Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

was an independent farmer, just like the old days. So your father and mother once again were eating together and sleeping together.
    The kang was so warm it quickly drove the chill from our nearly frozen bodies, and as we started moving around, I could tell by looking at my canine brothers and sister what I must have looked like. The same thing had happened back when I’d been reborn as a pig. We were clumsy, covered with fuzz, and cute as hell — I guess. There were four children on the kang with us, all about three years old. A boy and three girls. We were three males and a female.
    “Would you look at that!” your mother exclaimed in happy surprise. “The exact opposite of the children!”
    Lan Lian snorted noncommittally as he took the charred remains of a mantis egg capsule from the kang opening. He cracked it open; inside were two steaming mantis eggs that smelled bad. “Who wet the bed?” he asked. “Whoever did it has to eat these.”
    “I did!” Two of the boys and the girl answered in unison.
    That left one boy who said nothing. He had fleshy ears, big eyes, and a tiny little mouth that made him seem to be pouting. You already know that he was the adopted son of Ximen Jinlong and Huang Huzhu. Word had it that he was the biological son of a pair of high-school students. Jinlong was rich enough to get anything he wanted, and powerful enough to back his wishes up. So a few months before the deal was made, Huzhu began wearing padding around her middle to fake a pregnancy. But the villagers knew. The boy was named Ximen Huan — they called him Huanhuan — and he was the pearl in their palm.
    “The guilty party keeps his mouth shut, his innocent brothers and sister can’t confess fast enough!” Yingchun said as she passed the hot mantis eggs from one hand to the other while blowing on them. Finally, she held them out to Ximen Huan. “Here, Huanhuan, eat them.”
    Ximen Huan took them from his grandmother and, without even looking at them, flung them to the floor. They landed in front of our mother, who gobbled them down without a second thought.
    “That child, I don’t know what to say!” Yingchun said to Lan Lian.
    Lan Lian shook his head. “You can always tell where a child comes from.”
    All four children looked curiously at us puppies and reached out to touch us.
    “One apiece, just right,” Yingchun said.
    Four months later, when buds began to appear on the old apricot tree in the front yard, Yingchun said to the four couples — Ximen Jinlong and Huang Huzhu, Ximen Baofeng and Ma Liangcai, Chang Tianhong and Pang Kangmei, and Lan Jiefang and Huang Hezuo:
    “It’s time for you to take your children home with you. That’s why I asked you here. First, since we don’t know how to read or write, I’m afraid that keeping them here will slow their development. Second, we’re getting old. Our hair is white, our eyesight dimmed, and our teeth are loose. Life has been hard on us for many years, and I think we deserve a little time for ourselves. Comrades Chang and Pang, it’s been our good fortune to have your child with us, but Uncle Lan and I’ve talked it over, and we feel that Fenghuang ought to start kindergarten in town.”
    The moment had arrived with all the solemnity of a formal handover ceremony: four little children were lined up on the eastern edge of the kang, four little puppies on the western edge. Yingchun picked up Ximen Huan, kissed him on the cheek, and handed him to Huzhu, who cradled him. Then Yingchun picked up the oldest puppy, rubbed his head, and put him in the arms of Huanhuan. “This is yours, Huanhuan,” she said.
    She then picked up Ma Gaige, planted a kiss on his cheek, and handed him to Baofeng, who cradled him. She picked up the second puppy and put him in Ma Gaige’s arms. “Gaige,” she said, “this is yours.”
    Yingchun then picked up Pang Fenghuang and lovingly gazed at her pink little face; with tears in her eyes, she kissed her on both cheeks, then turned and reluctantly handed her to Pang Kangmei.
    “Three bald little boys aren’t the equal of one fairy maiden.”
    Yingchun picked up the third puppy, patted her on the head, rubbed her mouth, stroked her tail, and put her in Fenghuang’s arms.
    “Fenghuang,” she said, “this is yours.”
    Finally Yingchun picked up Lan Kaifeng, half of whose face was covered by a blue birthmark, which she rubbed. With a sigh, her face now streaked with tears, she said, “You poor thing. . . how come