by Hsi-Ling Huang
Far away on the dark blue Pacific Ocean, there is an island shaped like a sweet potato. It is called Taiwan, but was called Formosa in the past, a beautiful island.
It was summer. The sun grilled the earth while everything seemed to doze in the heat. On the northeast part of the island, the green tea trees sat on the hills in silence, watching a small brick house. A woman in a navy blue cotton dress came out from the house. She had eyes like an eagle, sharply stuck in her brown, wrinkled face. Gray threads grew randomly in her sparse hair. She was about forty, but her stone expression made her look older. She held the jade idol on her necklace tightly in her palm and prayed in her heart, Buddha, please bless us.
A baby's cry broke the silence and scared the sparrows on the roof. They twittered and flapped their wings. Cicadas buzzed in the trees. A tan dog came out from the bushes and barked at the house. The woman turned around, clenching her fists, waiting. A young man came out the wood door, looking triumphant. He had eyes like the woman's, but his skin was even darker, which made his teeth as white as seashell.
"I am a father!" he cried excitedly.
"Is it a boy?"
"It's a girl, Mom."
She dropped her eyes. The cicadas stopped buzzing. The dog lay down beside the door. The sun poured its golden weight onto the woman's shoulders, making a long shadow on the ground. She remained silent, like the tea trees.
So Chen, at his mother's wish, named his daughter Jau-Di, asking for a brother. Although he was excited about his first child, Chen wanted a son as badly as his mother. He would have to try again. Then Chen and his wife, A-Ywe, had the second daughter, Wang-Yau, raise anyhow. Chen's mother began to look for secret remedies from their neighbors, something to help bring a son to the household. A-Ywe tasted different kinds of herb tea every day. The tea was bitter, smelling like rat's urine. She swallowed with her eyes squinted. Every morning she burned incense and prayed to the Buddha on the altar.
Herb tea did not work. Again, came a third daughter, Pan-Di, wishing for a brother, a fourth, Lai-Di, come brother, and a fifth, Chwen-Mei, beauty in spring. They had heard that if they gave a beautiful name to one of their children it might change their luck.
Every summer in that little brick house you could hear a disappointed sigh after a new baby's first cry. Chen's mom began to nag A-Ywe. She said, "I thought your big butt should be somehow useful." A-Ywe lowered her head. "Maybe I did something wrong in my last life," Chen's mom continued. "Or I am not lucky enough to have a grandson. If not so, why is heaven punishing me?"
A-Ywe lowered her head more. She wished she had a good reason to prove Chen's mom wrong. She had been taught by her mother that a woman was useless if she couldn't have a baby boy. A-Ywe rubbed her belly and prayed in her heart, "Buddha, please give me a baby boy!"
When they had their sixth daughter, they hoped to finish the nightmare by calling the girl A-Wei, which means the end. That didn't mean they would stop trying. The name simply implied "no more girls." So A-Ywe drank more disgusting tea and marked her periods on the calendar. Chen stopped eating meat and drank his special energy wine (they soaked tiger's testicles and some herbs in the wine) before he went to bed. Chen's mom, even busier than the couple, burned more incense, prayed in many different temples, talked to all the neighbors with more men at home, and wished there was even more she could do to get a grandson.
It was an old summer day, similar to the days on which all the girls had been born. The sun covered the earth with burning heat. There was no wind. It was as if the air had coagulated. The heat cooked the brick house and it smoldered by the time the seventh child burst out with its first cry.
Three adults cried even louder than the baby when the midwife told them: "It's a boy."
Now the wind rose and the tea trees laughed. Even the sun turned cooler. The brick house gushed with joy like a spring. They named the long-expected boy Ywe-Lung, beyond the dragon, as they believed that this boy, this particular first boy, would be different from any other boy.
Nature had her own rules. Chen and his mother were satisfied with the birth of the first boy, Nature was not. The twin boys came after Ywe-Lung. Harvest from a small tea tree field could hardly support nine children. Chen named the twins Nyou-Sh, bull shit, and Cha-Hu, tea pot. There was a saying, give your children ugly names so you could raise them as easily as farm dogs.
During the day, the older kids went to school to learn Mandarin Chinese while the three adults worked in the field. A-Ywe carried the twins on her back while she worked. She put A-Wei, the youngest girl, and Ywe-Lung, the oldest boy, in a barred cradle under a big banyan tree near the field so that she could keep her eyes on them.
A-Ywe was a young, skinny woman, not much taller than a tea tree. She was not considered a beautiful woman because Chinese people believe that only women with fair, smooth skin are beautiful. Her skin was dark and dry from working under the sun for years. A-Ywe used to have hair like a waterfall dyed with black ink; now it was short and burned by the sun. But she had a big butt, a big round butt that guaranteed the production of children. That's the reason Chen's mom had chosen her to be Chen's wife. A-Ywe was seventeen when she married Chen, but the sun quickly killed her beauty.
If the sun had done anything good to her, it was to give light to her eyes. Her big, round eyes glowed. They shone when she worked among the tea trees. They shone when she held the twins in her dark-skinned arms and rubbed their smooth skin with her rough swollen hand. They were not as bright as the sunlight, but they held the appearance of her name, Ywe, the moon.
