The Four Books (44 page)

“Everyone go get ready! . . . I also plan to get a good night’s sleep. Right now, I’m simply exhausted.”

After saying this, the Child turned and returned to his room, pulling his door shut behind him. He left behind a fog of confusion that was clearly visible in the faces of the Scholar, the Author, and everyone else.

Everyone stood there in shock, and then, in a daze, returned to their respective rooms. No one uttered a word the entire night. No one really believed that the Child would actually issue everyone a red star and a bag of fried soybeans, and allow them to leave Re-Ed. That night everyone went to bed as they normally did. They planned to sleep until they woke up on their own, as they normally did. But the next morning things turned out to be unlike what they ever had been. Early that morning, a magpie alighted on a windowsill. Someone woke, put on their shoes, and went outside to stand under the sky. Then he went over to the Child’s door, and stared in surprise. He saw that the ground was covered in red, as though it were on fire. He looked in surprise, then rushed back to the dormitory, shouting,

“Quick . . . come look at the Child!”

“Quick . . . come look at the Child!”

His cries resonated through the ninety-ninth, and through the old course of the river. They resonated throughout the whole world.

Everyone woke up and rubbed their eyes, then headed out to . . . to the doorway of the Child’s building. There was a cacophony of footsteps. When they reached the doorway, however, they all suddenly came to a halt and looked down. They looked at the ground beneath their feet, then at the sky overhead, stretching their necks as they gazed at the vast sky. The sun had just risen, and the sky was full of purple clouds. There were flocks of magpies, which alighted on the Child’s windowsill and the courtyard wall. Then, everyone saw white angel-shaped clouds floating into that area of sky. They saw that beneath these purple clouds and white angel-shaped clouds, the sky was completely clear, without a hint of a breeze. In front of the Child’s door, there was an enormous cross. The base of the cross was embedded in a freshly dug hole in the ground. Meanwhile, the Child’s several hundred red blossoms and certificates were all laid out on the ground and pinned to the cross itself. The entire ground was red, as though on fire. The large and small blossoms, silk and satin blossoms, completely filled the courtyard with a red glow. The cross towered over the blossoms, like the mast of a ship crossing the red sea at dawn. The Child was wearing a pair of hand-woven blue pants with a cloth belt around the waist, and he was nailed to the center of the cross. The freshly dug-up earth beneath the cross still smelled of moist soil. White and green plants were growing out of the soil, like flower stems, between the blossoms. The cross was constructed from planks as thick as a man’s wrist, and was almost two yards high. The Child had built thin wooden steps at the back of the cross, to allow him to climb up.

In the light of the sun, which had just risen in the east, the Child, who had nailed himself to the cross, had the faint smile of contentment of someone who had just endured excruciating agony. Just as the sun was coming up, the Child had spread the red blossoms over the ground and then nailed himself to the cross. No one knew what the Child had seen or encountered during the month he spent in the capital, but the first thing he did upon returning was nail himself to that cross. To forestall the possibility that he might try to get down in response to the agonizing pain he would experience, he had even bound himself to the cross. He used long nails to impale his feet, then with his right hand he used three nails to pin his left wrist to the crossbar. Finally, having only his right hand free, he had no way of nailing his right wrist to the crossbar, but he had hammered three long nails into the crossbar from the back, such that the sharp ends were sticking out the front side. He was then able to slam the back of his right hand into the nails, piercing his palm.

In this way, he nailed himself to the cross.

So it came to pass.

Like Jesus, the Child nailed himself to a cross covered with red blossoms.

The blood from his hands and feet dripped down the wooden cross, like spring flowers on white wood. Those drops of blood flowed over the flowers like water toward the sea, dripping to the ground and mixing with the dirt. But there wasn’t a trace of pain visible on the Child’s face. Instead, he looked serene and composed, and even had a trace of a contented smile, as though an enormous red flower had suddenly bloomed in the sky above the cross.

Beneath the cross, in front of that array of flowers, right where the morning sun was shining, there was sack after sack of grain, and on each sack there was a red pentagonal star, like a crystal flower, which would permit everyone to freely return home.

The air was filled with the scent of fried soybeans.

Everyone stared in shock. They stood below the cross and gazed down at that array of red blossoms, fried soybeans, and pentagonal stars. Then they looked up at the Child. Blood was still dripping from his wounds, and under the bright sun the drops of blood looked like precious gems. Flock after flock of sparrows and magpies flew over. Purple and white clouds hovered across the desolate wasteland. When these angel-shaped clouds drifted above the cross, all of the magpies on the wall, on the windowsill, on the roof, and in the courtyard cried out, singing a song everyone felt they could almost understand.

At this moment, the Child opened his eyes one last time, and uttered his final words,

“It was I who nailed myself here. . . . You should all leave. I’ve left each of you a sack of grain and a red star. You can collect them, and then go wherever you wish.” At this point, the Child looked down at the blossoms and the crowd of people gathered at the base of the cross, as though he were counting how many people there were. “There are forty-four of you, but I only have forty-three stars. One of you will have to stay behind.” The Child then used his final energy to shout, “Everyone go into my room, and take whatever books you need from there. Leave me here. . . . But I just ask one thing of you, which is that you not bring me down. I want to bake up here under the hot sun . . . you absolutely must remember this. Remember my words . . . let me bake under the hot sun!”

After the Child said this, his head tilted and his hair fell forward, as though blown by the wind.

The purple clouds and angel-shaped white clouds hovered in place directly above the Child’s head. The purple clouds surrounded the angel-shaped white ones, as the sun shone down on the sea of blossoms.

The magpies were all singing.

