Life and Death are Wearing Me Out (14 page)

The aroma flooded the air, like fine liquor, like honey, like husks straight from the frying pan. The red thread in my imagination became a thick red rope. After traveling half the night and encountering countless hardships, like finding a melon at the end of a vine, I was finally about to meet my true love. I bolted forward but abruptly slowed down after only a few steps, for there in the light of the moon a woman all in white sat cross-legged in the middle of the path. No trace of a donkey, female or otherwise. And yet the smell of a donkey in heat hung in the air around us. Was this a trap? Was it possible that a woman could emit a smell that could drive a male donkey crazy? Slowly, cautiously, I approached the woman. The closer I got, the more brightly Ximen Nao’s memory lit up in my mind, like a series of sparks creating a wildfire, pushing my donkey consciousness into darkness and reasserting my human emotions. I didn’t have to see her face to know who she was. Outside of Ximen Bai, no other woman exuded the smell of bitter almonds. My wife, you poor, poor woman!

Why do I refer to her that way? Because of the three women in my life, she suffered the bitterest fate. Yingchun and Qiuxiang both remarried peasants who had gained stature in the new society. She alone, as a member of the landlord class, had been forced to live in the Ximen ancestral caretaker’s hut and suffer through unbearable reform through labor. The squat, confining hut, with its rammed earth walls and a thatched roof, was so dilapidated it could not withstand the onslaught of wind and rain, and was in danger of toppling; when that happened it would bury her forever. The bad elements had all joined the People’s Commune, under the supervision of the poor and lower-middle peasants, reforming themselves through labor; in accordance with common practice, she too should have been spending her days as a member of the iron ore transport teams or breaking up large chunks of ore under the supervision of Yang Qi and his ilk, her hair in disarray, her face covered with dirt and grime, clothes torn and tattered, more ghost than human; so why was she sitting in this lovely setting, dressed in white and giving off a compelling fragrance?

“I knew you’d come, husband, I knew you’d be here. I was sure that after all these years of suffering, after seeing so much betrayal and shameless behavior, that you would recall my loyalty.” She seemed to be both talking to herself and pouring out her grief to me. Her voice carried the tone of sweetness and desolation. “I knew that my husband had been turned into a donkey, but you are still my husband, the man I lean on. Only after you were turned into a donkey did I feel that we were true kindred spirits. Do you recall how we met on grave-sweeping day in the year you were born? You passed by the hut where I live on your way to pick greens with Yingchun. I saw you that day while I was secretly adding fresh dirt to your and your parents’ graves, and you ran up to me, nibbling at the hem of my jacket with your soft pink lips. I looked up and saw you, such a lovely little donkey. I rubbed your nose and your ears; you licked my hand. My heart ached yet grew hot, I felt both sorrow and warmth, and tears flowed from my eyes. Through the mist I saw that your eyes were also moist, and in them I saw my own reflection. The look was one I knew well. I know you suffered injustice, my husband. I covered your grave with the dirt in my hand and then sprawled atop it, sobbing quietly with my face pressed to the fresh yellow earth. You gently touched my backside with your hoof, so I turned my head and once again saw that look in your eyes. My husband, I believe with all my heart that you have been reborn as a donkey. How unkind Lord Yama has been to turn my cherished husband into a donkey. But then, I thought, maybe that was your choice, that in your abiding concern for me, you would rather come back as a donkey to be my companion. Maybe Lord Yama planned to let you be reborn into a rich and powerful family, but you chose the life of a donkey instead, my dear, dear husband. . . . The grief welled up inside me and I could not keep myself from wailing piteously. But in the midst of my wails, the sound of distant bugles, brass drums, and cymbals came on the air. Yingchun, who was standing behind me, said softly, Don’t cry, people are coming. She was still a woman of conscience. A packet of spirit money was hidden under the wild greens in her basket, and I guessed that she had brought it to burn at your grave. I forced myself to stop crying and watched as you and Yingchun rushed off into the grove of black pines. At every third step you stopped and turned to look, at every fifth you hesitated, and I knew the depth of your feelings for me. The contingent of people drew near, drums and gongs signaling their approach, red flags the color of blood, floral wreaths the color of snow. Teachers and students from the elementary school were coming to sweep the graves of martyrs. A light rain was falling, swallows were flying low in the sky. Peach flowers were like a sunset in the martyrs’ cemetery, visitors’ songs filled the air, but your wife did not dare cry over your grave, my husband. That night you went wild in the village office compound and bit me, and everyone thought you’d gone crazy, but I knew you were calling attention to my unfair treatment. They had already dug up the family treasure. Did they really think there was more buried at Lotus Bay? I treated that bite as a kiss from my husband. It may have been more violent than most, but that was the only way I could print it indelibly on my heart. Thank you for that kiss, my husband, for it was my salvation. When they saw the blood, they were so afraid I might die they carried me back into my home. My home, the run-down little hut by your gravesite. I lay down on the damp, dirt-covered sleeping platform, hoping for an early death, so that I too could be reborn a donkey, and we would be reunited again, a loving donkey couple . . .”

