When My Husband Was Away

On the eleventh day after our third child was born, my husband went back to his unit in Penghu. The four of us—mother and children—were on our own again.

For the twenty days of confinement that followed, I relied entirely on Mrs Sun, Mrs Qi, and Mrs Chen in the same row to fetch water, buy food, and help with all sorts of things. Once my son was playing outside and forgot even mealtime; several mothers had to go looking for him to bring him home—what a bother for them.

Mrs Tong lived farther away, but every morning she took our second daughter 春蘭 to her house and brought her back at night, because the girl wanted only “A-ma-ma” (that was how 春蘭 addressed Mrs Tong) and would let no one else look after her.

That was how everyone helped me through confinement until the month was over. I was deeply grateful for such warm help in my hardest time—perhaps that is what people now call “dependants’ village culture.”

From the day our third daughter was born I had no breast milk for her. Though I tried every way to bring milk back, I failed, and in the end I made up my mind to buy formula. A pound of Lactogen cost about a third of my husband’s salary—a very heavy burden for a military dependant’s family. Fortunately the baby was good; after each feed she slept quietly in bed without needing to be held. So after confinement, besides housework, I could sew a few outfits to help pay for the milk.

Mr Sun from next door came to see the little girl. Learning that she drank Lactogen, he told me, “Our children all drink skim milk powder from American aid. You might try it. If she can take it, the burden will not be so heavy.” I took his advice and really did switch to skim milk powder.

The result was awful. Soon after drinking it she had diarrhoea, which turned into enteritis. I regretted it bitterly—trying to save money had made my daughter ill. I asked Mr Sun; he said his children were fine on it. I thought it must be constitution. After that I never used skim milk again and went back to Lactogen.

As the children grew day by day, the house felt smaller and smaller.

When the Qi family’s second daughter was five, she was helping her mother heat water in the kitchen and fanning the stove with a fan. She accidentally touched the pot; hot water sprayed out onto her back. She screamed with pain and frightened everyone. Mrs Qi rushed with her daughter to the clinic, and several of us wives went along to stay with her and comfort her.

Another time the Suns’ second son, Li-qun, also only five, was naughty and would not listen. His mother was so angry she was going to hit him. He ran too fast, hit the corner of the bamboo bed, and split his ear about a centimetre, bleeding heavily.

Mrs Sun hurried to the clinic with the child. After the doctor examined him he said, “Mrs Sun, do not worry. He is still young; wrap it with adhesive tape and in a week the wound will heal.” Only then did we relax and go home with her.

One day our eldest son 光華 was playing barefoot outside and stepped on a bamboo splinter. The sole of his foot became infected; for several days he could not walk. To use the toilet he needed me to support him while he hopped on one foot.

Sometimes the baby was crying and I had to carry her on my back while I helped him to the toilet until his foot healed. The toilet was far—twenty or thirty metres from our house, past eight households to the end of the village, then across a small road. My eldest son hopped like that for about ten days.

Besides, husbands on the offshore islands always worried about wives and children in Taiwan, and expenses on both sides were a problem.

So my husband and his classmate Mr Chen applied together for a transfer back to the First Squadron.

The First Squadron was at Fugui Cape in Shimen Township, Taipei County; the newly built dependants’ village had just been completed. After headquarters approved, they reported in and applied for housing, and were smoothly allotted one-and-a-half rooms per family.

Because we had three children, we could have the extra half room.

Mr Chen’s family had only two children and received one room only.

We agreed that both families would move together, settled every detail, chose a day, and waited for our husbands to take leave and come back to move.

There was no camera then. Nearly two years in Qiao’ai Village left not a single photograph—such a pity.