5

With age, Grandma Hui's eyesight dimmed, but her ears stayed faithful. She still heard the crickets at night.

One day, when Grandpa Yu's flower garden was all ablaze with gold and yellow — chrysanthemums — he invited You Hui and Grandma Hui to his house to drink rice wine. You Hui never stopped finding it funny that Grandpa Hui liked to eat flowers.

"So what will it be with these chrysanthemums? Fried, or boiled in a nice soup?"

Joking aside, You Hui was curious why his old friend was serving rice wine. What was the special occasion?

"Oh, it's a good day," Grandpa Yu replied, in good humor, "Go and get your wife, we can't start without her!"

When the chrysanthemums reach the peak of their golden bloom, that means it's mushroom season in the mountains. Grandpa Yu had already been out foraging, and on the table that day were: one bowl of mushrooms fried with pork, one bowl of yellow braised carp, one bowl of seared tofu with green onions, and one bowl of cabbage, lightly fried, and all cooked and served by Grandma Yu.

As the two old couples sat down at table together, You Hui asked again what the special occasion was.

"Ask your Brother Yu," Grandma Yu laughed.

Grandpa Yu looked embarrassed:

"I think it would be better if you tell them," he said.

Grandma Yu began to explain:

"Today is the tenth day of the ninth lunar month, and well, your Brother Yu remembered that today marks fifty years from the day Brother Hui first brought Sister Hui to Water Village."

Grandpa Yu's eyes were glued to the table. He didn't look up, but said:

"I know you two didn't really have a wedding — the rituals and the feast and so on — but I saw on the television that fifty years of marriage is called a 'golden anniversary.' And it struck me, gold doesn't wear out or rust — gold is something that lasts. So, that's why today is a good day."

Grandma Hui put her chopsticks down out of the way so she could wipe tears away with her sleeve.

"Brother Yu, how did you remember? Your Brother Hui certainly didn't remember, and actually, neither did I."

"When you get old, " Grandpa Yu said, "you start to forget things, but only things that are new. You never forget the things that stayed with you from your old life. I remember what date that day was because, on the eighth day of the ninth lunar month, the ration - eaters passed through Water Village and stayed the night. They left the next day, the ninth. At the time, I wanted to join the army and become a ration - eater too, but my mother wouldn't let me go. She was sick, and she told me that if I left that day, the ninth, she'd be dead the next day, the tenth ... So, I ended up not going. It's hard to forget when your mother tells you something like that. The next day, the tenth, Brother Hui brought Sister Hui to Water Village. I even remember what my mother told me that day: 'the world is changing, and the ration - eaters' clothes are changing too.'"

"Ration - eaters" is the name old people in Water Village used to talk about soldiers.

Grandma Hui wiped her tears away again, and said:

"I just thank the gods I found a good man in your Brother Hui. If it weren't for him, I don't know where I might have ended up."

Grandma Yu laughed to lighten the mood, and said:

"Sister, this is a happy day, here — take your cup, drink up!"

"Fifty years ..." Grandma Hui said, "I've spent almost all my life with him, and now I can say, it was worth it! He may not be clever, or hard - working, but he's a good man. He's always been good to me, never beating me or shouting at me. In fifty years, he's never even laid a finger on me in anger."

Grandpa Hui laughed:

"How could I beat you? As far as I can tell, you're a gift from the Buddha. I just hope I haven't done wrong by not spending the last fifty years on my knees praying and lighting incense!"

"Now, it's time for us four to drink!" Grandpa Yu said, reaching for his cup, "And, since Brother Hui never gets tired of asking me how I like to eat my chrysanthemum, today, every dish on the table is topped with some delicious golden chrysanthemum!"

"So you really can eat it?" Grandpa Hui asked, incredulous.

Grandma Hui already had a few petals between her chopsticks. Looking up she said:

"Of course you can. Don't you know they're used in traditional medicine! But the only reason your Brother Yu wanted to eat chrysanthemum today — actually, he insisted — is to prove once and for all that they're edible. Can you believe how stubborn he is!"

