Life and Death are Wearing Me Out (62 page)

After quietly making it back home, I looked into the eastern side room, where your wife was still making flat breads, labor that seemed to bring her peace and happiness. An enigmatic smile graced her face. A sparrow on the plane tree chirped, and within ten or fifteen minutes the whole town was blanketed by birdcalls. The moonlight weakened as dawn was about to break.

I thought I was reading a document submitted by Jinlong, who wanted to turn Ximen Village into a resort with a Cultural Revolution theme. In his feasibility report, he wrote dialectically: While the Cultural Revolution was destroying culture, it also created a new culture. He wanted to paint new slogans on walls where they had been removed, reinstall loudspeakers, build another lookout perch in the apricot tree, and erect a new Apricot Garden Pig Farm on the site where the old one had been ruined in a rainstorm. Beyond that, he wanted to build a golf course on five thousand acres of land east of the village. As for the farmers who would lose their cropland, he proposed that they act out the village tasks they’d had during the Cultural Revolution, such as: organizing criticism sessions, parading capitalist-roaders in the streets, performing in Revolutionary Model Operas and loyalty dances. He wrote that Cultural Revolution artifacts could be turned out in large quantities: armbands, spears, Chairman Mao badges, handbills, big character posters. . . . Tourists would be permitted to participate in Recalling Bitterness meetings, watch Recalling Bitterness plays, eat Recalling Bitterness meals, and listen to elderly poor peasants relate tales of the old society. . . . And he wrote: The Ximen family compound will be converted into an Independent Farming Museum, with wax statues of Lan Lian, his donkey with the prosthetic foot, and his ox with the missing horn. He wrote that the piece of land farmed by the independent farmer Lan Lian would be covered by an enormous clear plastic canopy to protect a sculpture garden that included pieces of statuary showing the independent farm at each historical juncture, employing the tools he’d used to plant and harvest crops. All these postmodern activities, Jinlong said, would greatly appeal to urbanites and foreigners, which would lead them to generously open their pocketbooks. They’d spend, we’d earn. Once they’d toured our Cultural Revolution village, he wrote, they’d be taken to a glitzy modern-day adult entertainment complex. With obsessive ambition, he planned to gobble up all the land from Ximen Village east to the Wu Family Sandy Mouth and turn it into the finest golf course anywhere in the world, plus a massive amusement park that left nothing to be desired. Then on the sandbar at Wu Family Sandspit he wanted to build a public bath fashioned after ancient Rome’s bathhouses, a gambling casino to rival Las Vegas, and yet another sculpture garden, the theme of this one being the stirring battle between men and pigs that had occurred on this spot more than a decade earlier. The theme park would be primarily intended to get people thinking about environmental protection and underscore the concept that all sentient beings are endowed with a form of intelligence. The incident in which a pig sacrificed himself by diving into icy water to save a child was one that needed to be played up. Also included in the document was the author’s intent to build a convention center in which annual international meetings of family pets would be convened, bringing both foreign visitors and foreign exchange to the nation. . . .

As I read the feasibility report he’d sent to all pertinent county offices, plus the approving comments by big shots on the Party committee and in the county government, I could only shake my head and sigh. In essence I’m a man who is most comfortable with the old ways. I love the land and the smell of manure; I’d be content to live the life of a farmer; and I have enormous respect for old-school peasants like my father, who live for the land. But someone like that is too far behind the times to survive in today’s society. I actually went and fell so madly in love with a woman that I asked my wife for a divorce, and it doesn’t get much more old-school than that; again, out of step with the times. There was no way I could state my personal views in regard to the report, so I merely drew a circle, signifying approval, near my name. But something was bothering me. Who had actually been responsible for drafting such an outlandish report? Just then, Mo Yan’s head, a wicked smile on his face, appeared at my window. Now how in the world was that possible, since my third-floor window was maybe fifteen yards from the ground?

Suddenly some noise erupted out in the hallway, so I opened the door to see what it was. It was Huang Hezuo, a cleaver in one hand and a long rope in the other. Her hair was a fright and there was blood at the corners of her mouth. She was limping toward me, a vacant stare in her eyes. My son, schoolbag on his back, was right behind her, carrying a handful of steaming, greasy oil fritters, no discernible expression on his face. Behind him came that brute of a dog, my son’s cartoon-decorated plastic water bottle hanging around his neck and, since it was so long, banging into his knees as it swung back and forth with each step.

