Mulberry and Peach by Hualing Nieh

it was only after the end of the war with Japan that we got in touch again. Mulberry said that it was the strength of that little gold chain that brought her to Peking.’
    â€˜Now that you are here, there’s no way to leave, Mulberry. The railroad from Peking to Tientsin has been cut. Thousands of people have made plane reservations, but you have to pay gold. We aren’t able to do that.’ Aunt Shen pauses, then suddenly cries out. ‘Chia-kang! Chia-kang, I’ve got a cramp in my foot!’
    Chia-kang runs over and shoves Joy aside. He pulls back the red silk quilt embroidered with mandarin ducks. He uncovers her small foot, no longer bound, pointed and wrinkled, the toes twisted.
    â€˜Ai-ya! Ai-ya! It hurts!’
    â€˜Mother, I’ll massage it for you. Every time I do it, you get better,’ says Chia-kang, cradling the small foot in his hands, massaging the muscles along the top of the foot with his thumbs.
    â€˜Good, that’s good. Chia-kang, don’t stop!’

    Chia-kang cradles the calf of her leg as he massages. He presses his thumbs along the top of her foot. ‘Mother, is it better? Is it better now, Mother?’ he says over and over.
    She doesn’t answer. She stares at the foot in her son’s hand. Then she says, ‘Chia-kang, dig into it with your fingernails.’
    Chia-kang presses his long nails into the top and arch of her foot.
    â€˜Chia-kang, harder. That’s good, there . . .’
    â€˜Mother, I’ve pinched so hard that you’re bleeding. Does it hurt?’
    â€˜If only I could feel pain. When I saw that foot in your hand, I was shocked. It wasn’t my foot anymore.’
    â€˜If it’s not yours, then whose is it?’ Chia-kang laughs.
    â€˜I’ve been sick too long, Chia-kang. I’m in a daze all the time. Sometimes when your face suddenly flashes before my eyes, I even think it’s your father.’ She withdraws her foot from his hands and wiggles her toes at him, laughing. ‘Look, it’s alive again.’
    Joy, still grinning, returns to her place on the k’ang and begins massaging Aunt Shen’s legs.
    The oil lamp on the table sputters and almost goes out. We haven’t had electricity or water for two days. Now the fire in the stove is dying down.
    Chia-kang opens the door to the stove and throws in a shovelful of coal. The fire flares up again, the flames licking higher and higher, about to leap out of the stove. He hurriedly slams the door shut. The shadow of the acacia tree, with its branches stretching up to the sky, appears etched in the paper window.
    Suddenly the clamour of shouts and a dog’s barking come toward us. The noise moves from the main gate to the Gate of the Dangling Flowers. The barking comes into the main courtyard. The howls lengthen into low muffled whimpers.
    Aunt Shen turns to face the wall. ‘Dogs cry at funerals. Chia-kang, get that dog out of here.’
    I go with Chia-kang to the courtyard. Ice has formed on the ground. The sky is dark. Seven or eight of the students are beating a black shadow by the wall with clubs and poles. The shadow darts from corner to corner, whimpering. The rest of the students stand aside, cheering.
    I ask them whey they are beating the dog. ‘There’s nothing to eat in this city. When you’re hungry, you want to eat meat!’ replies one of the students, grinding his teeth.
    â€˜Mulberry, last night I dreamed you were at the Altar of Heaven.’
    â€˜I’ve never, ever been there, Chia-kang.’

    â€˜Maybe that’s just as well. The Temple of Heaven, the Imperial Park, the Imperial Temple, the Confucian Temple, Yung-ho Palace, now they’re all overrun by refugees. The holy grounds of the sacred temples of the past are now contaminated, but when I dreamed about the Temple of Heaven, there was one tiny part untouched.
    â€˜You know, the Temple of Heaven is the place where the Ming and