Where Once There Was Faith
Peike Wu
“Let me tell you a story of the gods of China.” my mother said, the day I returned to our apartment in downtown Guangzhou.
Not long ago, the tiny gods of China roamed the villages. They were poor, for their subjects were poor, and could not afford to offer them tributes at their sacred shrines. They were lacerated and bleeding, too, for years of war and famine and bad governance in the mortal realm affected even the immortal. Yet most of all, their minds were jumbled, memories pieced together with unsteady glue, as if they could no longer decide if they themselves were real.
It was in this environment that my generation grew up: Under a clay house that leaked water when it rained, with a shed for a pig and a cow that were collectively fed by several families, because none alone had enough money for fodder. The siblings sometimes had as many as 20 years between them, so the older ones fed on tree bark, and the younger ones on salted porridge, once the conditions improved ever so slightly. Clothes were passed down. Shoes were nonexistent. When the winter arrived, and no sheets were available, the little ones wiped their snot on the back of their arms. But it wasn’t gross, because a few minutes later the sliminess would fade into the general sensation of frozen limbs.
One would imagine that the children here weren’t particularly happy. And while that was true, they weren’t particularly unhappy either. They were like all other children around the world, who knew very little and therefore suffered very little. When they complained of the past as adults, almost bragging about their hardships, the pain was conjured up by their adult minds as a guise for nostalgia. Many times when they told stories, their faces became animated, eyebrows flashing like lightning, eyes drifting forwards and backwards to a time inside their mind that remained eternal, unperishable.
My mother gave birth to me when she was almost 60. I was the only girl in my family, and my oldest brother already had two children. The local fortune teller said that because I was born so late, when all my family’s hopes of having a girl had been abandoned, I was a gift from the gods of our village to repay my mother’s hard-work and kindness. I was adored in the family, but perhaps that was not entirely a good thing because in my early years I became almost an insolent child, irreverent to my brothers, parents, and most certainly the so-called “gods” of China, which I often referred to as “superstition”.
I suppose the reason I hated the gods so much was because I hated the idea that I was “a gift from the gods”, which had become common and accepted knowledge in my village by the time I was two. Though others considered it a blessing and praise, I considered it a most dangerous and vile curse.
It would be wrong to characterize my attitude as merely dismissal, it was active loathing. In fact, I not only publicly refuted anyone who dared mention this “gift theory” in front of me, but threw such tantrums that even adults would get red in the face and storm off muttering under their breaths: “Aiya, mei jiajiao.” Bad upbringing. Then, my mother would become very offended at this accusation and would take all her anger out on me. Though the way she did this was most respectable, now that I think of it: She rarely uttered a profane word, but merely said, in the most gentle manner, that what I said and did was wrong, that it would disgrace our family honor, and bring them bad luck if the behaviour persisted. Miraculously, it was precisely this sort of reprimand that I could not stand. Shouting and bickering and even name calling, I could get even by retaliating. But kindness with half-truths sprinkled in, well, that only led to a night’s worth of crying in bed. My mother knew this, and used the strategy to great effect. After a scolding like this I would become silent and obedient for a few days after. But it was not a permanent fix either, for like all children, I forgot things very quickly, and with my temper I would get in fights all over again.
The most dangerous situations often emerged when I was arguing with other children. Grown-ups, or even older teenagers, had enough decency to avoid getting into deeply emotional and personal arguments with a 9 year old. But for a child of the same age, it is precisely the deepest wound that they sprayed salt on, just for the fun of it. So when I played with the other boys and girls from the village, either chasing the ducks around the edge of the pond, or climbing the bamboo trees in the nearby woods, my parents watched me with worried eyes as they toiled away in the fields below.
Of course, they could not keep an eye on me forever.
One Saturday afternoon, I sat in the front of the courtyard after finishing my schoolwork, waiting for all the other children to finish as well, so we could run around and have fun in the countryside. All the parents were very strict about schoolwork and none could leave the house with even one question unanswered. This in turn led to a very natural stratification of children. The ones who were smarter, or at least, more diligent in their homework, finished first and played together. The ones who were dumber lagged behind, and were often forced to do additional housework after noon. Thus, even us elementary school kids sensed there was something that divided people into different categories, and though some constantly tested the boundaries, few could truly break free. I was always the first finished. School to me was a piece of cake, and back then I believed anyone who couldn’t get a 95+ on their tests was simply stupid. Unfortunately, however, that meant I also waited in the courtyards the longest, sometimes nearly an hour. Usually it was Jiang, De, and Fang who would finish first after me, but for some peculiar reason that day, it was Mo who headed out of his tiny shack on the north side of the courtyard, blinking his eyes rapidly as they adjusted to the Sun.