"They both are," Grandma Hui said, looking between Grandpa Yu and her husband, "They've spent the better part of their lives arguing with each other. Never over anything important though, only strange childish things. They must have left a lot of things unsettled when they were boys ... remember that time they got into a big argument about crickets!"

The two men glanced at each other. Their eyes met, and they clinked wine cups, laughing together.

Years went by, spouses passed away, and Grandma Hui was left wondering, would chrysanthemum be good - tasting fried up on its own? In her garden, the chili trees were just slightly past season, past their peak. As she watched them, the sun began to tilt to the west, pulling the flagstones by her backyard well into shadow. The air began to cool as she sat, thinking about her dead husband. Tears leaked out of her hazy old eyes.

"You're gone ... you left on your own, and now you're in a better place. Where am I, now you left me behind to suffer? You raised a stupid son, and stupid grandchildren —none of them were any good at studying ... but then, I'm stupid too. I know that now.

"What a waste ..." she sighed out loud, "I've given my life to Water Village, when if I'd just had a bit more education, I might have gone somewhere in the world. All the things I've done here ... every child born, I was the one who birthed them — it was me, the midwife. Every soul who died here, I tended their body, made them ready for their funeral."

As a young woman still new to Water Village, Grandma Hui served as the village's barefoot doctor. Whenever someone had a headache, or a fever, she would come running with the medicine box on her back. The box was beautiful, made by Grandpa Yu, of course, of camphorwood painted white with a neat little red cross under the little key - latch. She kept a special reserve of energy for her midwife duties. When she heard one of the village women's amniotic fluid had just broken, she sprinted like a madwoman to their house. Sometimes, the little glass medicine vials in her box would break as she ran, so it became a village custom for whatever young man was on hand to take her box and run after her holding it, strong hands insuring vials didn't break. If any man saw her running and didn't help, he would be sure to get an earful later. By the time Grandma Hui was an old woman, she knew the birthday of every person in the village aged forty and over. If anyone forgot when their child's birthday was, which did occasionally happen, they knew they could count on Grandma Hui to refresh their memory. Her memory stayed sharp, but gradually her midwifing services were no longer needed. Times change, and now new mothers go to the city hospital instead. Men and women older than Grandma Hui recalled how in the past, when a woman was getting ready to give birth, her family had to be ready for whatever might happen. Funeral pyres were as much a part of the preparation as celebration wine. But that changed after Grandma Hui arrived. In her time as midwife, not a single woman died in childbirth.

Grandma Hui only took up her midwife duties twelve years after her arriving in Water Village. That was the same year she had her own son, Qiangtuo, who was born just three months before Grandma Yu gave birth to Qiao'er. Earlier that year, Water Village's old midwife died, leaving the handful of pregnant women in the village in suspense, scared. They began trying to work out whose child would come out of the kiln first — the kiln is what people in Water Village jokingly called a woman's womb. In Water Village, the way of deciding who would be the new midwife was simple. When the job needs doing, it simply has to be done, so, whichever village woman was brave enough to do it, she would be the village midwife for the rest of her life.

The pregnant wives' bellies grew bigger, and they all knew they were drawing closer to the gates of life and death. They each singled out women they trusted, and courted them with jokes:

"You'll give me a hand, won't you, when the time comes? Don't you think it'll be exciting to hold my life in your hands? Or, think about it this way — if I've ever done anything to wrong you, or if you just don't like me, you'll have the chance to be rid of me forever!"

But no one dared to take the job.

Meanwhile, Grandma Yu was pregnant too, though she didn't tell anyone or even discuss it after it became obvious. Then, very late one night, a firecracker went off outside the Huis' house. The Yus woke up immediately, startled. Grandma Yu leapt out of bed, worried. In Water Village, a firecracker means one of two things — birth, or death. Their loud noise, smoke and fire are valued for driving away evil spirits, so they are vital at times when human souls cross between spirit and physical worlds. The only way to tell whether a firecracker is being used to protect a dead soul or a newborn one is that when a person dies, mourning relatives will also burn spirit money outside the gate.

