Gao Ma laughed loud and long. “Now there’s a teacher who knows what it means to suffer!”
“There’s truth to the saying that warmth and comfort give rise to lurid desires, but hunger and cold produce thoughts of larceny,” Old Man Wang said. “Thieves and robbers ran wild a few years back, but there aren’t as many now as there once were. Adultery cases, on the other hand, are way up. If you’d been good and hungry, my boy, Jinju wouldn’t have a big belly today.”
An embarrassed Gao Ma said, “Grandpa Three, with us it’s love. Sooner or later we’ll get married.”
The old-timer shook his head. “My boy, there’s a dark cloud over your head. Blood will be spilled within a hundred days. Be careful, and stay indoors whenever possible.”
I don’t believe in that mumbo-jumbo,” Gao Ma said.
“You must believe,” Old Man Wang said cryptically. “Two suns appeared in the sky this spring. A bad sign. Over New Year’s I watched some TV at Gao Zhileng’s, and the man—or maybe it was a woman—-on the screen sang a song that went, A great fire, a great fire, a great fire burns a corner of the Northeast.’ That was a bad sign, too.”
Gao Ma rolled over. Everything the old man said has come true, Gao Ma reflected. I got into trouble, and there was a forest fire in the Northeast. With someone sick at home, it’s easy to become a believer. There’s more to Old Man Wang than i thought.
“Well, back to the crops,” Old Man Wang said. “We can talk some more the next time the well dries up.”
I was happy back then, Gao Ma recalled, and when he thought about the teacher turning the millstone, he nearly laughed all over again. There was half a meter of water at the bottom of the well. I scooped it up for my garlic crop. The young shoots were green under the full moon, which seemed smaller and brighter. The air was fresh and clean, the garlic shoots sparkled like quicksilver, and silvery water slithered down the irrigation troughs. I had confidence back then. I placed my hopes on the crop. To me that garlic was everything. Now it’s all gone. I have nothing.
“That dog whelp at the weights and measures office took my scale.”
“No cursing allowed,” the policeman demanded.
“He said my scale wasn’t accurate, and when I opened my mouth to protest, he crushed the thing under his heel. Then he fined me ten yuan. All I could think was, the price of garlic dropped from sixty fen a pound to twenty, and finally all the way down to three. The agreements we signed with other counties to purchase our garlic were canceled, and when buyers came, they were turned back by the supply and marketing co-op. All to make things hard on garlic farmers. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got, and that’s when I jumped up on the wagon and started shouting slogans. The first was ‘Down with corrupt officials!’ and the other was ‘Down with bureaucrats!’ Find me guilty of whatever you want. It’s up to you. I’m all alone, so it doesn’t matter one way or the other. Cut off my head or put a bullet in it, even bury me alive if you want. It’s all the same to me. I hate you dog-bastard officials! All you know how to do is trample the people! I hate you!”
“Time for a smoke break, Grandpa Three,” Gao Ma said.
Old Man Wang edged the pail up alongside the well with his foot and squatted down.
The moon was so bright and clear the whole world seemed lighted up.
“Got your garhc crop fertilized, Grandpa Three?”
“Not this time. To hell with it,” Old Man Wang said blundy. “I don’t trust those money grubbers at the supply and marketing co-op. How do I know what they put in their fertilizer?”
“You re being too cautious. They can’t adulterate chemical fertilizers.”
“Like they say, there’s never been an honest merchant. You don’t think they get rich by being legitimate, do you?” Old Man Wang said spitefully. “It’s an imperial edict.”
“Just because it’s an imperial edict doesn’t mean it has to be that way forever, does it?”
“Forever and ever,” Old Man Wang said. “The frogs at Zhang Family Bay still don’t croak.”
“Was that an imperial edict, too? Which Emperor?”
“Let me pick up where I left off last time.”
Gao Ma drew his shoulders in. He felt a chill.