Mo was a pathetic little creature nearly 3 years younger than me. His family was one of the poorest in an already poor village, for his dad was lazy, and his mother was blind. Mo was a rather distant figure in the kid’s circle. Sometimes he came and played, sometimes he didn’t, and most of the other children couldn’t care less.
As I saw him approach, I said, not without some derision:
“You know you still have to finish your homework even when your mother can’t see.”
Mo sat down on the ground, his singlet already grey with dust and sweat. He shrugged and said: “Oh I finished. The questions were easy today.”
“Really?” I said, “What? Got your hands on the answer sheet? I’ll tell, you know.”
“Answer sheet? No! I have something even better.”
“What’s that?”
“A voice. It told me all the answers. I think it’s my salt god. I’ve been eating a lot of salt lately.”
“Oh cut it out. You didn’t hear a thing!”
“Oh yes I did! Maybe it wasn’t the salt god. Maybe it was the rat god.”
“I’m telling you, Mo. There aren’t any gods.”
“Why, weren’t you a gift from the gods? Father says I should never tell it to you. Says you can’t handle the truth. Says only men can handle the truth and you’re just a little girl.”
For a moment, I felt my face turn red with anger and embarrassment, but that rage was soon replaced by a very mischievous and appealing idea. I understood that I couldn’t shout at a person younger than me and expect anything other than a fight. I’d had enough fights. Now I wanted greater drama.
“Huh, that’s what your dad told you so you wouldn’t get scared.”
“Eh? Why would I be scared?”
“Cause that’s only the half-truth.”
“Half-truth? What do you mean? It's true or it’s not.”
“I am not a gift, little mortal. I am the Queen of the Western Skies, descending upon your puny realm to purify all that is evil and reward all that is good. For 8 years I have watched you, Mo, would you like to know how you’ve done?” I laughed here as hysterically as I could.
“Would you like to know how you’ve done?” I continued, “the times you left your mother crying? The times you ran off into the bamboo woods instead of answering your father’s call? I have a score against you, Mo. And it’s adding up! Oh it’s adding up!”
Mo was quavering now. His legs had collapsed under him and he was leaning backwards, holding his weight up with his spindly arms.
“Rea...really?” he stammered, “You..you can’t scare me. I don’t believe you!”
But my mother didn’t give up, “Now another one! Disbelief is a cardinal sin against the gods! I’ll show you that I’m real, mortal. I’ll turn your ducks into man-eating beasts. I’ll make the watermelon seed you swallowed grow in your stomach and burst through your skull! I’ll…”
But by then my threats had surpassed Mo’s limited mental capabilities. All he understood was that I was something very, very dangerous, and something that wanted obedience.
So Mo threw himself before me and knocked his forehand against the ground, all the while wailing out: “Please… Please forgive me, Queen, Queen of the Western Skies. I didn’t know. I didn’t know… It's not my fault. Don’t kill me, oh, don’t…!”
Seeing that I had achieved the desired effect, and afraid that his yells might alarm the adults, I leapt forward and hauled Mo up by his arms. He was even lighter than I imagined.
“Shush now little boy. I won’t hurt you yet. You can still fix your wrongdoings by doing exactly as I say. Do you hear me? I mean exactly as I say.”
“Yes!” Mo said, and now I could see tears and snot pouring down his face. “Anything. Anything. I’ll do anything you say.”
“So sit down and shut your mouth!”
He did.
“Now here’s what you’re going to do.” I said, getting more and more excited. “When the other kids come we’re going to the bamboo woods, and on the edge of those woods you’re going to tell all of them, very loudly, who I truly am. You’re going to tell them I moved mountains and I walked on water, you hear me?”
“Ye..Yes!” said Mo.
“And, depending on your performance. I’ll decide what to do with you.”