Everyone rushed to the base of the cross and grabbed a sack of grain for the road, together with a red star that still smelled of fresh paint. Even in their excitement, however, they were careful not to tread on those red blossoms, which blanketed the ground below the cross. In single file, everyone passed under the cross and then proceeded to the Child’s room. Inside, they saw that the walls, the bed, the reed mat, and headboard were still covered with marks from where the Child had hung his blossoms and certificates, like hatchet marks in a tree trunk. The Child’s bed was covered with more than a dozen children’s books that the Child had come to love, many of which were illustrated stories from the Bible. The floor was covered in sawdust from when the Child was constructing his cross, which filled the room with the smell of freshly cut wood.

Upon entering the room, they proceeded to open the black curtains to let in some light. Then, they saw that against the wall there were two simple but sturdy wooden bookcases that the Child had made himself. The bookcases were filled with everyone’s books. Some of the books had been stripped of their covers, but the Child had wrapped them in brown paper. Standing in front of the bookshelves, everyone suddenly realized that the books the Child had been burning all winter were only ones of which he happened to have multiple copies. Everyone stared silently at those bookcases. The room was full of dust, but the bookcases were immaculate. There were still marks from where the shelves had been wiped clean, and there was the fresh smell of wet paper.

Everyone found the books they had brought with them when they arrived. They found all the books that they had been missing.

Around noon, when the sun began shining brightly, everyone lined up. Carrying their suitcases, their books, and their grain, and with a star pinned to their chest, they prepared to depart. They knew that up to this point the Scholar had not yet claimed a star. As they were going to claim theirs, he just stood there gazing at everyone . . . at those other intellectuals and comrades. Nor had the Scholar crowded into the Child’s room to claim those books, and instead he just stood there gazing at everyone . . . at those other intellectuals and comrades. As they went to retrieve their books, the Scholar just stood under the cross, straightening up that pool of blossoms. He also took several blossoms that had fallen down and hung them back on the cross. And as everyone left the room with their books, the Scholar continued standing there. Everyone prepared to leave, but the Scholar didn’t have a star. He stood in the sunlight under the cross, next to the pile of blossoms. As he was bidding everyone farewell, he told them, “Before you leave . . . please leave me all of your . . . books on Buddhism—on Zen and Tiantai Buddhism.”

Everyone paused and placed their books on Buddhism at the base of the cross, in front of the Scholar. When they passed under the Child, they all looked up and saw that the purple clouds and white angel-shaped clouds, together with the magpies, were nowhere to be found. The sun shining down from the sky was dimmer than before, and the blood on the Child’s hands and feet, and on the cross had begun to congeal and turn black. Oil began to appear on the Child’s forehead and face, and cracks began to appear in his parched lips.

The Scholar shouted to the Author, “We can’t leave anyone behind!”

The Author nodded to the Scholar, and said, “Take the Child down.”

The Scholar considered for a moment, then said, “You should all leave. I’ll do as the Child had asked, and not lower him until it is time to lower Jesus himself.”

So they left the Child under the bright sun, suspended over that sea of flower blossoms. One after another, everyone passed beneath him, silently leaving the compound.

They left him hanging there under the hot sun.

Only the Scholar remained behind.

Everyone else followed the wide, wide road leading to the outside world. They walked and walked. Eventually they passed a patriotic inspection station, then another. At dusk they reached an intersection, and left the main road to follow along the shore of the river. Suddenly they saw thousands upon thousands of refugees, all toting carrying poles and hauling carts as they headed inland. The refugees kicked up a cloud of dust and produced a cacophony of footsteps. Each family carried their bedding and pots and pans on their poles and in their carts, together with their paper and iron pentagonal stars. The family in front included a thin and crippled man who appeared to be in his thirties or forties and was struggling to haul his cart. His wife, parents, and their belongings were all piled inside. This family was leading everyone back toward the Re-Ed district next to the river. On the cart, there was a white sign with a faded pentagonal star. Everyone riding on the cart—including children, women, and the elderly—had a star pinned to their chest. As this family proceeded inward, exhausted and covered in dust from their long journey, the Author and the others continued outward, their backs to the setting sun. The two groups passed each other at the intersection, but after the family disappeared from sight, the Author suddenly stopped and asked, “Hey, wasn’t that the Technician, who earned five stars and left last year after discovering you could use black sand to smelt steel!”

Everyone else stopped as well, and realized with surprise that it was in fact the Technician. They cupped their hands to their mouths and shouted his name, asking why he was heading inland. He merely continued hauling his cart filled with luggage and family members, heading into the sunset, like stalks of withered grass blowing in the autumn wind. The crowd of refugees said, “We heard that over here there is a lot of land and few people, and after the spring harvest there is more food than you can eat.”

The crowd following the Technician headed inland, while the Author led his own group in the other direction.

C
HAPTER
16

Manuscript

1.
A New Myth of Sisyphus
, pp. 13–21

(Of the four texts that make up this manuscript,
Criminal Records
was initially published in the 1980s as a collection of historical documents, while the Author’s nearly five-hundred-page historical account,
Old Course
, was not published until around 2002, by which time circumstances had changed to the point that it was greeted with almost complete silence. A copy of
Heaven’s Child
, meanwhile, was purchased several years ago in a secondhand book stall. It had been published by China’s Ancient Books and Records Press, and where the Author’s name normally appeared there was instead only the word
Anonymous
. The only one of these four texts that was never published was the philosophical manuscript titled
A New Myth of Sisyphus
, which the Scholar worked on for many years but never finished. This text contains three chapters and eleven sections, and it is said that it is on account of the Scholar’s eccentric and abstruse views on the survival of human society that the manuscript was never published. I happened upon the manuscript in the National Center for the Study of Philosophical Literature, and readers may be able to gain some murky understanding of it from the introduction, which is several thousand words long.)