A few minutes later, Grandma Yu came running back home, panting and beaming with joy:

"Sister Hui's had a baby boy!"

"Who was the midwife?" Grandpa Yu asked.

"The gods!" she replied, "It must have been the gods, because she did it all on her own!"

Grandpa Yu's jaw dropped. For a while he couldn't speak, but finally managed to say:

"I can't go over, wouldn't be proper, but you go, you go, You Hui's not going to be much good to her right now, and she'll need some help!"

"I know, I know, I'm going, I just wanted to come tell you the good news so you wouldn't worry. Oh, I was so scared when I went out, I was half expecting to see spirit money!"

"Thank the gods! They protected her, and she's alive, with a new - born baby boy!"

Three months later Qiao'er was born, with Grandma Hui as midwife paving her way. Grandma Hui brought a brand - new professionalism to her post — the first thing she did was go out and buy a pair of medical - grade scissors and gauze. Past Water Village midwifes used ordinary kitchen scissors, heated briefly over fire, to snip the umbilical cord. When the day came for Qiao'er to arrive, Grandma Hui sterilized the scissors in a pot of boiling water, and prepared the gauze using a bamboo steamer. It was afternoon when Qiao'er was born, so there was an audience of village women watching. None of the women could believe what they were seeing — Grandma Hui had a lot to do, but the way she went about it was calm, and methodical. The women all were bursting with questions for Grandma Hui, and a few days later when Grandpa Yu invited everyone over for celebratory sweet wine, they got their chance: "Where did you learn to have her lay on top of a big piece of gauze like that? And where did you learn to steam the gauze? Oh, and the scissors, who taught you to put it in boiling water?"

Grandma Hui just laughed, and said:

"Oh, it's easy. I just thought about it, and that's what made sense."

Someone else asked:

"Who taught you to leave the umbilical cord so long like you did?"

She laughed some more, and said:

"If you cut it too short you might hurt the baby's tummy, but if you leave it too long, it gets in the way. At least, that was my thinking. I don't think I left it especially long."

Then, some years later, the authorities sent word to Water Village that the village was to select one person among them to attend a special school where they would study to become a barefoot doctor. It was obvious to everyone that Grandma Hui should go, no discussion needed. She was the only person qualified — besides being able to read, she was also bright, and just as importantly, she liked to help people. She was the only woman anyone had heard of to act as her own midwife — that was proof enough of her talent.

Qiangtuo and Qiao'er were born just three months apart, so they grew up side by side, practically siblings. When Grandpa Yu made something, a wooden toy car, or a folding chair for Qiao'er, he would always make another one to give to Qiangtuo. Old clothes from Wangtuo and Fatuo were split into two piles — one for Qiao'er, one for Qiangtuo. This is how they grew up, and it is also why certain rumors started.

One night, Grandma Yu pulled her husband aside to talk:

"So, you know how people used to think that Sister Hui couldn't have children? Well, now obviously they know they were wrong, but it seems a little strange, how it took them ten years to finally have a baby. So now people are saying, maybe it's You Hui who has the problem, maybe it wasn't her who couldn't have children, but in fact him."

"How am I supposed to know about that?" Grandpa Yu replied." Whether or not they can have children," Grandpa Yu replied, "that's for Avalokitesvara to take care of."

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" she asked her husband.

"Of course, but I'm not interested in hearing about what other people say! I can't stand when people get themselves involved in things that have nothing to do with them. You shouldn't get involved in that kind of talk, unless it's to tell people why they shouldn't talk about other people's family business!"

"What I mean is," Grandma Yu continued, "Qiangtuo is practically your nephew, and we live right next door and we're very close with them. We always treat him well on daily basis, it's good."

Now Grandpa Yu realized she was hiding something under her words.

"What is it?" he asked, "What have you heard?"

"There are some people who say, maybe Qiangtuo isn't really You Hui's son. They think You Hui is infertile ..."

Now Grandpa Yu understood what she meant.

"Do you believe it?" he asked.

"Do I believe what?" she asked back.

"I think you'd better ask yourself that question," he replied.