By then Mo’s face was so white I worried he might faint, so I said no more when Mo simply nodded, his gaze darting around my face, seeking to please.
The other kids arrived perhaps half an hour later. Strangely, they were all the dumb kids, or the little kids, who normally would not have finished their homework for perhaps another few hours. Besides, none of my normal friends were there. I briefly considered calling out to them, but then quickly cast the thought aside. There was something very exciting about being the biggest kid in the group, especially when I had a plan to bamboozle them. If my usual friends came along, well, they wouldn’t be so easily fooled.
“Alright then,” I said, when there were 5 kids in the group including myself, “let’s move! Aiyoooo! To the bamboo woods we go!”
Though some of the kids looked perplexed at first, they followed when Mo walked obediently at my heels. When we arrived at the edge of the woods, I planted myself firmly at the entrance, eyes wide and intimidating, hands resting firmly on the hips to create the illusion of a wider girth. The other kids, too, sensing some change, stopped and stared at me.
Seeing that the atmosphere was sufficiently prepared, mother nodded to Mo, who almost collapsed again with nervousness. But he straightened himself, and cleared his throat, and said, at first thinly but more and more strongly and confidently, as if there was a god behind him: “Listen, you little children. Here stands the great Queen of the Western skies, descending upon this village to, uh, get rid of bad things and get more good things! She has watched all of you for a very long time, and today has decided to tell you all who she truly is, because… because… eh...”
I sensed that Mo could no longer continue, so I slapped the air in his direction. Mo wailed and fell down onto the ground in a heap, cupping his face in imaginary pain. The rest of the children gasped.
“Pay no mind to him. He is but a messenger, a mortal. Hear me, children! All of you here have failed me and your parents terribly. Look at how slowly you usually do your homework, an absolute disgrace! That is why today I have given you the intelligence to finish early and embark on this spiritual journey with me.”
I could tell the kids were even more impressed, now that I had claimed credit for their unexpected academic success.
“Today is the day that you may cleanse yourself of all past wrongdoings. But you must do exactly as I say. And I mean exactly, understand?”
The children stared at me, then nodded their heads vigorously. I was very pleased with the effect of my speech. It seemed to me that all those novels I read finally paid off. More importantly, though, it appealed to my pride. I had always considered herself smart, and now that I could make my peers believe whatever I wanted them to believe, I thought I was a genius.
“Very well, children.” I said. “Then your first mission is---hide-and-seek. The first found will endure my heavenly punishment!”
The kids squealed in delight and fear, and perhaps also much confusion, and ran off into the familiar bamboo woods, trying their absolute best to evade the wrath of the Queen of the Western Skies.
So that entire afternoon we horsed around in the woods. I, being the biggest kid, was by far the most competent in almost all of the games we played. During hide-and-seek, I would stand at one spot and try to keep as silent as possible, and after a few minutes a kid or two would poke their heads out from their hiding places, wondering where I had gone, and I would yell at the top of my lungs and lunge for the kid. I found all except Mo this way, who, after the speech, was so exhausted he laid in plain sight in a ditch north of the woods. The “Heavenly Punishment” administered onto him was no more than a splash of muddy water, but still Mo looked dejected and ashamed. Seeing this, I reassured him that he still had many opportunities, which immediately brightened up his face.
We played table tennis with poorly made rackets made of bamboo. I was also the best at this game and it took two children, best of the rest, to beat me, which consolidated my figure as a divine goddess. Thus, when I later requested, or rather commanded, that each child retrieve a batch of the freshest vegetables from their families as tribute, and that the fastest one to bring it back to me would be rewarded, the children rushed away as fast as they could. Ten minutes or so later, I had a week’s worth of vegetables lying at my feet, and if not for the composure I needed to impersonate the Queen of the Western Skies, I would have grinned my face open.
The Sun was beginning to set after a day of playing, and normally, this would be the time roaming children returned to their families to help with dinner. But I was feeling particularly mischievous that day, and decided that we should deny the implicit demands of our parents, and hide in the fields for as long as we could.