Xing’er, Bai Xing’er, my wife, my very own ... I shouted, but all that came out were donkey sounds. The throat of a donkey thwarted my attempts at human speech. I hated my donkey body. I struggled to say something to you, but reality is cruel, and no matter what words of love I formed in my heart, all that came out was
Hee-haw, hee-haw
— So all I could do was kiss you, caress you with my hooves, and let my tears fall onto your face. A donkey’s tears are as big as the biggest raindrops. I washed your face with my tears as you lay on your back looking up at me, tears filling your eyes as well as you murmured, Husband, my husband ... I tore off your clothes with my teeth and covered you with kisses, suddenly reminded of our wedding night. You were so shy, panting so alluringly, and I could tell that you were a daughter from a refined family, a girl who could embroider a double lotus and recite the “Thousand Poets’ Verses” . . .

A crowd of people, hooting and hollering, surged into the Ximen compound and snapped me out of my dream. There would be no good times for me, no conjugal bliss. They brought me back from my half human-half donkey existence. I was once again a donkey from head to tail. The people all wore scowls of arrogance as they barged into the western rooms and emerged with Lan Lian in custody; they stuck a white paper flag in his collar behind his neck. Though he tried to resist, it took little effort to subdue him. And when he tried to complain, they said, We’ve been ordered to inform you that you can farm your own land if that’s what you want, but smelting steel and building a reservoir are national projects requiring the participation of all citizens. We overlooked you when we built the reservoir, but you’re not getting out of work this time. Two men dragged him bodily out of the compound and another came to lead me out of my lean-to, a fellow with considerable experience in dealing with domestic animals: sidling up next to me, he grabbed hold of the bit and jerked it up into my mouth at the slightest sign of resistance, causing unbearable pain and making it hard for me to breathe.

My master’s wife ran out in an attempt to stop him from leading me away.

“You can take my husband out to work, that’s fine by me,” she said, “and I’ll smash rocks and smelt steel if you want. But you cannot take my donkey with you.”

With a display of anger and impatience, the man said:

“What do you take us for, madam citizen, puppet soldiers out to confiscate people’s livestock? We’re core members of the People’s Commune Militia, and we’re following orders, just doing our job. We’re taking your donkey on loan. You’ll get him back when we’re finished with him.”

“I’ll go in his place!” Yingchun said.

“Sorry, but those aren’t our orders and we’re not authorized to improvise.”

Lan Lian broke loose from the men holding him.

“There’s no call for you to treat me like this,” he said. “Building a reservoir and smelting steel are national projects, so of course I’ll go without complaint. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. But I have one request. Let my donkey go with me.”

“That’s something we’re not authorized to permit. Take up your request with our superiors.”

So the man led me out cautiously, ready for anything, whereas Lan Lian was escorted out of the compound and the village as if he were an army deserter, past the onetime district offices and all the way over to the People’s Commune, which, as it turned out, was where the red-nosed blacksmith and his apprentice had fitted me with my first set of iron shoes at their furnace. As we were passing the Ximen ancestral cemetery, some middle-school students under the supervision of their teachers were digging up graves and removing headstones; a woman in white mourning attire came flying out of the caretaker’s hut and ran straight for the students, throwing herself onto the back of one of them, her hands around his neck. But a brick flew over and hit her in the back of the head. Her face was ghostly white, as if covered with quicklime. Her earsplitting shrieks angered me. Flames brighter than molten steel licked up out of my heart, and I heard human speech tear from my throat:

“Stop! I, Ximen Nao, demand that you stop digging up my ancestral graves! And don’t you dare strike my wife!”

