years she has borne to the fullest an inner torment. The fact was, during the decades of the government’s single child policy, the five nephews on her side of the family produced only girl children. She herself had only one son who never married. If her husband’s family line comes to an end, that’s of no great concern to her. But her side has no male descendents and centenarian Great-Auntie dwells on this day and night. Maybe this is why her mind has stayed so sharp. Every day she puts on her “old age” glasses and sets to work on her correspondence. One of her letters can take ten to twenty days to complete, or even longer. In these she requests the government to allow the Guo family nephews to have more than one child, by reason of their descent from the Tang dynasty general, Guo Ziyi. 2 Previously the Guo ancestral shrine near Drum Tower recorded the history of the clan’s proliferation and this was where her forefather’s name appeared. Guo Ziyi belonged to one of the minority peoples. How did she know this? And how did she know about the government’s policy of permitting the minorities to have a second child?
Great-Auntie wrote to Chairman Mao in Beijing, and when the nurse told her that the current chairman was named Jiang, she thought that Chairman Mao had retired, and so readdressed the letter to Chairman Jiang. Occasionally, though, she would get mixed up and still write “For the attention of Chairman Mao.” She also still wrote to the Old Town government and her many relatives. One after another letter was mailed out, and one after another came back. The nurse gave these returned letters to Great-Auntie’s Little Daughter. Little Daughter was a retired professor. She hadn’t told her mother that the chairmen had been unable to receive her letters. Nor did she tell her that all her nephews’ wives had long since passed the age for bearing children. Every time she dropped by for a visit, Little Daughter would bring her envelopes, paper, and stamps, and encourage her in her letter writing and struggle on behalf of her nephews’ “second fetus.” Isn’t this both a grand ideal and a fine way to spend time? And so the one-hundred-year-old lady’s days at the nursing home are completely filled. Great-Auntie’s eyes show more luster than those of the old folk around her who are actually many years her junior. She may have broken the Guinness Book of Records for life span and it was all for the sake of continuing the Guo clan line.
However, long before Great-Auntie came up with her genealogical arguments, the several generations of Guos who earned their livelihood at the little cloth shop at Drum Tower street corner had been the most unremarkable people in the Old Town marketplace. Grandma’s mother gave birth to four girls in succession before going on to bear five boys, also one after the other. By the time the youngest boy had been weaned from the breast, Grandma’s father was sick with all kind of ailments, and so Second Daughter took over management of the shop. This was because Eldest Daughter didn’t know how to keep accounts, often measuring out a zhang of cloth but charging for only seven chi worth.
Second Daughter, or “Second Sister”—that was Granny. My grandpa had liked Third Sister, but through a strange and complicated turn of events married Second Daughter. Hand in hand, they sustained each other through many decades of life. I have never known a more deeply affectionate and loving couple.
The Guo daughters were celebrated for their intelligence and beauty. Eldest Daughter, even though no good at bookkeeping, could chant poetry and compose verse as well as write with a fine hand. Had she been young in this day and age, my great-aunt would certainly have been called a “babe” writer. Second Sister was keen-witted and capable. Both the “interior ministry” and the “foreign affairs” of the Guo home were totally in her hands. Then there was Third Sister, even
Great-Auntie wrote to Chairman Mao in Beijing, and when the nurse told her that the current chairman was named Jiang, she thought that Chairman Mao had retired, and so readdressed the letter to Chairman Jiang. Occasionally, though, she would get mixed up and still write “For the attention of Chairman Mao.” She also still wrote to the Old Town government and her many relatives. One after another letter was mailed out, and one after another came back. The nurse gave these returned letters to Great-Auntie’s Little Daughter. Little Daughter was a retired professor. She hadn’t told her mother that the chairmen had been unable to receive her letters. Nor did she tell her that all her nephews’ wives had long since passed the age for bearing children. Every time she dropped by for a visit, Little Daughter would bring her envelopes, paper, and stamps, and encourage her in her letter writing and struggle on behalf of her nephews’ “second fetus.” Isn’t this both a grand ideal and a fine way to spend time? And so the one-hundred-year-old lady’s days at the nursing home are completely filled. Great-Auntie’s eyes show more luster than those of the old folk around her who are actually many years her junior. She may have broken the Guinness Book of Records for life span and it was all for the sake of continuing the Guo clan line.
However, long before Great-Auntie came up with her genealogical arguments, the several generations of Guos who earned their livelihood at the little cloth shop at Drum Tower street corner had been the most unremarkable people in the Old Town marketplace. Grandma’s mother gave birth to four girls in succession before going on to bear five boys, also one after the other. By the time the youngest boy had been weaned from the breast, Grandma’s father was sick with all kind of ailments, and so Second Daughter took over management of the shop. This was because Eldest Daughter didn’t know how to keep accounts, often measuring out a zhang of cloth but charging for only seven chi worth.
Second Daughter, or “Second Sister”—that was Granny. My grandpa had liked Third Sister, but through a strange and complicated turn of events married Second Daughter. Hand in hand, they sustained each other through many decades of life. I have never known a more deeply affectionate and loving couple.
The Guo daughters were celebrated for their intelligence and beauty. Eldest Daughter, even though no good at bookkeeping, could chant poetry and compose verse as well as write with a fine hand. Had she been young in this day and age, my great-aunt would certainly have been called a “babe” writer. Second Sister was keen-witted and capable. Both the “interior ministry” and the “foreign affairs” of the Guo home were totally in her hands. Then there was Third Sister, even
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