We speed along the hills with only the single headlight to show the way. Every bounce on the rutted dirt roads hurts me between my legs, my back in its twisted position, my tailbone. I can feel the blood draining from me. I know it’s stupid to go with Yong, but I know he won’t give me the money otherwise.
The wind stings my face. I feel as if I’ll die with cold. Ma would scold terribly that I’m making myself sick and ruining my health forever. Well, she probably won’t care about me anymore. She’ll think only of the baby. I glance over Yong’s shoulder, trying to see the baby in her basket, but the white slice of moon doesn’t give enough light. Ma would be so wrecked to hear how she cries out in the cold, her short, ragged bleats. She would say I’m going to get her killed this way. My chest aches. People have often let me know I’m a worthless person, but now I feel I’m a terrible one.
I keep seeing Ma and Luli in my head, the way they looked as we drove away. I’ve never seen Luli with that expression on her face, so still, so hard. I have no idea what she was thinking. I wonder if she hates me now. If she’ll forgive me when I go back. And Ma. She’ll be so mad. Without the baby, there’s nothing to hold her to me. I didn’t think that would bother me so much.
It doesn’t matter anyway, because I’ll be going back to the city, and I’ll throw myself back into working.
We hit smoother roads, and the baby slowly quiets until she finally falls asleep. I would go to sleep myself, but I’m afraid of falling off the bike.
When the sky begins to lighten, I hear the baby start to bawl again. At first, Yong just drives faster as if to drown her out with the sound of the engine, but she doesn’t let up. I glimpse her red, squalling face poking out of the thick swaddling. One of her hands has fought past all the layers, and her tiny fingers move as if she’s trying to claw her way out. She must be hungry. My breasts hurt, though I thought my milk had dried up.
I tap Yong on the shoulder. “We have to stop somewhere and get her some formula.” I didn’t think to bring any.
Yong half turns his head and shouts back to me, “Nothing will be open this early.”
The baby continues screaming, grating my nerves. Luli or Ma would have picked her up, rocked her, rubbed her back, chanted her name—Chun, Chun, Chun. I would do it myself if we were stopped. I sigh. I’m tired and aching so deeply, inside and out, all over.
The sun creeps up over the hills. At last her cries weaken to the faintest whimper. “You’d better find a store!” I shout to Yong. “Or the baby will get sick and nobody will want her!”
He turns onto the potholed, winding streets of a little town. Soon we find a stall shop with its metal door rolled up, revealing towering piles of household goods. Yong stops the bike. I glance at Chun. Her eyes are slightly open, but she isn’t making any noise. Her face and lips look bloodless. I flinch. The rows of sick babies at the Institute flit into my mind. I’m glad I made Yong stop.
He hands me four yuan. I stiffly slide off the bike and hobble over to the stall as quickly as I can. All sorts of products are stacked against the walls and piled on the long table in the center—black plastic men’s slippers, towels, colored basins, brooms. I edge toward the back, scanning for foodstuffs or baby things.
And that’s when I hear the motorbike start up and speed away.