So the man led me out cautiously, ready for anything, whereas Lan Lian was escorted out of the compound and the village as if he were an army deserter, past the onetime district offices and all the way over to the People’s Commune, which, as it turned out, was where the red-nosed blacksmith and his apprentice had fitted me with my first set of iron shoes at their furnace. As we were passing the Ximen ancestral cemetery, some middle-school students under the supervision of their teachers were digging up graves and removing headstones; a woman in white mourning attire came flying out of the caretaker’s hut and ran straight for the students, throwing herself onto the back of one of them, her hands around his neck. But a brick flew over and hit her in the back of the head. Her face was ghostly white, as if covered with quicklime. Her earsplitting shrieks angered me. Flames brighter than molten steel licked up out of my heart, and I heard human speech tear from my throat:
“Stop! I, Ximen Nao, demand that you stop digging up my ancestral graves! And don’t you dare strike my wife!”
I reared up, ignoring the lip-splitting pain from the bit, lifting the man beside me up into the air and then flinging him into the mud alongside the road. As a donkey, I could have treated what I was seeing with indifference. But as a man, I could not allow anyone to dig up my ancestral graves or strike my wife. I charged into the crowd of students and bit one of their teachers on the head, then knocked down a student who was bent over to scoop out dirt. The students fled, their teachers lay on the ground. I watched Ximen Bai roll around, and cast one last glance at the open graves before turning and racing into the dark confines of a pine forest.
10
Favored with a Glorious Task, I Garry a County Chief
Meeting Up with a Tragic Mishap, I Break a Front Hoof
My anger slowly subsided after two days of running wild across Northeast Gaomi Township territory hunger forcing me to subsist on wild grass and the bark of trees. This coarse diet brought home the hardships of living the life of a donkey. A longing for the fragrant feed I’d gotten used to led me back to the life of a common domestic animal, and I began the trek back to my village, drawing close to human habitation.
At noontime that day, I reached the outskirts of Tao Family Village, where I saw a horse carriage at rest beneath a towering ginkgo tree. The heavy aroma of bean cakes mixed with rice straw filled my nostrils. Two mules that had been pulling the carriage were standing beside a basket hanging from a triangular trestle feasting on the fragrant feed.
I had always looked down on mules, bastard animals that were neither horse nor donkey, and wanted nothing more than the opportunity to bite them into oblivion. But on this day, fighting was the furthest thing from my mind. What I wanted was to edge up to the basket and get my share of some good food to replenish the strength I’d used up during two days of rushing headlong from one end of the territory to the other.
Holding my breath, I approached them gingerly, striving to keep the bell around my neck from announcing my arrival. Though that bell, placed there by the crippled war hero, enhanced my stature, there were times when it worked against me. When I ran like the wind, it signaled the passage of a mighty hero; at the same time, it kept me from ever breaking free of pursuit by humans.
The bell tinkled. The heads of the two mules, both much bigger than I, shot up. Knowing at once what I was after, they pawed the ground and snorted menacingly, warning me not to set hoof in their territory. But with all that good food in front of my eyes, how could I simply turn and walk away? I surveyed the scene: The black, long-necked mule was yoked in the wagon shafts, so he didn’t worry me. The second animal, a young black mule that was tethered and fettered, would also have trouble dealing with me. All I had to do to get to the food was stay clear of their teeth.