Of course I didn’t phrase it that way. I simply said: “You shall all stay with me tonight, or your pigs will refuse to eat anything and die”, and since all the children loved their pigs, they stayed. I supposed they too were quite excited to do something that they knew was forbidden. The dark was dangerous, they were told, but the fact that they were in a group negated those worries, and replaced it with a peculiar anticipation.
I was the chief strategist. Until seven o’clock we stayed in the bamboo woods, but when we heard the calls of our parents, I led the rest of the group down the north side, across a ditch, and into the tall stocks of grain that hid us from sight in the darkness of night. We walked quickly but quietly, small, fleshy soles on soft mud; tiny, firm bodies pushing aside the stalks that danced in the wind. Sometimes we felt frogs or eels slither across the back of our feet, but we were country children, so we did not mind. For two or three hours we weaved in different directions, avoiding the growing stream of adults in the field. Even those who had no business here came, not exactly to help, but simply for the commotion, or the angry and exasperated looks on the faces of their fellow parents. At first, when there were not so many adults, who held oil lamps in their hands, it was quite easy for me to devise paths that would avoid close contact. However, as more and more grown-ups came into the fields, the space we could safely navigate decreased, and I became more and more nervous. By then, I had begun to recognize the grave trouble I was in if I was found. First of all, I had led four children around in the dark long past dinner time, when I was supposed to be the older sister, the role model. That mistake alone would get me a good spanking. What was even worse was my impersonation of a deity. The young kids would tell! Those superstitious adults would skin me alive if they found out that I had dishonored the gods by pretending to be one of them!
The dreaded moment came at last. One bystander parent, who held his lamp limply on one side with no real intention of finding the children, saw the mud-covered legs of little Mo, who trailed behind the group, panting and staggering. The adult gave one surprised shout and rushed towards us, all the while yelling at the top of his lungs: “Here, here, here!” Other parents heard his calls and swiveled their bodies and heads towards this direction, their eyes lighting up with hope and relief and a black flame many knew as mortal anger. They too stomped towards us, slowing down only to avoid destroying the crops.
I knew the situation was unsalvageable, so I shouted in a low voice that I hoped would disguise my identity: “Children, your last mission: Run like the wind, each in his own direction! Away, away, away! And remember to never tell who I truly am!”
And with that I ran off towards the north, and the other children followed suit, each picking a different path. We found a surprising burst of speed, like trapped animals ready to give a final fight. The parents, too, picked up their paces, waving their lamps as if they were fists, cursing out loud and making horrific promises about what they would do to us once we returned to our houses.
I had picked perhaps the hardest but also most unexpected path. On the north side of the grain field there was a small hill where the village people buried their dead. Even though I scoffed at the mention of anything supernatural, I was still quite wary of the place, as a normal human would with the concept of death and burial. Tonight, however, the fear of getting caught overrode all other concerns.
Climbing the hill was not difficult for me. Compared to adults, I weighed little, and could ascend steep slopes at a much faster rate. I did not look behind, but only heard footsteps, getting louder every second. But once I hit the inclined they again faded. At the top of the hill, I almost laid down on the ground out of exhaustion, but by sheer force of will I forced myself to continue onto the descent. It did not occur to me, as it should have, that going downhill on a country road littered with stones in the dead of night, when I could barely see anything, was not exactly the best idea. Indeed, after perhaps 15 seconds of inertia and leaning backwards with all my might, I slipped on a big stone, felt something snap in my ankle, and began to roll.
I felt no pain when rolling, but only the impact, like shockwaves, sometimes coming from the shoulder, sometimes from the head or pelvis, but always reverberating inside my body, like a steady drum building up tension. I was incapable of thought, and incapable of even commanding my own limbs. I just rolled like a ball down the slope; which is very odd, because even with steep gradients, a human could not have slid more than a few meters. But I rolled, all the way from the top to the bottom.
I gasped and sat up, unaware of where I was. There was still no pain in my body, but I could not move. I tried to flex my fingers but even those would not budge. After several more attempts, I gave up and waited in despair, resigned to let the adults catch me. But, after a long period of waiting, they did not come. I wondered if the fall had taken away my sense of time, if, though it felt like at least 15 minutes to me, it had in fact been only a few seconds. But then I realized I also couldn’t hear anything, and couldn’t see anything. Sure, it was quiet in the village at night, and certainly very dark with no street lamps like there are today, but to hear absolutely nothing? And to see absolutely nothing?
