low I no longer had anything to hide, I said to Big-head, who could see almost everything. Our relationship was not built solely on sex, but that’s the first thing we did after moving into her dormitory, even though I was weak and badly hurt. We swallowed one another’s tears, our bodies trembled, and our souls intertwined. I didn’t ask how she’d gotten through the days, and she didn’t ask who had beaten me. We just held each other, kissed, and stroked each other’s body. We put everything else out of our minds.
Forced by your wife, your son ate half a bowl of noodles, mixed with his tears. She, on the other hand, had a huge appetite. She finished her bowl, along with three large garlic cloves, then peeled a couple more cloves and finished off your son’s noodles. The peppery garlic turned her face red and dotted her forehead and nose with beads of sweat. She wiped her son’s face with a towel.
“Sit up straight, son,” she said firmly. “Eat well, study well, and grow up to be a man I can be proud of. They’d like nothing better than to see us die. They want us to make fools of ourselves, well, they can dream on!”
It was time for me to take your son to school, so your wife saw us to the door, where he turned and wrapped his arms around his mother. She patted him on the back and said:
“Look, you’re almost as tall as me, big boy.”
“Mama, don’t you dare-”
“That’s a laugh,” she said with a smile. “Do you really think I’d hang myself or jump down a well or take poison over scum like them? You go on, and don’t worry. I’ll be going to work in a little while. The people need their oil fritters, which means the people need your mama.”
We took the short route, as always, and when some bright red dragonflies swooped by, your son jumped up and neatly caught one in his hand. Then he jumped even higher and caught another one. He held his hand out.
“Hungry, Dog? Want these?”
I shook my head.
So he pinched off their tails, plucked a straw, and strung them together. Then he flung them high in the air. “Fly,” he said, but they just tumbled in the air and landed in a mud puddle.
The storm had knocked down the Fenghuang Elementary School buildings, and children were already jumping and climbing on broken bricks and shattered tiles. They weren’t unhappy; they were delighted. A dozen mud- spattered luxury sedans were parked at the school entrance. Pang Kangmei, in knee-length pink rain boots, had rolled her pant legs up to her knees. Her white calves were spattered with mud. Wearing blue denim work clothes and dark sunglasses, she was speaking through a battery-powered bullhorn.
“Teachers, students,” she said hoarsely, “the category nine typhoon has brought terrible destruction to the county and to our school. I know how bad you all must feel, but I bring sympathy and good wishes from the County Committee and the county government. Over the next three days there will be no classes while we clean up the mess and restore the classrooms. In sum, even if I, Pang Kangmei, Party secretary of the County Committee, have to work while sitting in a mud puddle, you children will have bright, airy, safe classrooms to learn in.”
Pang Kangmei’s comments were met with enthusiastic applause; some of the teachers had tears in their eyes. Pang Kangmei continued:
“At this critical moment, in the midst of our emergency, all county cadres will be here, demonstrating their loyalty and enthusiasm, performing great service. If any of them dare shirk their duty or slack off, they will be severely punished.”
In the midst of this emergency, even though I was the deputy county chief in charge of education and hygiene, I was hiding in our little room, my body entwined with my lover’s. Without question, this was unimaginably shameful behavior. Even though I was badly beaten and had no idea what had happened to the school and was a man in love, I could put none of these on the table as an acceptable reason. So, a few days later, when I sent in my letters of resignation and withdrawal from the Party to the County Committee’s Organization Department, Deputy Director Lu said with a sneer:
“Old man, you no longer have the right to resign your position or withdraw from the Party. What you can look forward to is being fired from your job and kicked out of the Party, plus a ban on all public employment.”
We stayed in bed into the afternoon, alternating between exhaustion and passion. The room was hot and muggy, and our sheets were soaked from sweat that also saturated our hair. I was captivated by the smell of her body and the lights in her eyes.
“I could die today, Chunmiao, with no regrets…”
As I lay there making love and loving her, I was no longer in the grip of the hate I’d felt toward the goons who had blindfolded me, dragged me into a dark room, and beaten me bloody. Except for a badly bruised bone in one leg, they had left me with only flesh wounds. They knew their business. I also no longer harbored any hatred toward the people who had ordered the beating. I deserved the beating. It was the price I had to pay for the abiding love I received.
The students whooped with delight when a three-day holiday was announced. The natural disaster, which exposed so many serious problems, meant a strange good time for the children. A thousand Fenghuang Elementary School students hit the road and spread out, wreaking havoc on the already chaotic traffic.
Without knowing where we were going, I followed your son to the doorway of the New China Bookstore. A whole group of kids went inside, but not your son. His blue birthmark showed up cold and hard, like a piece of tile. Pang Kangmei’s daughter, Fenghuang, was there, in an orange raincoat and rubber galoshes, looking like a brilliant flame. A young, muscular woman stayed close behind her – obviously, her bodyguard. Coming up behind her was my third sister, her coat neat and clean. She tried her best to avoid the mud puddles, but inescapably dirtied her paws. When your son and Fenghuang spotted each other, she spat on the ground at your son’s feet. “Hooligan!” she cursed. His head drooped to his chest as if he’d taken a sword swipe against the nape of his neck. Dog Three snarled at me. She wore the most mysterious expression.
I bit down on your son’s sleeve and showed him it was time to go home. But he took no more than a dozen steps before stopping, his birthmark the color of jasper and tears in his eyes.
“Dog,” he said emotionally, “we’re not going home. Take me where they are.”
Taking a break in our lovemaking, we fell into a half sleep, brought on by exhaustion. While she slept she muttered things like: “It’s your blue face that I love. I fell for you the first time I saw you. I wanted to make love with you that first time Mo Yan took me to your office.” For us to be doing what we were doing and saying things like that was shamefully inappropriate when all the county’s cadres were dealing with the results of a devastating natural disaster. But I won’t hold anything back from you, Big-head.
We heard our door and window rattle, then we heard you bark. We’d promised not to open the door even if God came knocking. But your barks were like an order that must be obeyed. I jumped out of bed, knowing full well that my son would be with you. Lovemaking had helped heal my injuries, so I dressed quickly and easily, though my legs were rubbery and I was still lightheaded. At least I didn’t fall. Then I helped Chunmiao, whose body seemed to have no bones to support her, get dressed; I straightened her hair a little.
I opened the door and was blinded by wet, hot rays of sunlight. Almost immediately a handful of loose black mud came hurtling toward my face, like a slimy toad. I didn’t try to get out of the way; my subconscious wouldn’t let me. It smacked me square in the face.
I wiped the mud from my face. Some had gotten into my left eye, which stung badly, but I could still see out of my right eye. It was my son, seething with anger, and his dog, which looked at me with indifference. The door and window were spattered with mud, scooped out of a mud hole in front of the steps. My son stood there with his schoolbag over his back. His hands were coated with mud, and there was plenty more on his face and his clothes. What I should have seen was a look of rage, but what I did see were the tears spilling from his eyes. My tears quickly followed. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but all that came out was a pain-filled:
“Go ahead, son, throw it…”
I took a step outside, grabbing the door frame to keep from falling, and shut my eyes to await the next handful of mud. I could hear him breathing hard as handful after handful of hot, stinking mud sailed through the air toward me. Some of it hit me in the nose, some on the forehead, and some on my chest and belly. One handful was harder than the others; clearly doctored with a piece of brick or tile, it hit me right in the crotch; I groaned as I bent over in pain, fell into a crouch, and finally sat down.
I opened my eyes, washed by tears; I could now see out of both of them. My son’s face was twisted like a shoe sole in a fiery oven. The mud in his hand fell to the ground as he burst out crying, covered his face with his hands,
