good deeds and a pure life.
    When the sermon ended, a chorus of Amens emerged from the teary-eyed crowd, followed by the strains of a pipe organ off to the side, playing a closing hymn familiar to the worshippers. Those who could sing did so loudly; those who couldn’t hummed along as best they could. That ended the service; some of the parishioners stood and stretched, while others remained seated to talk softly among themselves.
    Mother sat on the bench, hands on her knees, eyes closed, as if she’d fallen asleep. Not a whisper of wind, yet the white blossoms suddenly fell from the tree above us, as if the electricity to the magnet holding them on to the branches had been switched off. Their fragrance filled the courtyard as great quantities of them fell onto Mother’s hair, her neck, her earlobes, her hands, her shoulders, and the ground all around her.
    Amen!
    The old pastor, having completed his sermon, shuffled over to the door of the church and, bracing himself by holding on to the doorframe, gazed at the wondrous floral spectacle before him. He had a mass of unruly red hair, deep blue eyes, a red nose, and a heavy yellow beard. Metal caps covered some of his teeth. Startled by the sight, I stood up. Was this the legendary father I’d never known? The old woman who knew Mother hobbled over on bound feet to make the introductions. “This is Pastor Malory, our old pastor’s eldest son. He has come to us from Lanzhou to head up the church. This is Shangguan Jintong, the son of Shangguan Lu, a parishioner of very long standing.”
    Actually, her introductions were unnecessary, because even before she spoke our names, God had already revealed our origins to one another. This bastard son of Pastor Malory and a Muslim woman, my half brother, wrapped his hairy arms around me and held me tight. With tears filling his eyes, he said:
    “I have been waiting for you for a very long time, my brother!”