They tried to intimidate me with irritatingly loud brays. Don’t be so stingy, you bastards, there’s enough there for all of us. Why hog it all? We have entered the age of communism, when mine is yours and yours is mine. Seeing an opening. I ran up to the basket and took a huge mouthful. They bit me, sending the bits clanging. Bastards, if it’s biting you want, I’m the master. I swallowed the mouthful of feed, opened wide, and bit the yoked mule on the ear, chomping down and sending half its ear fluttering to the ground. The next bite landed on the neck of the other mule and left me with a mouthful of mane. Chaos ensued. Grabbing the basket in my teeth, I backed up quickly. The tethered mule charged. I spun around, showing him my backside before kicking out with both legs. One hoof hit nothing but air, the other landed smack on his nose. Pain drove him headfirst to the ground. Then, eyes closed, he got up and ran in circles until his legs got all entangled with the rope. I ate like there was no tomorrow. But tomorrow came anyway, as the carter, a blue bundle tied around his waist and a whip in his hand, ran out of a nearby yard, screaming at me. I sped up the eating process. He ran at me, whip writhing in the air like a snake and making popping sounds. He was upper-body strong and bowlegged, exactly what an experienced carter should look like. The whip was like an extension of his arm, and that was worrisome. Clubs didn’t scare me, they’re easy to dodge. But a whip is unpredictable. Someone who knows how to handle one can bring down a powerful horse with it. I’d seen it done and didn’t want it to be done to me. Uh-oh, here it comes! I had to move out of danger, which I did, though now I could only gaze at the feed basket. The driver chased after me. I ran off a ways. He stopped, keeping one eye on the feed basket. Then he looked over at his wounded mules and cursed a blue streak.
He said that if he had a rifle, one bullet is all it would take. That made me laugh.
I picked up the scent of an approaching band of men. It was the militiamen who’d been after me a few days earlier. I’d only had time to eat about half of what I’d wanted, but one mouthful of such high-quality feed was the equivalent of ten mouthfuls of what I’d been eating. My energy was restored, my fighting will revitalized. You’re not going to hem me in, you two-legged dullards.
Just then a square, grass-green, and very strange object sped my way, bouncing from side to side and trailing dust. I know now that it was a Soviet Jeep-like vehicle; actually, these days I know a lot more than that: I can point out an Audi, a Mercedes, a BMW, and a Toyota; I also know all about U.S. space shuttles and Soviet aircraft carriers. But at the time, I was a donkey, a 1958 donkey This strange object, with its four rubber wheels, was clearly faster than me, at least on level ground. But it would be no match for me on rugged terrain. Allow me to repeat Mo Yan’s comment: A goat can scale a tree, a donkey is a good climber.
For the convenience of my story, let’s just say I knew what a Soviet Jeep was. It struck fear in me, but also piqued my curiosity, and I hesitated just long enough for the militiamen to catch up and surround me. The Soviet Jeep blocked my escape route when it stopped less than a hundred yards from me and disgorged three men. One of them I recognized right off: the former district, now county, chief. He hadn’t changed much in the years since I’d last seen him; even the clothes on his back looked like the same ones he’d worn in the past.
I had no bone to pick with County Chief Chen. In fact, the praise he’d showered on me years before continued to warm my heart. He’d also been a donkey trader, and that I liked. In a word, he was a county chief with emotional ties to donkeys, and I not only trusted him, I was actually glad to see him.
With a wave of his hand, he signaled his men not to approach any closer. Then with another wave he signaled the militiamen behind me, who wanted either to capture or kill me to bring credit to themselves, to stop where they were. He alone, raising his hand to his mouth to give out a whistle that was music to my ears, walked up to me. When he was four or five yards away, I spotted the toasted bean cake in his hand and drank in its heavenly fragrance. He treated me to a familiar little whistled melody, which brought feelings of mild sadness. My tensions dissolved, my taut muscles relaxed, and I wished for nothing more than to place myself in this man’s caressing hands. And then he was standing next to me, draping his right arm over my neck and holding the bean cake up to my mouth with the other. When the cake was gone, he rubbed the bridge of my nose and muttered:
“Snow Stand, Snow Stand, you are a fine donkey. Too bad people who have no understanding of donkeys turned you wild and unruly. It’s all right now, you can come with me, I’ll teach you how to become a first-rate, obedient, and courageous donkey that everyone will love.”
He first ordered the militiamen away and told his driver to return to town. Then he climbed aboard, bareback,