When the teacher slipped out of the classroom, Zhang Nine-five went up to the teacher’s desk, sat down, and took charge of the class, ordering all the little mischief makers to form two teams and fight it out. When that was done, he dispensed honors and punishments, just like an emperor. After several days of this, the teacher happened to observe Nine-five’s little game from his vantage point outside the door. He coughed to announce his presence before entering the room, where the students had quickly returned to their seats and were noisily reciting their lessons. Quickly bringing the class to order, the teacher asked, “Have you prepared your lesson, Nine-five?” Zhang Nine-five rose to his feet, leafed through his book, and replied, “Yes. I have.” “You little bastard,” the teacher muttered under his breath, “you call that preparing? … All right,” he said aloud, “let’s hear it.” Snapping his book shut, Zhang Nine-five looked up. Blah blah blah—he recited the entire lesson, every single word of it. The teacher nodded and said, “Take your seat, Nine-five.” But from that day on he treated Zhang Nine-five differendo spending far more time instructing him than he did any of the other students. And Zhang Nine-five took to his lessons like a cow takes to grass. In less than six months, the teacher had poured all his meager knowledge into his student’s head. It was time to move on, and on the eve of his departure he left a note for Zhang Nine-five: “Nine-five, Nine-five, with the heavenly constellations as my witness, you will have a meteoric rise in your career. I hope you don’t forget your old teacher.” Well, the next person on the scene was a teacher of vast learning who was also a remarkable judge of talent; he immediately waived Zhang Nine-five’s tuition. This act set in motion a series of frequent heart-to-heart talks between teacher and student, whose relationship could not have been closer. After one late-night talk, the teacher crawled into bed under the mosquito netting, leaving Nine-five to sleep on his desk. It was a summer night, the land mosquitoes dearly love. Again and again they stung the teacher through the netting. But Nine-five slept through the onslaught, his breathing calm and even. The bewildered teacher sat up and asked loudly, “Aren’t the mosquitoes biting you, Nine-five?” Nine-five replied, “There are no mosquitoes.” “No mosquitoes?” His teacher was amazed. “Aren’t you hot?” “Not at all,” Zhang Nine-five replied. “Let’s change places, Nine-five,” the teacher said. “You sleep under the netting and I’ll take the desk. What do you say?” “All right,” Nine-five agreed. And that’s what they did. When the teacher stretched out on top of the desk, cool breezes swept over him. Not a mosquito anywhere. He could not explain the mystery, though not for lack of trying. But then his thoughts were interrupted by a voice in the air: “Damned idiots! The Emperor’s gone, so stop wasting your time fanning the air above this poor pedant!” As the sound of the voice faded way, the swarm of mosquitoes regrouped overhead, united in their buzzing. The stifling heat returned with a vengeance, and the teacher jumped to his feet, a silent prayer on his lips: Save me, gods and spirits, and forgive me!
“That’s a sad excuse for a story,” Gao Ma complained. “A pack of lies to protect the interests of the feudal class. They assume for themselves the role of genius and superman to keep the masses under their thumbs.”
“You can recite your lessons or you can accept the truth. The frogs in Zhang Family Bay still don t croak. What do you say to that?”
Grandpa Three picked up where he had left off.
The teacher had known that Zhang Nine-five was not going to grow up to be a flash-in-the-pan scholar, but the true Son of Heaven. Just think, the Son of Heaven! He with the golden mouth and teeth of jade! The teacher rejoiced inwardly. Just think, you, the Emperor’s mentor, a great man in his own right! From that point on, not only did the teacher waive Zhang Nine-fives tuition, he even assume
d personal responsibility for mother and sons living expenses, down to the last copper. Needless to say, Nine-five and his mother were immensely grateful. Now, the teacher had a sixteen-year-old daughter at home, a girl of unsurpassed beauty and great literary potential. Struck with an inspiration, he sought out Nine-five’s mother. “Elder Sister-in-Law, may I be so bold as to discuss Nine-five’s marital situation with you? I have a humble daughter at home, and would like to propose that she look after your esteemed son.” A startled Madame Zhang née Liu replied, “Dear Teacher, how can we, a lowly widow and fatherless child, aspire to kinship with you?” “Elder Sister-in-Law, you honor me. I shall bring my daughter over tomorrow, and we can hold the ceremony then.” Mother Zhang shed tears of gratitude, then went home and told Nine-five, who had already seen his teacher’s spectacularly beautiful daughter. He couldn’t agree fast enough. The very next day they were wed—a gifted scholar and a talented beauty. The romantic prospects were endless. I’ll leave it to you to imagine what went on that night, but from then on, Zhang Nine-five threw himself into his studies. Then one day he took his bride to burn incense at the City God Temple, where he spotted a writing brush and paper on the altar. Itching to put them to use, he picked up the brush and wrote: “City God, City God, hie thee to Luoyang. Leave this very night, return on the morrow.” Then, laying down the brush, he left the temple and returned home with his wife. That night his teacher dreamed he saw the City God carrying a bottle of Maotai spirits. (Come on, now, where would he get a bottle of Maotai? I’m just using that as an example for the story!) He also carried a meaty pig’s head. “Esteemed Minister,” he said, “I beg you to plead the case of this insignificant City God with the Emperor. Get him to retract the imperial edict commanding me to go to Luoyang tonight and return tomorrow night. Tell me, sir, how can I manage a trip of a thousand miles in a single day?” The teacher was jolted awake by this startling development. Ah, it was only a dream. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. But, after lighting the lamp, he walked into the next room, where he saw a bottle of Maotai spirits on the stove alongside a debristled pig’s head. He pinched his thigh and bit his finger. Both smarted. So he reached out to feel the pig’s head and shake the bottle of spirits. Both real. Figuring he was still dreaming, he woke his wife and told her to see if the spirits and pig’s head were real. “Husband,” she said, “since you knew we had barely enough rice to get us through tomorrow, what possessed you to buy these luxuries?” Unable to contain his delight, he told her everything, forgetting that the mysteries of heaven must not be divulged.
