Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

  Father placed this letter, which was like an imperial edict, in a glass frame and hung it on his wall. He had returned from the provincial capital in high spirits. Now that Mother and Jinlong and Baofeng had joined the commune, only three-point-two acres of the original eight, which were completely surrounded by land belonging to the collective, remained for us to farm, a narrow strip of land like a levee trying to hold back an ocean. In accord with his wish to be independent, Father built a new room, walled it off from the other three, and opened a new door. He added a stove and a kang, and that’s where he and I lived. Beyond this room and the ox shed against the southern wall, we owned three-point-two acres of land, a young ox, a cart with wooden wheels, a wooden plow, a hoe, an iron shovel, two scythes, a little spade, a pitchfork with two tines, a wok, four rice bowls, two ceramic plates, a chamber pot, a cleaver, a spatula, a kerosene lamp, and a flint.

  Admittedly, there were many things we lacked, but we’d slowly add whatever we needed. Dad patted me on the head.

  “Son, why in the world do you want to farm with me like this?”

  Without a second thought, I replied:

  “Looks like fun!”

  14

  Ximen Ox Angrily Confronts Wu Qiuxiang

  Hong Taiyue Happily Praises Lan Jinlong

  During the months of April and May 1965, while my father was making an appeal in the provincial capital, Jinlong and Baofeng joined the People’s Commune with my mother. On that day, a solemn ceremony was held in the Ximen estate compound. Hong Taiyue spoke from the steps of the main house. The chests of my mother, Jinlong, and Baofeng were decorated with large red paper flowers; a red cloth was tied to our iron plow. My brother, Jinlong, delivered an impassioned speech expressing his determination to hew to the path of socialism. He was normally not much of a talker, so everyone was taken by surprise. To be honest, it turned me off. I hid out in the ox shed, with my arms around your neck out of a fear that they’d come and take you away with them. Before setting out, Father had said to me: Son, be sure to take good care of our ox. We needn’t worry as long as we have him, because then we’ll be able to hold out as independent farmers. I gave him my word, you heard me. Remember? I said, Dad, go now and come back as soon as you can. If I’m here, the ox will be here. He rubbed the horns that had just started growing on your head and said: Ox, you do as he says. We won’t be able to harvest the wheat for another six weeks, so there won’t be enough for you to eat. Let him take you out where there’s wild grass, which will tide you over till we bring in the wheat. I saw tears in Mother’s eyes as she glanced our way from time to time. This wasn’t the path she’d wanted to take, but she had no choice. As for Jinlong, though he was only seventeen, he already had definite views of things, and the force of his words seemed to frighten Mother, at least a little. I could tell that her feelings for Father weren’t as strong as those she’d held for Ximen Nao. She married him because she had to. And her feelings for me weren’t as strong as those she held for Jinlong and Baofeng. Two different men’s seed. But I was still her son, and she worried about me, even if she didn’t want to. Mo Yan led a bunch of schoolboys in shouting slogans outside the ox shed:

  A headstrong man, a headstrong boy, choosing to farm apart. Pulling an ox the size of an insect, pushing a wood-wheeled cart. Sooner or later you’ll have to join, and sooner is better than later to start . . .

  Faced with that sort of harassment, my courage began to falter, but not my excitement. The scene before me was like a play in which I was cast as the number-two character. Yes, a negative character, but more important than the positive characters out there. I felt it was time to make an appearance. I needed to go onstage, for the sake of my father’s character and self-respect, but also to bear witness to my courage and, of course, for the sake of your ox-glory. So I led you out of the shed in plain view of everyone. I thought you might have stage fright, but you surprised me by your total absence of fear. Your halter was actually nothing more than a thin rope tied loosely around your neck. One tug, and you could have snapped it. If you hadn’t wanted to follow me, I couldn’t have done a thing about it. But you did, willingly, even happily All eyes were on us, so I raised my head and stuck out my chest to make myself look like someone they’d have to deal with. I couldn’t see what I looked like, but their laughter told me what a comical figure I must have cut, a little clown. Then you picked the wrong time to act up and bellow, the antic and the soft sound proving you were still a youngster. Then you got it into your head to charge the village leaders lined up in the doorway of the main house.

