Life and Death are Wearing Me Out (29 page)

Huang Huzhu walked into the house bashfully while my brother was wolfing down the food. Well, young lady, my mother commented with notable interest. We all share a single compound, but this is the first time you’ve been in our house in a decade. Mother looked her over with unmistakable affection. Huzhu didn’t look at my brother, she didn’t look at my sister, and she didn’t look at my mother. She just stared at the wrinkled bundle that was my brother’s tunic. Aunty, she said, you made a mess of Jinlong’s tunic when you washed it, but I know something about fabric, and I know how to sew. Would you be willing to let me work on it? Like they say, “treating a dead horse as if it were alive”? Maybe I can restore it to its original shape. Young lady, my mother said, eyes bright as she took Huzhu’s hands in hers, you really are quite the young lady. If you can restore Brother Jinlong’s tunic to its original shape, I’ll get down on my knees and kowtow three times to you!

Huzhu took only the tunic with her. She kicked the imitation army cap into the corner where the mouse hole was. Huzhu left, and hope was on its way. Mother wanted to see what sort of magic Huzhu would use on the tunic, but she got no farther than the apricot tree before her courage left her. Huang Tong was standing in his doorway chopping up elm roots with an ax. Wood chips flew like bullets. Scarier still was the enigmatic look on his tiny little face. As a class-two capitalist-roader, he had been attacked by my brother in the early days of the Cultural Revolution, and stripped of his powers and functions. He had to have a belly full of loathing for my brother, just waiting for the chance to retaliate. Still, I knew his thoughts weren’t all that clear-cut. Decades of living in our society had taught him the importance of observing things carefully. He’d never have missed noting the feelings his two precious daughters had for my brother. So Mother asked my sister to go see what was happening, but she just snorted contemptuously. I wasn’t sure why, but I knew from the hostile words Huzhu had said to my sister that the enmity between them was deep. So then Mother asked me to go. You’re too young to be worried about losing face. In her eyes I was still a child, the sad story of my life. But since I was curious to see how Huzhu was going to restore my brother’s tunic, I slinked up near her house. My legs turned wobbly when I saw Huang Tong chopping up those elm roots.

The next morning, Huzhu came over with a bundle under her arm. My brother hopped excitedly out of bed. My mother’s lips trembled, but she said nothing. Huzhu looked calm, but the corners of her mouth and the tips of her eyebrows gave her sense of pride away. She laid the bundle down on the bed and opened it. There, folded neatly, lay a restored tunic and, atop it, a brand-new army cap. Though it too was made of white material dyed yellow, it was so beautifully done it could pass for authentic. The centerpiece, however, was a red star she’d embroidered on the front with knitting wool. She handed it to my brother, then shook out the tunic for him. The wrinkles were still visible, but just barely. She lowered her eyes and blushed. Aunty, you boiled it too long, she said apologetically. This is the best I could do. Oh, my, her modesty was like a hammer striking my mother and brother’s hearts. Tears virtually sprayed from Mother’s eyes, while my brother could not stop himself from reaching out and taking Huzhu’s hands. Rather than pull them back right away, she let them fall away slowly before sitting down on the edge of the
kang.
My mother opened the cupboard and took out a chunk of hard candy, which she smashed into smaller pieces and handed to Huzhu. She chose not to eat them, so Mother literally put a piece into her mouth. As she sucked on the candy, she stared at the wall and said, Try them on, see if they fit. I can alter them if they don’t. My brother took off his padded coat and put on the tunic and cap, tied his leather belt around his waist, and hung the starter’s pistol from it. The commander was once again the figure of absolute authority, maybe even more so than before. She was like a true seamstress, and like a true wife as she walked around, examining my brother, straightening the hem here and tugging on the collar there. Then she stood in front of him and adjusted the cap with both hands. It seems a bit tight, she said with a sense of regret. But it’s the only piece of fabric I had, so it’ll have to do. In the spring I’ll go into town and buy a few yards of better fabric and make you a new cap.

It was clear — I didn’t stand a chance.