I screamed, and woke myself up. I’d fallen asleep in my clothes on the sofa. My forehead was covered with cold sweat, my heart was racing. My head felt numbed, thanks to the sleeping pill I’d taken, and the sunlight streaming in the window stung my eyes. I managed somehow to get up and splash water on my face. The clock on the wall said 6:30. The phone rang. I picked it up. Silence. I didn’t dare say anything. I just stood there waiting. “It’s me,” she said, her voice cracking. “I didn’t sleep all night. . . .” “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” “I’ll bring you something to eat.” “No, don’t come over,” I said. “It’s not that I’m afraid, I’d be willing to stand on a rooftop and announce to the world that I love you, but I shudder to think what it might lead to. . . .” “I understand.” “I think we should see a bit less of one another for a while. I don’t want to give her an opportunity to—” “I understand. I’ve done a terrible thing to her. . . .” “Don’t ever think that. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. Besides, didn’t Engels say that a loveless marriage is a sin against morality? Truth is, we’ve done nothing wrong.” “I’ll go buy some stuffed buns and leave them for you in the receptionist’s office—” “No,” I said, “I don’t want you to come, Chief. Don’t worry, if an earthworm won’t starve neither will I. I can’t say how things will be later on, but for now I’m still a deputy county head, so I’ll go get something to eat at the guesthouse, where there’s plenty of food.” “I miss you—” “Me too. When you go to work, stand in the bookstore entrance and look toward my window. That way I’ll be able to see you.” “But I won’t be able to see you—” “You’ll know I’m up here. Okay, my dear. . . .”

But I didn’t go to the guesthouse to get something to eat. Since the day we first touched, I felt like a frog in love, no appetite, nothing but unbridled passion. But appetite or not, I had to eat, so I forced myself to eat some snacks she’d brought me, though I tasted none of them. Still, they provided life-giving calories and nutrition.

I leaned against the window with my binoculars, prepared for my daily ritual. The clock in my head was remarkably accurate. Since in those days the town had no tall buildings, nothing blocked my view. If I’d wanted to I could have brought the faces of the old folks doing their morning exercises in Tianhua Square right into my eyes. First I aimed my binoculars at the entrance to Tianhua Lane. One Tianhua Lane was my house. The gate was closed. My son’s enemies had drawn a picture and written slogans in chalk on the gate: a fanged little boy, half of whose face was filled in with chalk, the other not. He was holding his sticklike hands in the air, a sign of surrender. Down between his sticklike legs hung an enormous penis from which a single line ran all the way down to the bottom of the gate.

I lowered my binoculars, which spat out Tianhua Square and Tianhua Lane. My heart skipped a beat. There was Huang Hezuo, straining to walk her bicycle down the three steps outside the gate. She spotted the graffiti when she turned to lock the gate, so she parked her bike, looked around, and crossed the street, where she broke off a branch of the pine tree there and used it to wipe off as much of the chalk as possible. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew she’d be grumbling. After the chalk was smeared beyond recognition, she got on her bike and headed north for a dozen yards or so before disappearing behind a row of houses. How had she managed to get through the night? Had she lain awake or had she slept like a baby? No way to know. Though there’d never been a time during all these years that I’d actually loved her, she was, after all, the mother of my son, and our lives had been closely bound up together. She reappeared on the road leading to the square in front of the station. Even when she was riding a bicycle she wobbled, and now more than ever, since she looked to be in a tearing hurry. Now I could see her face, which seemed covered by a smoky veil. She was wearing a black top with a yellow phoenix design. I knew she had plenty of clothes; on a business trip once, probably driven by deep-seated guilt feelings, I’d bought her a dozen skirts, all of which she’d immediately put away at the bottom of a trunk and never wore. I thought she might glance over at my window when she passed by the government office building, but she didn’t. She looked straight ahead, and I heaved a sigh. I knew that this woman was not about to give me my freedom, not without a fight. But since the battle had begun, it would have to be a fight to the finish.

