By Huina Zheng
The young mother didn’t notice when her little girl, her hair tied in two small pigtails, had crouched by the grass again and picked up a cigarette butt, blackened at one end, stuffing it into the pocket of her pocket. A passing granny called out, “Little girl, that’s dirty! Throw it away.” The mother turned her gaze toward the girl and said, “Can you stop causing trouble all the time? Can you behave for once?” The little girl got to her feet and turned to face her mother. Her chubby hands tightened around her pocket. Her lips trembled slightly, as if she were about to cry.
The mother sat on a stone bench and lowered her head again. It was a Monday morning. Rain had fallen the night before, leaving puddles on the ground, but the sun was already high. The park was quiet. She had taken her daughter out for a walk, but more than that, she wanted to escape the house—away from her mother-in-law’s watchful eyes and constant criticism about how she was always on her phone and ignoring her child.
The little girl glanced at her mother, blinking, her small mouth drooping slightly, disappointed at being ignored. But she didn’t stay sad for long. She turned around and squatted back down. Her bright eyes, all black and white, were looking around the grass and the path, like she was on a treasure hunt. She found a bottle cap, all muddy and wet, and picked it up. She grinned, and tucked it into her pocket. She reached into a puddle, stirring the water into ripples. Her fingers closed around a lump of mud, which crumbled in her palm, thick liquid oozing between her fingers. Then, with a sudden slap, she smacked the puddle hard, splattering her face and clothes. She touched her cheek, feeling the cool wetness, her eyes shining with satisfaction and excitement. Her gaze locked onto a dry pile of dog feces hidden in the grass. She reached out and touched its rough surface with her fingertips. Pressing down hard, it cracked into pieces. She picked one up, holding it close to her eyes, studying its shape. She brought it to her nose, sniffed, and wrinkled her nose at the smell. She was too preoccupied with her discoveries to notice the black dog until it growled at her. Startled, she burst into loud sobs. “Stop that!” A man yanked the dog’s leash and pulled it away.
The mother lifted her head and glared at the girl. “Enough! Stop crying! If you cry again, I’ll slap you!” The little girl sobbed, her face filled with fear. The mother lowered her head once more.
Sparrows fluttered in the trees, chirping noisily as they squabbled. In the pond, toads croaked in a deep, rhythmic tone. An elderly man strolled past, humming along with an old song playing from his small speaker. But the young mother didn’t notice at all. She only felt irritated—by the endless housework, the exhausting demands of childcare, and the worthlessness of not being able to earn her own money. She stared at her phone screen, deep in thought—her bank account still had 100,000 yuan. If she invested it in the financial product her friend recommended, she could earn 2,000 yuan in interest each month. Not much, but enough to give a housewife like her some financial independence, so she wouldn’t have to look up at her husband’s face, asking for money. While she was preparing to transfer the funds, the little girl’s sobbing faded. Tear tracks streaked her cheeks, snot glistened under her nose. She licked it away. No one was looking at her. She hesitated, then reached again for the dog feces, slipping it into her pocket—the place where she kept all her treasures.
And then, she smiled.
—
Huina Zheng, a Distinction M.A. in English Studies holder, works as a college essay coach. Her stories have been published in Baltimore Review, Variant Literature, Midway Journal, and others. Her work has received nominations three times for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She resides in Guangzhou, China with her family.