When the oldest girls came home from school in the afternoon, it was time to prepare dinner. Chen sat in the bamboo armchair and read the newspaper while his mom bathed Ywe-Lung. The two oldest girls helped their mother cook while the other four girls did their homework and took care of the twins. When the dinner was ready, Chen sat down and ate. His mother fed Ywe-Lung, his wife fed the twins, and the girls stood beside the table. After Chen was full and belched, the girls could sit down and eat with their grandmother. Finally everybody was satisfied, and A-Ywe cleaned up whatever was left over. Sometimes there was nothing left for her to eat but some gravy from dishes to mix with steamed rice. That was how she stayed so thin.
After dinner, Chen would let Ywe-Lung sit on his lap and play with him for a while. Then he made tea and went back to read his newspaper. The two oldest girls did the dishes. A-Ywe bathed the twins and two of the little girls. The two other little girls helped their mother put the bedtime clothes on their brothers and sisters. Later on, Chen made sure the kids finished their homework while A-Ywe sewed clothes for them, using old hand-me-down dresses, old curtains, faded sheets, or flour sacks. Flour was imported from America and the tough flour sacks were useful material. The girls usually got the same style and color dresses; they looked like matching, walking curtains. The boys got pants made of Chen's old suits or shorts made of flour sacks.
At harvest time, the three adults had to carry big baskets on their backs and snap new leaves from the twigs by hand before the leaves grew too old. The sun burned their skin. Chen couldn't afford to hire another helper, but his mom thought of a way out.
One afternoon, the sun sprinkled its remaining golden powder onto the upper hill and frogs began to sing lullabies to the tea trees. Wisps of smoke curled upward from the chimney of the brick house down the hill.
"The two big girls are old enough now," Chen's mom said to her daughter-in-law while she was preparing dinner. "It's time for them to drop out of school."
"But Mom, they are only in second grade," A-Ywe replied with a soft tone.
"Do you want your husband to die of overwork?" Chen's mom said, staring at A-Ywe with her sharp eyes. "Or do you wish I were dead?"
A-Ywe lowered her head and began washing the vegetables in the sink.
"You have nothing to say, huh?" Chen's mom approached the sink. "You think I am a burden to this family, don't you?"
A-Ywe looked at the water in the sink and soaked her shaking hands in the water. "Mother, don't say that. I just thought maybe we should at least let the girls finish elementary school."
"What for? I didn't go to school. I got married and have a good son. You didn't go to school, and you are lucky to marry my son and have nine kids. Aren't you satisfied?" She stopped for a second. "I am. Life should be like this. I don't know what your wicked head is thinking, or how your mother brought you up. My mother, my grandmother, and my great grandmother. No one sent girls to school. Do you know why? If your mother never taught you about this, I'll tell you why. Girls will get married. They will have kids named after other people, not our family. Why bother wasting time and money on somebody else's property? How silly you are!"
A-Ywe didn't say a word. She hastily picked the vegetables out of the water and, by accident, spilled water onto her mother-in-law's dark blue cotton blouse.
"What are you doing? You clumsy thing."
"Sorry, Mother," A-Ywe said without looking at her.
"Don't tell me it was an accident. I know what you're thinking," the old woman said while wiping the sparkling droplets of water with an exaggerated gesture. "If you are not happy about what I said, just say so. What a fortune, having a daughter-in-law like you." She left the kitchen and locked herself in her room.
The young woman sighed. She thought about what her mother told her before she married Chen. To obey your in-laws and your husband. But she didn't want her girls to be as ignorant as she was. She wanted them to learn how to write their names, at least. She looked at her reflection on the water in the sink, wishing she were a man.
Chen didn't notice anything different until he sat down by the table and picked up the chopsticks with his rough hand.
"Where's Mom?"
"In her room," A-Ywe replied calmly, and kept on feeding the boys.
"What's wrong?"
Chen's mom came out from her room before A-Ywe had a chance to tell Chen her side of the story. A-Ywe's heart was pounding. She pretended to be busy and kept her ears keen.
"Come here, Ywe-Lung, come to Granny." Chen's mom held Ywe-Lung's hand and sat down on the other side of the table. "Good boy. Eat more so you will grow up faster and take care of Granny."
"What is it, Mother?" Chen said.
The old woman raised her head and looked at her daughter-in-law, who was feeding the twins. Chen's mom fed her grandson another spoonful of rice, then sighed. "I don't have good fortune. From now on I'll wake up earlier to work in the fields before dawn."
"Mother."
"If you want to waste your money on letting your girls go to school, that's fine. Get a helper before I die of working too hard."
"Mother, you know I can't afford another helper."
Silence fell over the dishes on the table. Chen looked at A-Ywe, noticing her eyes were particularly bright. Chen stared back at his bowl. Chen's mom suddenly smashed her chopsticks on the table and her eagle eyes shot right into her son’s. No sound fell upon the dinner table but the chewing from Ywe-Lung's mouth. Chen got up, avoiding looking at either woman and went into the bedroom. Chen's mom and A-Ywe didn't talk or look at each other. The girls, looking at their brothers with hungry eyes, felt happy because their father had barely touched the food.