Once again I trained my binoculars on the door of my house on Tianhua Lane, which was actually a wide boulevard, the preferred route by parents taking their children to the Phoenix Elementary School in the southern district. It was teeming with parents and children at this early morning hour.

My son and his dog walked out the gate, dog first, followed by the boy, who opened one side a crack and slipped through. Clever boy. If he’d opened both sides, he’d have had to turn around and close them both, a waste of time and energy. After locking up, he jumped from the top step to the sidewalk and headed north. I saw him wave to a boy riding by on a bike; the dog barked at the boy. They walked past the Tianhua Barbershop, which was directly opposite a shop that made home aquariums and sold tropical fish. The south-facing door showed up bright in the morning sunlight. The shopkeeper, a retired bookkeeper who’d worked at a cotton storage and transportation station, was a dignified old man who displayed his fish in aquariums out on the sidewalk. My son and his dog stopped to watch the ungraceful movements of big-bellied goldfish. The shopkeeper appeared to say something to my son, whose head was too low for me to see his mouth. He might have answered, he might not have.

They were back on the road, heading north, and when they reached the Tianhua Bridge, my son appeared to want to go down to the water, but the dog grabbed his clothes in his teeth to stop him. A good, loyal companion. My son struggled to get free, but was no match for the dog. Finally, he picked up a piece of brick and threw it into the water; it landed with a splash. A yellow dog greeted our dog with a bark and a wagging tail. The green plastic awning over the farmer’s market sparkled in the bright sunlight. My son stopped at just about every shop along the way, but the dog invariably grabbed his clothes or nudged him behind the knee to keep him going. When they reached Tianhua Lane, they sped up; that was when my binoculars began sweeping the area in front of the New China Bookstore, which was on Tianhua Lane.

My son took a slingshot out of his pocket and aimed at a bird in the pear tree in front of the home of my colleague, another deputy county head by the name of Chen. Pang Chunmiao appeared in front of the bookstore as if she’d fallen out of the sky. Son, dog, I’ve got no more time for you today.

Dressed in a spotless white dress, she was a vision of loveliness. Her freshly washed face was free of makeup, and I could almost smell the sandalwood fragrance of her facial soap and the natural fragrance of her body, which intoxicated and nearly transported me into another world. She was smiling. Her eyes sparkled; morning light reflected off what I could see of her teeth. She was looking up at me and knew that I was looking down at her. It was rush hour; the street was clogged with cars; the pedestrian lanes were alive with motorbikes spewing black smoke; bicycles weaved in and out of cars and motorbikes coming at them, inviting a chorus of honking from exasperated drivers. On any other day I’d have found this all quite repellent, but today it was a glorious sight.

She stood out there until her coworker opened the door for her; just before she walked inside, she put her fingers to her lips and tossed me a kiss. Like a butterfly, that kiss flew across the street, hovered briefly in the air just beyond my window, and then landed on my mouth. What a wonderful girl. I’d have died for her without hesitation.

My secretary came in to tell me I was to attend a meeting that afternoon in the County Committee conference room to discuss the Ximen Village Resort development plans. Attendees would include the county Party secretary, his deputy, the county chief, the Party Committee, all county government department heads, and leading bankers. Jinlong, I knew, was going for broke this time, and down the line what awaited him, as well as me, would not be garlands of flowers and smooth sailing. I had a hunch that a cruel fate was in store for my brother and me. But we would both forge ahead, and in this regard, we were truly brothers, for good or ill.

Before clearing my desk to leave for the meeting, I picked up my binoculars and took my customary position at the window, where I spotted my son’s dog leading my wife across the street and up to the door of the New China Bookstore. I’ve read several of Mo Yan’s stories in which he writes about dogs; they always seem more clever than humans, and that always gave me a laugh — such nonsense, I thought. But now, all of a sudden, I became a believer.

A silver Crown Victoria pulled up and parked in front of the school gate when I dropped your son off. A nicely dressed girl stepped out of the car, and your son waved to her, like any American boy might, and said, “Hi, Fenghuang!” She waved back. “Hi, Jiefang!” They walked in through the gate together.