Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

one arm and stools under the other; they sat across from the other musicians. A fierce drumbeat banged out the rhythm, followed by the crisp clangs of a gong and the high-pitched beats of a small drum; they were joined by a rope of notes from the fiddle, balloon guitar, and flute that tied up our legs so we couldn’t move and tied up our souls so we couldn’t think. The melody was soft and lingering, sad and dreary, sometimes moaning, sometimes murmuring. What kind of drama was this? Our Northeast Gaomi “cat’s meow” form of singing was called by some “tying up your old lady’s peg.” When the cat’s meow was sung, the three cardinal values of social relations were turned inside out; when you heard the cat’s meow, you forgot even your own mother and father. Then, as the beat picked up, the audience began to tap their feet; our lips began to twitch, our hearts quivered. The waiting was like an arrow on the bow before firing: five, four, three, two, one — the voice reached its highest point, then trailed off, rising hoarsely, higher and higher, until it tore through the heavens.
    I
was once a girl, gentle and graceful, charming and coy — na!
With the sound of the voice lingering in the air, my second sister, Zhaodi, floated out from the Sima compound on tiny steps, as if walking on water, a red cotton flower in her hair and wearing a blue, wide-sleeved jacket over sweeping pants that all but obscurred her embroidered slippers; she carried a basket over her left arm and a wooden club in her right hand. She floated up into the light of the gas lamps and stopped in the center of the straw mat, where she struck a dramatic pose. Her eyebrows were no longer eyebrows; they were crescent moons at the edge of the sky. Her gaze washed up onto our heads; her nose was thin and angular, her thick lips were painted a red more lush than cherry blossoms in May. Absolute silence surrounded her; ten thousand unblinking eyes, ten thousand pounding hearts; pent-up power burst out in a loud roar of approval. My second sister then spread her legs, bent at the waist, and ran, making a complete circle. Her limbs were supple as willow branches, her steps like a snake moving on tassels. There was no wind that night, but it was bitter cold, and yet my sister wore only thin clothing. Mother watched in amazement; my sister’s figure had developed rapidly after eating the eel; her breasts were the size of pears, beautifully shaped, and she was surely destined to carry on the glorious tradition of Shangguan women, with big breasts and wide hips. She wasn’t even breathing hard after making a circle around the yard, her demeanor unchanged. She sang the second line:
I shall marry the man of courage, Sima Ku.
This line was smooth and even, no rise at the end, but it had a powerful effect on the audience. People whispered to one another, Whose daughter is this? She’s a daughter in the Shangguan family. Didn’t the Shangguan daughter run off with the leader of the musket band? She’s their second daughter. When did she become Sima Ku’s concubine? You dumb fuck, this is opera! Shut the fuck up, both of you! My third sister, Lingdi, and her other sisters shouted from the crowd to protect Second Sister’s reputation. Quiet returned.
My husband, an expert at destroying bridges, threw Molotov cocktails at the Flood Dragon River Bridge. In the fifth month, during the Dragon Boat Festival, blue flames shot high into the air, incinerating the Jap devils, who screamed for their mothers and fathers. My husband was badly wounded in the backside. Last night, when a storm blanketed heaven and earth with snow, my husband led his troops to destroy the steel bridge
… My sister then went through the motions of breaking a hole in the ice with an ax, then pretended she was washing clothes in the water. She was quaking from head to toe, like a dead leaf on the tip of a branch in the heart of winter. People were captivated by the performance; some roared their approval, others dried their eyes with their sleeves. As a burst of drums and cymbals tore through the air, Second Sister stood up and gazed into the distance.
I hear an explosion off in the southwest, and I see flames leap into the sky. It must be my husband, who has destroyed the bridge, and the Jap devils’ train has gone to meet its maker. I must run home to warm a pot of wine and kill a pair of hens for chicken stew
… Then my sister gathered her clothes around her and made as if to