My brother’s recalcitrance softened considerably after he and Huzhu got together. Revolutions reform societies, women remold men. Within the space of a month or so, he not only held no criticism sessions where the targets were kicked and beaten, but he actually organized ten or more Peking operas in the modern revolutionary style. Huzhu, once bashful and timid, was transformed into a bold, forceful woman with unrestrained passion. That she had a fine voice and knew the music from so many revolutionary operas took everyone by surprise — I had to admit that my fantasies surrounding Huzhu were nothing but a toad hungering over the flesh of a swan. Years later, even Mo Yan himself revealed to me that he too had entertained illusions about Huzhu. So, to my surprise, big toads and little ones both hunger over the flesh of swans — The Ximen compound came alive with strains of music from flutes and bowed instruments, with men and women joining their voices in song. The center of revolutionary activities metamorphosed into a culture salon. Daily beatings and criticisms, with howls and wails, had been exciting at first, but they grew disturbing as time passed. By abruptly changing the shape of the revolutionary format, creating new sights and sounds, Jinyang brought smiles to the people’s faces

The rich peasant Wu Yuan, who played the two-stringed
huqin,
was brought into the troupe of musicians. So was Hong Taiyue, with his rich musical background as a singer. He served as conductor by banging on his glorious ox bone. Even the bad elements, whose duty was to sweep the streets clean of snow, hummed to the music emerging from the compound as they worked.

On New Year’s Eve, my brother and Huzhu braved snow to travel to the county town. They left the village as roosters were greeting the dawn; they returned at dusk the following day. They went by foot but returned on an East Is Red caterpillar tractor made in the city of Luoyang. Given its high horsepower, it was intended for farm work — plowing and harvesting — but had been appropriated by Red Guards for transportation. Now nothing could stop them from traveling where they wanted to go, not storms and not muddy roads. The tractor crossed the frozen river into the village rather than try to negotiate the unstable stone bridge, then drove down the main road to our compound. It traveled worry-free in high gear and, gas pedal pushed to the floor, nearly flew down the road, its caterpillar tracks sending snow and mud flying and leaving two deep ruts in the ground. Great puffs of green smoke were expelled from its overhead exhaust pipe like brass cymbals that circled and made loud, echo-producing crashes, drawing terrified shrieks from sparrows and crows that flew off to points unknown. People watched as my brother and Huzhu jumped down out of the cab. They were followed by a young man with a thin face and melancholy look. His hair was cut short, he wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses, his cheeks twitched, and his ears were red from the bitter cold. He had on a once-blue uniform turned nearly white from many washings; displayed prominently on the breast was a large Chairman Mao badge, while low down on his sleeve hung a Red Guard armband. One look told you he was an old-line, battle-scarred Red Guard.

My brother told Tiger Cub Sun to summon everyone with his bugle. Blow the general assembly call. Actually, there was no need for the bugle, since every villager who could walk was already there and had surrounded the tractor. Just seeing this powerful giant was not enough; the chatter was coming fast and furious. One self-designated expert pointed out: Weld a turret on top of that thing and add a cannon, and you’ve got a tank! The sky was darkening; a sunset blazed in the west, an array of pink clouds that promised snow for tomorrow. My brother issued an emergency command to light the gas lamp and build a bonfire. He would be making an announcement regarding a happy event. Now that he’d issued his orders, he leaned over to converse with the old-line Red Guard. Huang Huzhu ran into her house to have her mother fry some eggs, one for the man talking to my brother, the other for the driver, who was still sitting in the tractor. Both men politely declined the invitation to be guests in their house and refused to go into the office to warm up. So Wu Qiuxiang, who should have known better, came out carrying bowls with steaming eggs, Huang Hezuo in tow. She glided like one of those vamps you see in movies. The Red Guard refused the offer, a look of disgust on his face. Jinlong snarled under his breath: What do you think you’re doing? Take that back inside!

Something was wrong with the gas lamp, which was spewing yellow flames and black smoke, but the bonfire blazed, the sap on the green pine limbs crackling and spreading a sylvan fragrance over the compound. My brother climbed onto the platform amid the flickering firelight, excited as a panther that has pounced on a golden pheasant. He began to speak: When we reported on the village revolutionary situation, we were warmly received by Comrade Chang Tianhong, vice chairman of the County Revolutionary Committee. He was satisfied with our revolutionary work and sent the assistant director of the County Revolutionary Political Work Section, Comrade Luo Jingtao, to direct our village revolutionary activities and announce the names of the Ximen Village Revolutionary Committee members. Comrades, my brother said loudly, the Milky Way Commune has not yet set up a revolutionary committee, but we in Ximen Village have! This pioneering effort by Vice Chairman Chang has brought great glory to our village. Now I’ll turn the meeting over to Director Luo, who will announce the names.