  Who was there? Well, Hong Taiyue was there; so were Huang Tong and Yang Qi. Wu Qiuxiang was there too. She’d replaced Yang Guixiang as head of the Women’s Association. I pulled on the rope to keep you from charging. All I’d wanted to do was take you into the yard to show you off, to let them see how handsome and spirited an independent farmer’s ox can be. I wanted them to see that before long, you’d be the best-looking ox in Ximen Village. But you chose that moment to show how perverse you can be and, with hardly any effort, dragged me behind you like a monkey on a string. When you pulled a little harder, the rope parted. Standing there holding half a length of rope in my hand, I watched as you headed straight for the leading figures. I thought Hong Taiyue would be your primary target, either him or Huang Tong, so I was surprised to see you heading straight for Wu Qiuxiang. At the time that made no sense to me, but I understand now. She was wearing a purple jacket and blue pants; her hair was oiled, with a plastic hair clasp, a sort of come-hither butterfly effect. The crowd looked on slack-jawed as this startling scenario began to play out, and by the time anyone reacted, you’d already butted Wu Qiuxiang to the ground; not content with that, you kept butting her, wrenching shrieks of horror from her as she rolled on the ground. She clambered to her feet to get away, but you made sure that didn’t happen by ramming your head into her large hip as she waddled along, tilting from side to side; with a loud croak, she tumbled forward and landed at the feet of Huang Tong, who turned and ran, with you in hot pursuit. Jinlong sprang into action. He jumped onto your back — that’s how long his legs were — wrapped his arms around your neck, and held on for all he was worth. You kicked, you reared, you twisted, but you couldn’t throw him off. So then you ran madly around the yard, sending people fleeing for their lives, their panicky screams hanging in the air. Jinlong grabbed your ears and pinched your nose till he brought you under control. Then people rushed up and pinned you to the ground.

  “Put a ring in his nose,” someone shouted, “then geld him, and hurry!”

  I hit out with the rope in my hand, not caring who it landed on.

  “Let my ox go!” I screamed. “You thugs, let him go!”

  My brother Jinlong — brother, my eye!—was still on you, his face ashen, a dazed look in his eyes, his fingers stuck up your nostrils. I laid into him with my rope.

  “You traitor!” I roared. “Take your hand away, take it away!”

  My sister Baofeng ran up to stop me from beating her brother. Her face was bright red, and she was sobbing. I couldn’t tell whose side she was on.

  My mother stood there like a block of wood and muttered:

  “My sons, ah . . . stop it, you two, what do you think you’re doing?”

  Hong Taiyue’s voice was heard over the crowd:

  “Go get me a rope, and hurry!”

  Huang Tong’s daughter, Huzhu, ran home and came back dragging a rope behind her. She flung it down in front of the ox, turned, and ran off. Her sister, Hezuo, was crouching under the big apricot tree rubbing Qiuxiang’s chest and weeping:

  “Mom, oh, Mom, are you okay . . .”

  Hong Taiyue tied the ox’s front legs together, then reached up and lifted Jinlong off the animal’s back. My brother’s legs were shaking; he couldn’t straighten them out. His face was nearly bloodless, and his arms were stiff. The crowd quickly moved away, leaving me alone there with the young ox, my ox, my brave independent ox, who might have been kill
ed by a traitorous member of the independent farming family! I patted his rump and sang a dirge for it. Ximen Jinlong, if you’ve killed my ox, this world isn’t big enough for the two of us. I was shouting and, without a second’s hesitation, had called Lan Jinlong Ximen Jinlong. It was not a casual mistake. First of all, it drew a line between me — Lan Jiefang — and him. Second, it was a reminder to people not to overlook his origins, the son of a landlord, a boy in whose veins flowed the blood of Ximen Nao, the person with whom the Communist Party stood in mortal enmity.

  I saw Ximen Jinlong’s face turned as white as paper, and he began to rock, as if hit with a club. At the same time, the young ox suddenly struggled to stand. At the time, of course, I didn’t know you were the reincarnation of Ximen Nao, and was clueless about the complexity of feelings you were experiencing in the presence of Yingchun, Qiuxiang, Jinlong, and Baofeng. A tangled mess, I suppose. When Jinlong hit you, it was a son striking his father, wasn’t it? And when I yelled at him, I was cursing your son, isn’t that so? Your heart must be full of conflicting emotions. A mess, a real mess, your mind all twisted out of shape, and only you can make any sense of it.