"Well, what difference does it make whether I believe or not!"

"There's nothing to fear about people talking — there will always be people who like to talk. What's important is that your own behavior is righteous. He who is upright does not cast a crooked shadow."

The woman who took care of preparing people's bodies for their funeral, a healthy eighty something year old, died suddenly. While there may be several midwives sharing duties at one time, there was only ever one person who tended to corpses, and now, there was no one in place to take the job. Certainly nobody thought it should be Grandma Hui — as a barefoot doctor, dealing with dead bodies was considered to be beneath her. But she wasn't worried about that. She saw that nobody was prepared to do what needed to be done for the poor old dead woman, so she stepped up. Amid wailing and moans of her family that made the sky spin and darken, she gave orders for water to be boiled, then asked the relatives to bring out the grave clothes. She had to be quick, wash the body and dress it while it was still soft and supple. Grandma Hui was over thirty years old now, a veteran midwife of many village births, yet she'd never in her life seen a dead body. She wasn't scared though. She went to work wearing a surgical mask, the same mask in fact that she wore while tending to the old woman on her deathbed. She didn't take off her mask off until the old body lay clean and ready on a wooden board. Then the villagers returned to their senses as if waking from a dream, and began calling out the name of Amitabha Buddha, the Buddha of Boundless Life and Light, and praised Grandma Hui's good deeds which they said would surely bring her much good karma. Grandma Hui pulled down her mask, and said:

"The old lady dead before us spent a lifetime doing good deeds. That's why she left the world without pain or sickness."

From that day, Grandma Hui was the sole gatekeeper at the passageways between this world and the worlds unknown to mortals. Birth or death, all souls in Water Village passed through her hands.

Nobody disputed that caring for bodies was a virtuous and meritorious undertaking, but that didn't mean the thought of actually doing it didn't scare them. Death is dirty, and worse, it attracts ghosts and evil spirits. Normally, people would keep their distance from someone who touched a corpse for a few days after. They wouldn't eat anything that person touched and they would never invite them inside their home for fear that they would bring ghosts with them. But as always, Grandma Hui was different. People weren't actively afraid of her, but they still thought it strange that a woman who paid such loving attention to appearances — always clean, hair always neatly combed and shining with health, clothes plain, but always nice and neat — would be willing to get so close to death, to touch it with her hands.

The resident village loud - mouths didn't hesitate to question You Hui about his wife's strange choice of charitable activities.

"Such a pretty wife, but just think about where her hands have been ..."

They asked him if he was afraid to eat food she made.

You Hui always took her side, but later, at home, he took it out on her in big arguments. He told her she shouldn't get involved with dead people, that it was a useless thing to do anyway since it didn't bring them any extra money or food. He supported her other work — she earned work - points with her barefoot doctor work, and as a midwife, they could count on steady gifts of sweet wine.

Grandma Hui was assured in her reply:

"Everybody dies someday, and when they do, somebody needs to look after their body."

"But I'm asking you," You Hui insisted, "what do you gain from it?"

"What 'gain' does the sun get from shining on the earth?" she shrugged." What 'gain' does the rain get from falling on the land? What about Brother Yu. He accepts money for everything he makes, except coffins. So what 'gain' would you say he gets from that?"

"That's his business. No one told him he couldn't charge money for coffins, he decided that himself. Other carpenters do charge a fee, and think about it — when he works for free, it puts them in an awkward spot when they ask for money! It makes people not like him!"

"So you'd have me ask for money then?" she fired back, "When someone in their family has just died, you want me to go to them and try to take their money? Are you really suggesting that?"

"No, I never said that! I just don't want you to do that work. I don't want people to make jokes about it, to make fun of me!"

"Well, next time someone makes fun of you, just tell me, and then when they die, I won't help them. There, that's fair, isn't it?"

Immediately, she regretted her words. She knew it wasn't fair. How could she say something so heartless? zZ/3u/9YnCwWTwq/opOgYDsqSLb/e8sKny9rP7ualbbiXz/R7HJr7byMmK0txufq