Then I heard the voice. Like a whistle, or a cough, or a suppressed laugh. I had never heard a voice like it.
“Queen of the Western Skies. My apologies, ha, Queen of the Western Skies”
“Who are you?” I managed to squeeze out through chattering teeth.
“Oh not to worry my little Queen, I am just a little earthling god, here to look at what fell from the hill yonder, and lo and behold, what do I discover, my superior herself: Queen of the Western Skies!”
“You don’t exist!” I said, which was the only thing I could think of saying, “You’re not real! This is a dream!”
“This could certainly be your dream.” the voice agreed. “Do you know the subconscious? I don’t think you do, smart as you are, you're only a village girl. If you had gone across the seas to the land of America, you’d know what a subconscious is. But that’s not important. You think I’m not real. I really don’t think I’m real either. If I’m real I’d be out there in the fields, and not here on some screen. But that means the Queen of the Western Skies isn't real either, doesn’t it? So why do you say you’re her? Why, little girl? Are you real?”
I instinctively tried to pinch myself, to wake up if I was in a dream, to feel anything, pain, if necessary. But all of those things had gone, and I was in a void.
“I am real, and you’re not. Because I know what I look like, and you’re just a voice in my head.” I said.
“Sure I have a body”, countered the voice. “Here, I’ll show it to you.”
And there, out of the darkness, a shape materializing out of the void, appeared the figure who claimed to be a god. But he was nothing remarkable. He had a bald head, and a big stomach, and over that stomach there covered a grey robe, like those that the ancient Chinese used to wear, except this one was dirty and not big enough to conceal the three layers of fat on the god’s tummy. His face was very wide, his eyes very thin, and his smile had a certain foolishness to it that was not entirely sincere. He was not very tall either, perhaps only half a palm taller than me, but he stood his ground solidly.
“Why, you seem surprised,” he said. “You can call me Gonggong, by the way.”
I was very surprised. I had imagined, from the tales I heard from the older generation, that the gods were only half-divine and half-vengeful, that they were like monsters, or more accurately, humans, with godly powers. But this figure that stood before me looked harmless.
Gonggong patted his stomach and belched. “See, I have a form. So maybe I’m real too. But, enough with all this real and unreal stuff. What is the importance of it anyway? I’d think you’re smarter than all of the other kids anyways.”
“Yes.” I said. “You are not real. I must have fallen down from that hill and knocked myself out. And now I’m in some sort of dream.”
“There’s no need to repeat yourself, little girl. You’ve said that before. Are you nervous? There’s no need to be nervous. I’m just a little god. I won’t hurt you, not for anything you’ve done.”
I was indeed getting increasingly nervous. Panic filled my mind.
“Are you doing this?” I asked. “Are you keeping me locked in here? Let me out!”
“What’s ‘here’? Aren’t we in your dream? Don’t you just need to wake up? Aren’t I fake? Why are you asking me? Or maybe you do think I’m real?”
“You’re trying to trick me!” I cried out, “The gods don’t exist. I know that!”
“Oh but how do you know that? You can believe it, but how do you know that? Aren’t I standing right in front of you? Even though I say I’m not real, maybe I’m doing that as a bluff so that you’d think I am real? How do you know?”
“Shut up! Shut up! Let me out!”
“Maybe the gods do exist, eh? Why, everyone else believes the gods exist, it’s just you who’re different. Your mother tells you to behave in the kitchen, doesn’t she, because the god of the stoves is watching? Your father tells you to treat the livestock kindly, because they also have a god? Your friends think you’re the Queen of the Western Skies, ha! So they know too. You’re the only one, don’t you see? You’re the outsider, and all because of what? Because you were born from the womb of a 60 year-old woman, because you have a little more intellect than the other children, and you think all that should be your credit, and not that of the gods. It’s not the truth you seek, little girl, it’s vanity. Eh? You want to feel special, don’t you? You want to feel like you’re the one that’s standing out! Ha, and here you have an opportunity: A god just visited you! That’s more fortune than any other mortal received in a thousand years, so you can claim it as your honor! But only if you believe I’m real, eh? Only if you know I’m real!”
“No...no. You’re wrong.. I’m not like that!” I said, cowering and almost curling into a ball.
