Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

partridges at her feet. At first, the meetings appeared unplanned, but before long they had turned into outdoor trysts, one waiting for the other, no matter how long it took. Third Sister’s feet trampled the grass in that spot until it stopped growing altogether. As for Birdman Han, he would simply show up, toss birds at her feet, and leave without a word. Sometimes it would be a pair of turtledoves, sometimes a game hen, and once he brought a huge bird that must have weighed thirty pounds. Third Sister was barely able to carry it home on her back; even Third Master Fan, the wisest man around, had no idea what kind of bird it was. All I can say is, I’d never tasted anything quite so delicious in my life. Naturally, the taste came to me indirectly, through my mother’s milk.
    Taking advantage of his close relationship with our family, Third Master Fan cautioned Mother to pay heed to what was going on between my third sister and Birdman Han. His words had a demeaning, foul quality. “Young niece, your third daughter and that bird-catcher … ah, it’s a corruption of public morals, and it’s more than the villagers can stand!” Mother said, “She’s just a girl.” To which Third Master Fan replied, “Your daughters are different from other girls their ages.” Mother sent Third Master Fan off with, “You go back and tell those gossips they can to go to hell!”
    Reproaching Third Master Fan was one thing, dealing with Third Sister was another: when she came home with a half-dead red-crowned crane, Mother took her aside for a serious talk. “Lingdi,” she said, “we can’t keep eating somebody else’s birds.” “Why not?” Lingdi asked. “For him, shooting down a bird is easier than catching a flea.” “But they’re still his birds, no matter how easily he comes by them. Don’t you know that people expect favors to be returned?” “I’ll repay him one day,” Third Sister said. “Repay him with what?” Mother demanded. “I’ll marry him,” Third Sister said lightly. “Lingdi,” Mother replied somberly, “your two elder sisters have already caused this family to lose more face than anyone could imagine. This time I am not going to give in, no matter what you say.” “Mother,” Lingdi said with rising indignation, “that’s easy for you to say. If not for Birdman Han, could he look like he does today?” She pointed to me, then pointed to the son of the Sima family. “Or him?” Mother looked into my ruddy face and then at the red-cheeked Sima baby, and didn’t know what to say. After a moment, she said, “Lingdi, from today on, we won’t eat any more of his birds, no matter what you say.”
    The next day, Third Sister came home with a string of wild pigeons and, displaying her pique, flung them down at Mother’s feet.
    The eighth month seemed to arrive out of nowhere. Flocks of wild geese filled the sky heading south and settled on the marshes southwest of the village. The villagers and outsiders all converged on them with hooks and nets and other time-tested methods to reap a wild goose harvest. At first it was a lush yield, and feathers floated above the village streets and lanes. But the wild geese were not to be so easily victimized forever, and they began roosting in the farthest, deepest reaches of the marshes, places even foxes found inhospitable; that cancelled out the villagers’ hunting strategies. And still Third Sister came home every day with a wild goose; some dead, others still alive, and no one knew how Birdman Han managed to catch them.
    Faced with cruel realities, Mother was forced to compromise. If we refused to eat the birds Birdman Han caught for us, we’d all have developed signs of malnourishment, like most of the villagers: edema, asthmatic breathing, eyes with flickering light, just like will-o’-the-wisps. Eating Han’s birds meant only that to the list of sons-in-law, which included the leader of a musket band and a specialist in blowing up bridges, was now added an expert bird-catcher.
    On the morning of the sixteenth day of the eighth month, Third Sister went to her usual trysting place; at home we awaited her return. By then we were getting a little tired of cooked goose, with its grassy flavor, and were hoping that Birdman Han might present us with a change in diet. We didn’t dare hope that Third Sister would bring home another of those oversized, delicious birds, but a few pigeons or turtledoves or wild ducks wouldn’t be asking too