A few days later, the sun, still burning, shone on the little brick house as usual. On the hill among the tea trees, the sun's eyes caught two yellow spots. The two oldest girls, shorter than the tea trees, were picking leaves. So the sun, focusing on his targets, began to grill them. The old woman stopped nagging, but still refused to speak to her daughter-in-law. Silence remained at the dinner table for a few days until A-Ywe finally realized she had no power in the little brick house. She felt sorry for the two older girls, but at least those younger girls could still go to school. There was hope, she thought.
The sun laid his arms on the tea trees, the tea trees watched the brick house, and inside the brick house, the girls waited beside the dinner table every day. The two older girls finally had skin as dark as their mother's. It was as if the sun had baked two gingerbread girls among the tea trees.
The sun looked brighter that day, as if he knew it was a big day for Ywe-Lung and the family. The first boy was going to school. A-Ywe sewed him a new pair of flour sack shorts the night before and prepared a lunch box for him. Chen and his mother took a day off because they wanted to take Ywe-Lung to school. Chen's mom had told all the neighbors the news. The first boy was going to school today! The two older sisters helped him blow his nose, comb his hair, and tuck in his shirt, and told him to be good at school. When everything was ready, Chen and his mom each took one of Ywe-Lung's hands, walking proudly out of the brick house into the cheery sunlight while the four younger girls followed behind. The oldest two girls and A-Ywe held the twins' hands, watching the family parade leave.
As they lived far out in the countryside, it would take them an hour to walk to school. Whenever they ran into a neighbor, Chen's mom said, "It's my grandson's first day of school." Her teeth gleamed in the sunlight.
The school's policy was "No Parents' Company." Chen's mom tried to convince the teacher to let her stay, but the teacher only spoke Mandarin Chinese, which Chen's mom didn't understand. Chen himself understood some but couldn't speak well, so he explained to his mom that they were not allowed to stay and took her home. They wandered around the house because they couldn't do anything but think about how Ywe-Lung was doing at school. A-Ywe and the two girls worked the whole morning picking tea leaves. In the afternoon they divided the leaves, spreading the freshest ones on the big colanders.
School finished. Chen and his mom anxiously stood outside the brick house, watching the end of the path. Some neighbors stood with Chen, as they were curious about the first boy's first school day.
"You must be very proud of your grandson," a neighbor said to Chen's mom.
"Well, I only hope he didn't get into trouble." She smiled, too gaily.
"You're too modest," another neighbor said. "He must be the smartest boy in the class."
Chen's mom shook her head, but the smile on her face grew wider.
"Oh, yes. The cutest," a different neighbor said.
"The best," another said. Chen and his mom smiled at their neighbors, their faces shining like two light bulbs in the sun.
Children's voices were heard in the distance. There came Ywe-Lung, walking quickly in his brand-new flour sack shorts with "Made in U.S.A." on the butt and "Net Weight 50 Kg." right in front of his testicles, carrying a big cardboard sign on his chest with "I WILL NOT SPEAK TAIWANESE AT SCHOOL" on it. His sisters followed behind, gesturing him to keep at a distance. Some schoolboys walked beside him, laughing at him as if he were a clown in a circus. Chen's mom, though she didn't understand the words on the cardboard sign, realized that what had happened to her grandson was totally against her expectations. Chen looked at his son and the only word that came to his mind was fan-tung, a good-for-nothing rice barrel. The gleam of pride on his and his mother's faces turned into great disappointment as if they had stepped in a pile of cow's droppings with brand-new shoes.
All the neighbors burst into laugher and felt lucky that that was not their boy. "Look how silly he is!" "He must be the most famous boy in class now." "That's what he learned today!" Chen and his mom blushed, but no one could tell because of their dark skin. They went into the house silently. Ywe-Lung cried when he saw his mother. She ran down from the hill, met him, and held him in her arms. A-Ywe's hands were red and swelling because she had been picking tea leaves all day. She rubbed Ywe-Lung's face with her rough fingers and looked at her son with the glow of love like Buddha. The sun blew on the mother and the son with a warm breeze.
Chen kept silent at the dinner table while his mother locked herself in her room.
While the sun gazed at the brick house the next morning, Ywe-Lung put on his new "Made in U.S.A." shorts, carried a new lunch box his mother prepared and the big cardboard sign, and quietly followed behind his sisters.
An earlier version of this story appeared in Jabberwock Review (Fall 2000) under the title "While the Sun Shines."
©2003 Hsi-Ling Huang.
Hsi-Ling Huang is originally from Taipei, Taiwan. In 1994, she received her bachelor's degree in English from Soochow University, Taiwan. She applied to the Creative Writing Program at Bowling Green State University in 1996. In the summer of 1998, she won Bowling Green's Richard Devine Fiction Fellowship Award and earned her MFA in Creative Writing. She received her doctoral degree in English from Florida State University in 2003.
As a writer of Chinese, Huang has published fiction, non-fiction, and poetry since 1992. Her work in English has also appeared in Whalelane, Blackwater Review, Jabberwock Review, and So To Speak.
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