Where I come from, we had very few obstetricians. Most people would simply ask an old mama to assist during childbirth. Which old mama to ask was rarely left to the uncertainty of the moment. A big, wealthy household would almost always have the same old mama for its First Daughter-in-Law, Second Daughter-in-Law, Third Daughter-in-Law, and so on, to ensure the safe birth of their precious grandchildren. The old mama would need to come in and pass through interior rooms and so on—a stranger just wouldn’t do! The old mama would be quite familiar with such households; she knew which maidservant had long hands and would be good for holding the mother from behind. Moreover, most people had this superstitious belief that using an old mama was “auspicious,” and would ensure a smooth birth. And all old mamas had an altar for the Goddess of Male Offspring set up at home, and burnt incense sticks there everyday.
Who would ever ask a male doctor to assist during childbirth? Where I’m from, all the doctors were men, with the exception of Flower Face Li, who had followed her father’s footsteps and become the only female doctor for the entire city. But she was an internist, and, well, an old maid, not an obstetrician. When a man goes to medical school, he would never think of becoming an obstetrician. It would be so beneath him and he would feel so ashamed. There was an exception to this rule, though: Little-Hand Chen, a well-known male obstetrician.
Little-Hand Chen was thus nicknamed thanks to his hands, smaller than those of even most women, and softer. His specialty was difficult births. Transverse births, breech births, you name it, he could handle them all. People said his small hands were light and nimble, and actually reduced pain for the mothers in labor. Big and wealthy households, however, would not use his services unless they had no other choice. Most average households were much more liberal on this. Whenever they ran into a difficult birth and the old mama was at a loss for what to do, someone would say, “Go get Little-Hand Chen, then.”
Timing is everything when it comes to childbirth because two lives are at stake here. So Little-Hand Chen had a horse, shiny, snow-white from head to toe. Knowledgeable folks say this horse walked like a pheasant: light, quick, and smooth. Where I’m from, it’s mostly rivers and lakes and few people keep horses. Every time a detachment of mounted troops passed by, big crowds would swarm along the tall banks of the canal to see. It was quite a spectacle. Since Little-Hand Chen often rode on this white horse on his house calls, people soon thought of him and his white horse as one and the same and referred to them as “White Horse Little-Hand Chen.”
Other doctors, internists and surgeons alike, looked down upon Little-Hand Chen and dismissed him as nothing more than a male old mama. Little-Hand Chen, however, didn’t mind this at all. Whenever he was called for, he would jump on the white horse and fly to whereever he was needed. Mothers moaning in labor would immediately feel calm upon hearing the bells around the white horse’s neck jingle. Once off the horse, he would rush to the mother’s side and, sometimes soon, sometimes not so soon, would come the first cry of a newborn baby. Little-Hand Chen would emerge from the room, sweat still on his forehead, and say to the man of the household: “Congratulations! Congratulations! Both mother and baby are safe!” The man would grin with happiness and hand him a sealed red envelope with payment for the service. Little-Hand Chen would put the envelope in his pocket, without even opening it, wash his hands, drink a cup of warm tea, mumble a “Much indebted,” and jump on his horse. Soon the jingling of the horse-bells receded in the distance.
Little-Hand Chen saved numerous lives.
One year, Joint Army troops came to our place. During those years a war had been dragging on between two armies, the Nationalist Revolutionary Army, locally known as “Party Army,” and “Joint Army” of warlord Sun Chunanfang, thus dubbed because Sun claimed to be the “Commander-in-Chief of the Five-Province Joint Army.” The Joint Army troops, about the size of a regiment, were stationed in Heavenly King Temple. The regiment commander’s wife (or concubine, nobody really knew) was having a difficult labor. Several old mamas were called in, but none could help. The woman howled in pain like a swine being slaughtered. So the regiment commander sent for Little-Hand Chen.
When he walked into Heavenly King Temple, the commander was pacing back and forth outside the delivery room. Upon seeing Chen, he said:
“Both mother and child you’ll have to save for me, or your head will roll! Now go in!”
Well, the woman in labor was a bit larger than usual. It took Little-Hand Chen the strength of “Nine Buffalos and Two Tigers” to finally succeed in pulling the baby out. Dog tired from “wrestling” with the fat woman for most of the day, he emerged from the delivery room with unsteady steps and said to the commander:
“Congratulations, commander! It’s a boy, a young master!”
The commander grinned toothily: “Much obliged!—this way please!”
A small banquet was already set up, waiting. The deputy commander was the host. Little-Hand Chen drank two small cups of wine. Then, the commander took out twenty big silver coins and handed them to Chen:
“These are for you! Hope you won’t feel underpaid!”
“Overwhelmed! Overwhelmed!” Replied Little-Hand Chen.
With wine in the belly and 20 pieces of silver in his pocket, Little-Hand Chen got up to take his leave: “Much indebted! Much indebted!” He said.
“Have a safe trip!” The commander said.
Well, Little-Hand Chen stepped out of Heavenly King Temple and climbed onto his horse. The commander then drew out his revolver and shot him from behind.
“My woman,” the commander said, “how dare he touch her for so long with his hands! Except for me, no man is allowed to touch her body, ever! This insolent rascal! Fuck his granny!”
The commander had never felt this wronged.
(1983)