  — I sure can’t!

  You tried standing, obviously still lightheaded, your legs sore. You still felt like acting up, but not with your legs tied. You wobbled a bit, nearly fell down, but finally you were on your feet. Your red eyes signaled the rage inside you, the labored breathing indicated the depth of your anger. Dark blood oozed from your pastel blue nostrils. From one of your ears as well, bright red, where a chunk was missing, probably bitten off by Jinlong. I looked around, but couldn’t find the missing chunk; maybe Jinlong had swallowed it. King Wen of the Zhou was forced to eat the flesh of his own son. He spit out several lumps of meat, which turned into rabbits that ran away. By swallowing a piece of your ear, Jinlong was eating his own father’s flesh, but he’ll never spit it out, and it will turn into waste that he’ll expel. What will it become after that?

  You stood in the middle of the yard, or should I say, we stood in the middle of the yard, not sure if we were victors or victims, which meant I couldn’t say if we suffered from humiliation or reveled in glory.

  Hong Taiyue patted Jinlong on the shoulder.

  “Good going, young man. Your first day as a commune member, and you’ve already rendered outstanding service. You’re a quick-witted, brave boy who isn’t afraid to look danger in the face. Just the sort of fresh blood the commune needs!”

  Jinlong’s cheeks reddened; Hong Taiyue’s praise obviously excited him. My mother walked up to rub his shoulder and squeeze his arm. The look on her face showed the depth of her concern for him, but it went unnoticed by Jinlong, who avoided her and edged up close to Hong Taiyue.

  I wiped your bloody nose and announced to the crowd:

  “You bunch of thugs, look what you did to my ox! You have to pay!”

  “Jiefang,” Hong Taiyue said sternly. “Your father isn’t here, so what I have to say I’ll say to you. Your ox knocked down Wu Qiuxiang, and her medical expenses are your responsibility As soon as your father returns, you tell him he has to fit the ox with a nose ring, and if he injures another member of the commune, he’ll be killed.”

  “Who are you trying to scare?” I said. “I’ve gotten this big by eating grains, not by being scared by anybody. Do you think I don’t know national policy? An ox is a big livestock, a tool of production. Killing one is against the law.”

  “Jiefang!” Mother cried out sternly. “How dare you talk to Uncle that way!”

  “Ha ha, ha ha.” Hong Taiyue laughed out loud. “Will you listen to that, everybody? He sure talks big. He actually knows that an ox is a tool of production. Well, you listen to me. The commune oxen are tools of production, but an ox belonging to an independent farmer is a tool of reactionary production. You’re right, if an ox belonging to the People’s Commune butted someone, we wouldn’t dare kill it, but if an ox belonging to an independent farmer butts someone, I’ll pronounce the death sentence without delay!”

  Hong struck a pose like holding a sword, with which he could cut my ox in half. I was, after all, still young, and Father wasn’t around. I was over my head and spouting nonsense. I was totally deflated, and a horrifying scene popped into my head: Hong Taiyue raises a blue sword and cuts my ox in two, but another head comes out of its chest. Each decapitation produces another head. Hong throws away the sword and flees, and I laugh, Ha ha . . .

  “That kid must have lost his mind!” The people were buzzing, wondering why I was laughing at a time like that.

  “See the father and damned if you won’t know the son!” Huang Tong said

  Now that she’d gotten her breath back, Wu Qiuxiang railed at her husband: “You damned turtle, always tucking your head back in. You coward, instead of coming to my rescue when the ox butted me, you pushed me right into it. If not for Jinlong, I’d have been dead meat on that animal’s horns . . .”

