Chapter 33: When Menopause Meets Rebellion

Noon.

Secrets cannot be concealed in the countryside. Everyone knows each other inside out; should anything stir in one household, word spreads instantly.

Recently, Old Madam Wang next door had been at odds with her son and daughter-in-law, quarreling every few days. The source of their discord, naturally, was an irreconcilable difference of opinion about the daughter-in-law. The mother felt that her son, since taking a wife, had forgotten his mother and was not as filial as before. The son, on the other hand, thought his mother was becoming more and more unreasonable, always meddling and making a fuss over nothing, never willing to listen to reason.

With nothing better to do, going to watch the drama unfold seemed as good an option as any.

Lu Kun took Er-ya, and together with the other villagers who now found themselves with time on their hands after the busy farming season, squeezed into the Wang family courtyard.

…

"You tell me yourself, before you married, how filial you were! You listened to everything I said. And now?" Old Madam Wang grew more and more aggrieved as she spoke, finally plopping down on the ground and wailing.

The crowd had come for the spectacle. Quite a few village women pointed and whispered about Old Madam Wang's son, Liang Haoren.

"Mother, please don’t cry. Let’s talk things through. We have to be reasonable," Liang Haoren tried to keep the peace, unwilling to let outsiders make a mockery of their family.

But Old Madam Wang had no such qualms. With the villagers backing her up, she felt emboldened to confront her son and daughter-in-law directly, her voice growing louder and more indignant.

"What’s the point of talking? You weren’t like this before! Ever since you brought home that vixen—"

"Papa, what’s a vixen? Is it a really ugly fox?" came Er-ya's innocent question, startling Lu Kun into hastily covering her mouth.

He was just there to watch the fun, not to get involved in the quarrel himself. Fortunately, he and his daughter were on the outskirts of the crowd, and the main actors in the drama didn’t notice them.

…

Old Madam Wang jabbed a finger at her daughter-in-law, who sat nearby with a schadenfreude smile, her face flushing with rage. Liang Haoren, hearing his mother malign his wife so viciously, was burning with anger. Glancing at his wife, he saw her face pale, as if she had suffered a tremendous blow, tears brimming in her eyes.

"If you want to make a scene, go ahead. Make as much of a fuss as you like. We’ll see how long you can keep it up…" Liang Haoren took his wife by the hand and returned to their room, locking the door behind them, leaving his mother to cry and shout outside as she pleased.

"Eh…"

Old Madam Wang fell silent for a moment.

This wasn’t how the script was supposed to go; it had never been like this before. In the past, her arsenal of tears, tantrums, and threats had always worked wonders, but this time…

Seeing that the excitement was over, most of the villagers drifted away, leaving only a handful of village gossips to continue fanning the flames at Old Madam Wang’s side.

"If I had a daughter-in-law like that, I’d…"

"If I had a son like that, I’d stuff him back into my own belly…"

"I’d rather have a piece of barbecued pork than a son like that…"

The long-tongued women of the village delighted in sowing discord. With the main crowd dispersed, Lu Kun felt it inappropriate to linger, so he took the ever-curious Er-ya by the hand and left.

Old Madam Wang and her son had been quarreling a lot lately, but nothing ever came of it. Lu Kun had seen enough to know: when a rebellious phase meets a menopausal one, trouble is certain.

Liang Haoren had been married barely half a year and was only nineteen. Before marriage, he was known far and wide as a model son, always yielding to his mother’s wishes. Yet in just half a year, everything had changed.

…

Old Madam Wang’s husband was a taciturn man who could no longer tolerate her increasingly unreasonable temper. Whenever he found a chance, he slipped away to play chess or cards with a few friends, perfectly content in his own small pleasures.

Watching his own daughter, Er-ya, bouncing by his side, clutching his trouser leg, Lu Kun couldn’t help but recall a snippet he’d once read online—a conversation between the writer Li Ao and his son Li Kan.

Father: Go buy a bottle of soda.
Son: Coke or Sprite?
Father: Coke.
Son: In a can or a bottle?
Father: Bottle.
Son: Diet or regular?
Father: Regular.
Son: 500ml or 1000ml?
Father: You’re so annoying. Forget it, just get water.
Son: Mineral water or filtered?
Father: Mineral water.
Son: Cold or room temperature?
Father: (Getting angry) Keep this up and I’ll beat you with a broom.
Son: Plastic broom or bamboo?
Father: You little beast!
Son: Like a pig or like a cow?
Father: (Panting with rage) You… you’re going to make me… cough up blood…
Son: Should I get a trash can or help you to the toilet?
Father: I might as well die.
Son: Burial or cremation?

Father: You little devil! Are you trying to drive your old man to his grave?

Scholars have drawn many interpretations from this little story. But Lu Kun saw it simply as a case of menopause meeting adolescence.

In the eyes of parents, there are two types of beings most intolerable in the world: mischievous children and rebellious teenagers. The former are easy enough to deal with—a good spanking usually does the trick. The latter, though, are a different matter entirely. You can’t hit them, you can’t scold them, and they won’t listen to reason.

From the child’s perspective, parents going through menopause are the scariest of all. They’ll rummage through your diary when you’re at school or out playing, unlock that little drawer full of secrets, check your bag for love letters, or search under your bed for strange little comics with titles like “My Big Sister Fell for Me,” “My Sister Can’t Be This H,” “The Bossy Sister Kissed Me,” “Sister’s Strategy Guide,” or “Handsome Guy, Please Pick Me”…

Uh…

Perhaps something inappropriate slipped in there.

Never mind.

No point dwelling on it.

In about ten years, this little girl by his side would probably become a rebellious teenager herself, a source of endless headaches. And once she grew a little older and more sensible, who knew which rascal would come along and steal her away.

The more Lu Kun thought about it, the more bitter he felt inside.

…

The weather had been kind; there was no rain, and the rice harvest went off without a hitch.

His mother-in-law, Li Xiuqin, had helped out at Lu Kun’s house for a few days. Seeing that there was no more work left and unable to stop worrying about her own household, she returned to Donglin Village.

Lu Kun drove her back in his tractor. This time, he didn’t plan to step foot inside his father-in-law’s house, to avoid starting yet another argument.

Still, he had prepared a token of appreciation: a bolt of checkered cloth, a bolt of black fabric, three jin of prime pork, and thirty yuan in cash. In those days, such a gift was considered generous. Even at weddings, people rarely gave more than a few eggs or a meter of cloth.

The two girls, Da-ya and Er-ya, were reluctant to see their grandmother go—the same grandmother who often gave them pocket money and praised their cleverness. As she was about to leave, they waved their hands again and again.

“Grandma, you must come visit Er-ya again…” The little one’s face was red from crying, her small hand clutching her older sister’s sleeve.

“Of course, next time Grandma will come again and bring you something tasty. Er-ya, you must be good…”