Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [133]
We reach the maternity courtyard—a large house that was confiscated and converted to its new use when the commune was formed. My mother-in-law explains to the midwife that I’m from a city and that I’ve never seen a baby come out. The midwife gives me a pitying look, guides me to a room, tells me to take off my pants, and directs me to a corner where she’s spread a piece of cloth. I squat in the proper position and support myself against the walls. The contractions come faster and harder. I want to scream, but that’s considered inappropriate. But even with my jaw clenched, moans come from somewhere deep inside me. My mother-in-law and the midwife stare at me disapprovingly. I look down and see a bulge between my legs. Just when I feel like things are going to rip apart down there, the midwife reaches under me and snips the skin.
When she finally orders me to push, I gladly obey. This is the easiest part, at least for me. I haven’t had much to eat these past months and the baby is small, slipping out like an oily fish. It’s a girl, which means I receive no tears of happiness or words of congratulations. The midwife hands me the baby. She makes little jerky motions with her arms. She has tufts of black hair on top of her head. Her nose is perfect. Her lips are pretty. She’s tiny, thin really, but I can tell she’s strong by the way she grips my pinkie. She’s been born in the Year of the Boar, just like my uncle Vern. I remember something my mother said about him: “Like all Boars, he was born with a remarkably strong body. He can withstand a great deal of pain and suffering without complaint.” I hang on to those words now. I hope my baby will be like my uncle—courageous in the face of great odds. Blessing and worry, happiness and fear—this is a mother’s love.
Once the baby and I are cleaned up, we’re moved to the dormitory. I get a bed next to Sung-ling, who regards me sympathetically. She also had a daughter, so she too has felt disappointment from those around her. My mother-in-law goes home and comes back the next morning with special mother’s soup fortified with peanuts, ginger, and liquor to bring in my milk, shrink my womb, and help me regain my strength. I don’t know where she got the ingredients, but the soup works and the baby greedily sucks from my breast. For the first time, I have real compassion for what my aunt May went through when she gave me away right after my birth. Her breasts, her womb, her whole body must have ached for me.
It’s good I have Sung-ling next to me, because otherwise I’d be miserable. How many movies and television shows have I seen where a wife gives birth and the husband arrives with flowers and kisses? Too many to count. But Tao doesn’t come to see me. Now I know there’s nothing I can do to please him, and it’s heartbreaking. This is not my only failure or source of sadness. Sung-ling, the other new mothers, and I are supposed to be fed extra rations, but the commune’s food stores are small. We receive no brown sugar and ginseng to restore blood, and no chicken and fruit to help rebuild our constitutions. I anticipate that no red eggs will be made to celebrate my baby’s one-month birthday either. Still, three neighbor women give me eggs: one egg is rotten, the second is so old the yolk can’t be distinguished from the white, and the third has a dead chick inside. I think about the risk they took to hide the eggs. If someone is caught hoarding or hiding food, Brigade Leader Lai will have him or her beaten.
When I’m sent home, I’m not given any of the food or cotton I was promised. My father-in-law refuses to look at me. My mother-in-law ignores me. I ask Tao if he’d like to hold our daughter,