  Once again, all eyes were on my brother. Brother? What kind of brother was he? But, after all, he and I had the same mother, and that isn’t a relationship you can forget about. Wu Qiuxiang’s gaze at my brother was different from the others. And that of her daughter, Huang Huzhu, simply dripped with emotion. Now, of course, I realize that my brother’s manner had already begun to take on the outline of Ximen Nao, and Qiuxiang could see her first man in him. She insisted that she’d been taken into the household as a maidservant, and then raped by the master, leading to a life of bitterness and taste for vengeance. But that’s not what happened. Men like Ximen Nao are masters at taming women, and I knew that in Qiuxiang’s heart, her second man, Huang Tong, was little more than a reeking pile of dog shit. And the emotion Huzhu felt for my brother? It was the budding flower of love.

  Look here, Lan Qiansui — calling you by that name isn’t easy for me — you’ve used Ximen Nao’s cock to complicate what should be a very simple world.

  15

  Ox-herding Brothers Fight on a Sandbar

  Unbroken Lines of Fate Make an Awkward Dilemma

  In the same way the donkey wreaked havoc in the village government office and drew the widespread notice of the villagers, you, the bastard offspring of a Simmental ox and a Mongol ox, gained fame by disrupting the commune’s welcoming ceremony for Mother, Jinlong, and Baofeng. Someone else gained face that day — my half brother, Jinlong. People saw how his fearless heroics subdued you. According to Huang Hezuo, who later became my wife, her sister, Huzhu, fell in love with him when he jumped on your back.

  Father still hadn’t returned from the provincial capital, and there was no more feed for you, so, recalling what he had said to me before he left, I took you out to the sandbar on the Grain Barge River to graze. Since it was one of your old haunts when you were a donkey, you knew the place well. Spring came late that year, so ice on the river hadn’t melted, even though it was already April. The brittle reeds on the sandbar rustled in the wind when wild geese perched on them, which was often, and which usually frightened fat rabbits hidden among them. I occasionally saw a lustrous fox when it appeared suddenly among the reeds.

  We were not alone in suffering a shortage of animal feed: the production brigade also had to take its twenty-four oxen, four donkeys, and two horses out into the wild to graze, tended by the herder Hu Bin and Jinlong. My half sister, Baofeng, had been sent to train at the county health department; she would return as our first formally educated midwife. Both she and her brother were given important tasks as soon as they joined the commune. Now you might assume that midwifery was an important task, while tending livestock was not. But Jinlong was given the added responsibility of recording work points. Every evening he went to a small office, where he calculated the daily work activities of each commune member in a ledger. If that isn’t an important task, I don’t know what is. Seeing her children given such important tasks kept a smile on Mother’s face, but when she saw me take my ox out to graze all by myself, she heaved a long sigh. I was, after all, her son too.

>   Well, that’s enough meaningless chatter for now. Let’s talk about Hu Bin, a small man with an accent that marked him as an outsider. Onetime head of the commune’s post office, he’d been engaged in an illicit relationship with the fiancee of a soldier and was sentenced to a period of hard labor. When his sentence was up, he settled in our village. His wife, Bai Lian, a village switchboard operator with a big, round, plump face, red lips, nice white teeth, and a cheerful voice, had a cozy relationship with many of the commune cadres. Eighteen telephone wires on a China fir pole all fed into the window of her home and were connected to a unit that resembled a dressing table. When I was in elementary school, I could hear her singsong voice drift into the classroom: Hello. What number please? Please hold — Zheng Village on the line. We kids used to sprawl outside her window and look through tears in the window paper to watch as she nursed her baby with one arm and, with her free hand, effortlessly plugged the pegs into or pulled them out of the switchboard. To us, this was both a mystery and a wonder, and not a day passed that we didn’t hang around there, until a village cadre shooed us away. But we’d be right back as soon as he left. We not only watched Bai Lian at work, but were also treated to plenty of scenes that were unsuitable for children. We saw her and the village’s commune representative carry on flirtatiously, even get physical, and we saw Bai Lian scold Hu Bin in that singsong voice of hers. And we learned why none of Bai Lian’s children looked alike. Eventually, the paper in her window was replaced by glass and a curtain, and there were no more shows. All we could do was listen to what went on inside. Even later, the wires were buried underground after being electrified. Mo Yan got zapped by a hot wire outside her window one day and peed his pants as he screamed pathetically. When I tried to pull him away, I got zapped too, but I didn’t pee my pants. After this episode, we stopped hanging around outside her window.