My brother hopped down from the platform to give Assistant Director Luo a boost up. But Luo declined the use of the platform and stood some five yards away from the bonfire, where half his face glowed and the other half was in shadows; he took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, shook it open, and began to read in a low, husky voice:

I hereby declare that Lan Jinlong is chairman of the Gaomi County Milky Way Commune Ximen Village Production Brigade Revolutionary Committee, with Huang Tong and Ma Liangcai as deputy vice chairmen . . .

A cloud of thick smoke was blown into Assistant Director Luo’s face, forcing him to move out of the way. Without reading any more, he handed the paper to my brother, said good-bye and shook hands, then turned on his heel and walked off. His actions had my brother at a momentary loss. His lips parted as he watched the man climb into the cab of the tractor, which started up, turned around, and headed back the way it had come, leaving a large indentation in the ground. We saw the tractor headlights light up the street like a bright alley, while the red taillights peered out like the eyes of a fox. . . .

On the third evening following the establishment of the revolutionary committee, the loudspeaker mounted in the branches of the apricot tree came to life, blaring “The East Is Red.” When the anthem ended, a woman’s voice broadcast news of the county The lead item was an enthusiastic message of congratulations to the first village-level revolutionary committee in the county. The Gaomi County Milky Way Commune Ximen Village Production Brigade Revolutionary Committee was established, she announced, adding that the leading group of the Ximen Village Production Brigade Revolutionary Committee, including Lan Jinlong, Huang Tong, and Ma Liangcai, embodied the “Three-in-One” revolutionary organizational principle. The masses looked up at the source of the announcement and made no comment, although they were inwardly showering my brother with admiration: so young to be a chairman, and if that wasn’t enough, he was being assisted by his future father-in-law, Huang Tong, and Ma Liangcai, who was so tight with my sister.

The next day a youngster in a green uniform came puffing his way into our compound with a stack of newspapers and letters on his back. He was the new postman, an innocent-looking fellow whose eyes shimmered with curiosity. After laying down the newspapers and letters, he took a little wooden box out of his bag and handed it, along with a notebook and pen, to my brother to sign. This is from Vice Chairman Chang, he said to Huzhu after reading the inscription. I knew he was talking about Braying Jackass, Little Chang, an exemplary rebel who, in his role as vice chairman of the County Revolutionary Committee, was in charge of propaganda and the arts, as I overheard him tell my sister, who reacted to the news with what appeared to be mixed emotions. I knew she had strong feelings for Little Chang, but his meteoric rise in stature created an obstacle. It was certainly possible for love to develop between a talented student in an arts academy and a pretty girl with a peasant background, but there was no chance that a leading county-level cadre in his twenties would ever actually marry a peasant girl, no matter how pretty or fetching she might be. Of course my brother was aware of her feelings, and I heard him urge her to lower her sights a bit. Ma Liangcai was a royalist at first. Why then was he named vice chairman? Can you really not see what he had in mind? Was he the one who appointed him? my sister asked stubbornly My brother nodded. Does he want me to marry Ma Liangcai? Isn’t it obvious? Did he tell you that in so many words? Did he have to? Is an important person supposed to put all his intentions into words? You have to figure things out for yourself. No, my sister insisted. I want to hear it from him. If he tells me to marry Ma Liangcai, I’ll come home and marry him! By this time in their conversation, my sister’s eyes were brimming with tears.

My brother opened the box with rusty scissors and took out some old newspaper print, two sheets of white window paper, and a layer of crumpled yellow crepe paper. Beneath it all was a piece of red satin. He unfolded it to reveal a ceramic Chairman Mao badge as big as the mouth of a teacup. He held it in the palm of his hand as tears slid down his cheeks, although he wasn’t sure if he was moved more deeply by Chairman Mao’s smiling countenance or by Little Chang’s expression of friendship. He held it out for all to see. A sacred and solemn atmosphere prevailed. After he’d shown it all around, my sister-in-law to be, Huzhu, carefully pinned the badge onto my brother’s breast. The heft alone made his tunic sag a bit.