“Haha, look at me: reduced to teasing a little girl for fun now. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. The modern age is tough on you mortals but tougher on us, child. In another 50 years you may not see me around anymore. Anyways you’ll wake up soon enough. I’ve prepared a gift on the other side, just for you.”
And with that, Gongong disappeared into the void. My mother’s eyes snapped open, to see my brother’s face looking down, filled with concern.
The remainder of the incident is not worth telling in detail. My brother took me back to our house. I had several bruises along my body from falling off the hill, but surprisingly, nothing more serious than that. I would later learn that all the other kids, four in total, including Mo, died from one accident or another. One fell off a hill and smashed his skull. Another hid under water and forgot to breathe. A third went into his house’s oil reserves and set himself on fire. Mo, the most unlucky of all, encountered a pack of wolves and was torn to pieces. So, my great sin of impersonating a god was never known, and I received no spanking nor punishment because of it. Ever since that incident though, the village people looked at me askance, and though no one said anything out of the ordinary to my face, they all avoided me if possible, including my former friends. I, too, was quite shocked by the incident. I desperately wanted to get as far away from my village as possible, so after high school I came to Guangzhou instead of Chongqing as my parents wished. Over the years, I’ve also begun to collect little trinkets. A jade amulet here, a good luck charm there, but my most precious collection of all is the Queen of the Western Skies Statue, hand-made by the monks of Tibet, which stands on our nightstand today.
“Well that’s quite a story.” I said, after she told me the tale with a serious face, “quite a story. Do you really think I’d believe it?”
“Puppy,” she said (that was her nickname for me), “I don’t care if you believe it or not. It’s true because it happened to me, and I’m not too old to remember dreams as reality.”
I shrugged, not at all convinced.
“I don’t know, mom. I sense some kind of hidden agenda here. What do you want me to do?”
Oftentimes it came down to that: She wanted me to do something, and before saying it outright she had to tell some story to vaguely get her message across. My mom was normally nice but this way of communication was just obnoxious.
“I’m saying,” said mother, “That when you visit your grandpa’s this summer. Maybe pay some respect to the gods of China. Kneel. Kowtow. Show your due reverence. You don’t have to really believe them in here (she pointed to her heart), but at least you got to show some form. That way they won’t get you out of resentment.”
“Oh this is absolutely ridiculous.” I said, flinging my hands up, “You know I’m a Christian now, mom. I don’t kneel to rogue gods of the countryside. Besides, you were right when you’re young: They don’t exist!”
“Look, puppy,” and her tone showed that she too was quite embarrassed to talk about this, “I know it’s the 21st century and you youngsters think it’s all a bunch of superstition. But didn’t you kowtow the year before you went to the States? And the year before that? And what came out of it? Good grades and good health. Now I’m not saying there’s any sort of correlation, but at least it can’t hurt. Come on, like I said, just the form, the formality, you don’t even have to be sincere. That’s all that the gods care about.”
But my mother’s concessional tone only made me more confident in my own faith, and I refused to relent even one bit. When we went back to the countryside for the Qingming festival, and relatives lined up to kowtow to loathsome statues of unnamed gods, I alone stood on the side, holding the cross firmly in my hands. I murmured the Lord’s prayer over and over, until the Sun fell down on the West and the rituals finally ended. For a moment there was relief in my heart, and I suddenly wondered why I had decided to pray. Was it only an act of rebellion, or had I sensed some sort of devilry in this place and instinctively defended myself?
A few months later I flew back to the States for my first internship. The day after I Ieft, a plague broke out in my city. It was not a very virulent disease, and as far as the media was concerned only two people died from it: My mother and my father. When I received the call, I was sitting by a bank watching the sunset with my newfound sweetheart. I watched in stunned silence as the clouds in the distance transformed itself into the face of a distinctively Asian man, with a wide face, thin eyes, and a huge smile.
But then the Sun fell down the West, and the world descended into darkness.
Peike Wu is an international student from China currently studying at Phillips Academy, MA. He enjoys reading and writing speculative fiction and daydreaming about being the tragic hero in absurd situations. Much to his dormmates’ annoyance, he also likes to sing opera in the showers and order Popeyes at 10pm.