I reared up, ignoring the lip-splitting pain from the bit, lifting the man beside me up into the air and then flinging him into the mud alongside the road. As a donkey, I could have treated what I was seeing with indifference. But as a man, I could not allow anyone to dig up my ancestral graves or strike my wife. I charged into the crowd of students and bit one of their teachers on the head, then knocked down a student who was bent over to scoop out dirt. The students fled, their teachers lay on the ground. I watched Ximen Bai roll around, and cast one last glance at the open graves before turning and racing into the dark confines of a pine forest.

My anger slowly subsided after two days of running wild across Northeast Gaomi Township territory hunger forcing me to subsist on wild grass and the bark of trees. This coarse diet brought home the hardships of living the life of a donkey. A longing for the fragrant feed I’d gotten used to led me back to the life of a common domestic animal, and I began the trek back to my village, drawing close to human habitation.

At noontime that day, I reached the outskirts of Tao Family Village, where I saw a horse carriage at rest beneath a towering ginkgo tree. The heavy aroma of bean cakes mixed with rice straw filled my nostrils. Two mules that had been pulling the carriage were standing beside a basket hanging from a triangular trestle feasting on the fragrant feed.

I had always looked down on mules, bastard animals that were neither horse nor donkey, and wanted nothing more than the opportunity to bite them into oblivion. But on this day, fighting was the furthest thing from my mind. What I wanted was to edge up to the basket and get my share of some good food to replenish the strength I’d used up during two days of rushing headlong from one end of the territory to the other.

Holding my breath, I approached them gingerly, striving to keep the bell around my neck from announcing my arrival. Though that bell, placed there by the crippled war hero, enhanced my stature, there were times when it worked against me. When I ran like the wind, it signaled the passage of a mighty hero; at the same time, it kept me from ever breaking free of pursuit by humans.

The bell tinkled. The heads of the two mules, both much bigger than I, shot up. Knowing at once what I was after, they pawed the ground and snorted menacingly, warning me not to set hoof in their territory. But with all that good food in front of my eyes, how could I simply turn and walk away? I surveyed the scene: The black, long-necked mule was yoked in the wagon shafts, so he didn’t worry me. The second animal, a young black mule that was tethered and fettered, would also have trouble dealing with me. All I had to do to get to the food was stay clear of their teeth.

They tried to intimidate me with irritatingly loud brays. Don’t be so stingy, you bastards, there’s enough there for all of us. Why hog it all? We have entered the age of communism, when mine is yours and yours is mine. Seeing an opening. I ran up to the basket and took a huge mouthful. They bit me, sending the bits clanging. Bastards, if it’s biting you want, I’m the master. I swallowed the mouthful of feed, opened wide, and bit the yoked mule on the ear, chomping down and sending half its ear fluttering to the ground. The next bite landed on the neck of the other mule and left me with a mouthful of mane. Chaos ensued. Grabbing the basket in my teeth, I backed up quickly. The tethered mule charged. I spun around, showing him my backside before kicking out with both legs. One hoof hit nothing but air, the other landed smack on his nose. Pain drove him headfirst to the ground. Then, eyes closed, he got up and ran in circles until his legs got all entangled with the rope. I ate like there was no tomorrow. But tomorrow came anyway, as the carter, a blue bundle tied around his waist and a whip in his hand, ran out of a nearby yard, screaming at me. I sped up the eating process. He ran at me, whip writhing in the air like a snake and making popping sounds. He was upper-body strong and bowlegged, exactly what an experienced carter should look like. The whip was like an extension of his arm, and that was worrisome. Clubs didn’t scare me, they’re easy to dodge. But a whip is unpredictable. Someone who knows how to handle one can bring down a powerful horse with it. I’d seen it done and didn’t want it to be done to me. Uh-oh, here it comes! I had to move out of danger, which I did, though now I could only gaze at the feed basket. The driver chased after me. I ran off a ways. He stopped, keeping one eye on the feed basket. Then he looked over at his wounded mules and cursed a blue streak.