Once again, the gurgling sound of water rose from the well. ‘Time to irrigate the crops again, my boy,” Old Man Wang said. “The water’s back.”
“Finish your story, Grandpa Three,” Gao Ma pleaded. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Take it easy, my boy. Be patient. Never finish good food in one meal, or tell a good story in one sitting.”
“Do you really hate socialism that much?” the policeman asked.
“It’s not socialism I hate, it’s you. To you socialism is a mere signboard, but to me it’s a social formation—concrete, not abstract. It’s embodied in public ownership of the means of production and in a system of distribution. Unfortunately it’s also embodied in corrupt officials like you. Isn’t that right?” Gao Ma demanded.
The policeman, hardly less irate than he, pounded the table and said, “Gao Ma, I’m interrogating you as an officer of the court. This is no debating contest! We’re waiting for you to confess how you incited the masses to beat, smash, and loot, and how you joined them in this criminal activity. You were a soldier once, then a veteran. But you became a common criminal who resisted arrest and fled, only to ultimately fall into our grasp!”
“I already told you, you can shoot me or cut off my head or bury me alive, it doesnt matter to me. I hate corrupt officials like you who, under the guise of unfurling the flag of the Communist Party, destroy its reputation. I hate you all!”
It was after midnight. Farmers irrigating their crops under an even brighter, even clearer moon grew increasingly spectral. Lanterns faded and darkened under the luminous moonbeams.
Gao Ma handed a cigarette to Old Man Wang, who picked up the thread of his tale.
The teacher did what he never ever should have done: he revealed to his wife Zhang Nine-five’s imperial future. So many of the world’s great events have come a cropper because of women, who, like dogs, can eat butter but can’t keep it down. Just imagine the thoughts that ran through her head when she heard that her son-in-law was fated to become the Son of Heaven. Her daughter would be Empress, making her Empress Mother—a relationship with royalty that could never be broken: more riches and honors than she could ever fully appreciate, more silks and satins than she could ever possibly wear, and more delicacies and rich foods than she could ever eat. She lost touch with reality. But that’s another story.The next day the teacher went to the City God Temple, where he walked straight to the altar, picked up the slip of paper Zhang Nine-five had written, and, without a word to anyone, slipped it up his sleeve and took it home. “Did you write this, worthy son-in-law?” he confronted Zhang Nine-five. “Yes, I did,” Nine-five replied bashfully. “It’s at least five hundred miles from here to Luoyang,” the teacher said, “a round trip of a thousand li. How is he to travel that distance in a single day?” “I was just having some fun,” Nine-five protested. “Well, you’d better write another slip to spare him the trip,” the teacher said. So Nine-five picked up the brush and wrote on a torn slip of paper, “City God, City God, you need not go to Luoyang. Off to bed after a hearty meal, and stay in good health.” That night the City God returned to the teacher in a dream. “My heartfelt thanks for interceding on my behalf,” he said, “for which I want to give you this roast lamb and fine wine.” As before, when the teacher awoke and went into the next room, there on the stove awaited a roast lamb and a bottle of fine wine.