Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

had flared briefly in Mother’s heart was extinguished.
    On the first day of the year, Mother went with New Year’s greetings to her aunt. She told her what had happened to Laidi and Zhaodi. This elderly aunt of hers, a woman of vast experience, said, “Where the romantic affairs of sons and daughters are concerned, you must let them take their course. Besides, with sons-in-law like Sha Yueliang and Sima Ku, your worries are over. Both those men are high-flying hawks.” “What worries me is that they won’t die in bed,” Mother said. Her aunt replied, “It’s usually worthless people who die in bed.” Mother tried to keep arguing her case, but her aunt waved her off impatiently, sweeping away Mother’s complaints like shooing a fly. “Let me have a look at your son,” she said. Mother lifted me out of the cloth pouch and laid me on the bed. I was frightened by the tiny, deeply wrinkled face of Mother’s aunt, especially her radiant green eyes, set deep in their sockets. Her sharply jutting brow was completely hairless, while the spots around her eyes were covered by fine yellow hairs. She mussed my hair with a bony hand, then tweaked my ear, pinched my nose, and even reached down between my legs to feel my little pecker. Disgusted by her humiliating groping, I strained to crawl over to the corner of the bed. But she grabbed me and yelled, “Stand up, you little bastard!” Mother said, “Aunty, how can you expect him to stand up? He’s only seven months old.” “When I was seven months old I was already going out to the chicken coop to fetch eggs for your grandma,” the old woman said. “That was you, Aunty. You’re a special person.” The old woman said, “I think this little devil is special too! Too bad about that fellow Malory.” Mother’s face reddened, then paled. I crawled to the back of the bed, grabbed hold of the window ledge, and pulled myself up onto my feet. “See there?” the old woman clapped her hands and said. “I told you he could stand, and he did! Look at me, you little bastard!” “His name is Jintong, Aunty, so why do you keep calling him little bastard?”
    “Whether he’s a bastard or not only his mother knows. Well, is he, my dear niece? Besides, to me that’s a pet name — little bastard. So are little turtle spawn, little bunny rabbit, little beast. Walk over here, little bastard!” I turned around on shaky legs and looked at Mother’s teary eyes. “Jintong, my good little boy!” Mother said as she reached out for me. I threw myself into her waiting arms. I was actually walking. “My son can walk,” Mother muttered as she hugged me tightly. “My son can walk.” “Sons and daughters are like birds,” her aunt said. “When it’s time for them to fly, you can’t hold them back. And what about you? What I mean is, what would you do if they all died?”
    “I’d be fine,” Mother replied.
    “That’s what I want to hear,” the old woman said. “Always let your thoughts rise up to heaven, or go down into the ocean, and if all else fails, let them climb a mountain, but never make things hard on yourself. Do you understand what I’m saying?” “I understand,” Mother said. When they were saying good-bye, the old woman asked, “Is your mother-in-law still alive?” “Yes,” Mother said. “She’s rolling around in donkey shit.” The old woman said, “That old witch was a tower of strength her whole life. I never thought she’d one day fall so low!”
    If not for that private conversation on the first day of the new year, I’d never have been able to walk at seven months, and Mother wouldn’t have been interested in taking us outside to look at the lanterns, which would have meant a very boring Lantern Festival for us; the history of our family might well have been very different. The streets were teeming with people, but none of them looked familiar. An air of stability and unity existed among residents. Children waved sparklers — what we called golden mouse droppings — that sizzled and popped as the children threaded their way through the crowds. We stopped in front of Felicity Manor to gaze at the gigantic red lanterns on either side of the gate, their ambiguous yellow light illuminating the gilded words “Felicity Manor” carved into a hanging signboard. Bursts of noise emerged from the brightly lit courtyard within. A crowd had gathered outside the gate, where they stood silently, their hands tucked up their sleeves, as if