my aid disappointing me, I felt his leg wrap around mine; he flipped me onto my back and piled on, digging his knee into my belly. That hurt so much I think I peed my pants. Still holding my ears, he pressed my head into the ground. I saw white clouds and a bright sun in the blue sky above, and then I saw Ximen Jinlong’s long, skinny, angular face, with a downy mustache above his hard, thin lips, a high nose bridge, and eyes that held a menacing glow. There’s no way he had pure Han Chinese blood; maybe, like my ox, he had a mixed racial background, and by looking at his face I could imagine his likeness to Ximen Nao, a man I’d never met, but whose appearance had become the stuff of legend. I felt like cursing, but he was pulling my ears tightly, stretching the skin around my cheeks and mouth so taut that even I couldn’t make sense of what came out of my mouth. He lifted up my head and slammed it into the ground, once for each word:
“Are – you – going – to – join – or – aren’t – you?”
“No… never join…” My words emerged bathed in spittle.
“As I said, starting today, I’m going to beat you every day until you agree to join the commune. Not only that, each day will be worse than the one before!”
“I’ll tell Mother!”
“She’s the one who told me to do this!”
“I’ll see what Dad says,” I said in a more accommodating tone.
“No, you have to join before he returns. And not only you, the ox comes with you.”
“He was always good to you. Is this how you repay him?”
“I’m bringing you into the commune to repay him.”
Hu Bin was circling us the whole time. In near ecstasy, he was pulling at his own ears, rubbing his cheeks, clapping his hands, and chattering nonstop. Hovering around us, the black-hearted cuckold in his green hat who thought so highly of himself, and loathed everyone, though he didn’t dare actually oppose anyone, took great pleasure in seeing two brothers fight; in fact, he took pleasure from anyone else’s misery and pain. And at this point, you showed what you were made of.
The ox lowered his head and drove it into Hu Bin’s backside, sending him sailing through the air like a cast-off coat, six feet off the ground, before gravity worked its magic and drove him into the reeds at a fateful slant, where he announced his landing with a screech that was as crooked as the tail of the Mongol ox. Clambering to his feet, Hu Bin careened off tall reeds that bent low with a loud rustle. The ox charged again, and Hu Bin was once again in flight.
Ximen Jinlong immediately let go of me, jumped up, raised his whip, and brought it down on the ox. I got to my feet, wrapped my arms around him, and flipped him to the ground, landing on top of him. How dare you hit my ox! You’re a landlord’s kid with no sense of friendship, someone who repays kindness with hatred. A dog has eaten your conscience! The landlord’s kid arched upward and flung me off his back. Then he got to his feet, hit me with his whip, and ran over to rescue the whining Hu Bin, who was flailing and stumbling as he tried to escape from his reedy surroundings, like a beaten dog. It was a sight to behold! The evil man had gotten what he deserved, at last; justice had been served. It would have been perfect if you’d punished Ximen Jinlong before dishing out retribution to Hu Bin. But of course now I realize that you were being true to the notion that a mighty tiger will not eat one of its own, so that was understandable. Your son Ximen Jinlong went in pursuit with his whip. Hu Bin was running away – no, I shouldn’t say running. Buttons on his tattered army greatcoat, the emblem of his glorious history, were popping off as his coat flapped in the wind like the broken wings of a dead bird. His hat had fallen off and was trampled into the mud by the ox’s hooves. Help…! Save me…! Actually, that wasn’t what I heard, but I knew that the sounds that emerged from his mouth contained a plea for someone to come to his rescue. My ox, brave, embodying human traits, was in hot pursuit. He kept his head low as he ran; red rays spurting from his eyes and penetrating the span of history appeared before me. His hooves kicked up white alkaline soil that sliced into the reeds like shrapnel, that peppered my and Ximen Jinlong’s bodies, and, farther off, that pelted the liberated water in the river like hailstones. The smell of clean water filled my nostrils, that and the odor of melting ice and the aroma of once frozen mud, plus the stink of female ox piss. The smell of an animal in heat signaled the arrival of spring, the rebirth of countless beings; the season for mating was nearly upon us. Snakes and frogs and toads and all manner of insects that had slept through the long winter were awakening. Infinite varieties of grasses and edible greens were jolted out of their slumber; vapors imprisoned in the soil were released into the air. Spring was coming. That day the ox chased after Hu Bin, Ximen Jinlong chased after the ox, and I chased after Ximen Jinlong. We were bringing with us the spring of 1965.
Hu Bin thudded to the ground like a dog going after a pile of turds. The ox butted him over and over, calling to mind the scene of a blacksmith hammering on his anvil. Each butt produced a weak complaint from Hu Bin, whose body seemed thinner and longer and wider, like a cow patty. Ximen Jinlong arrived on the scene and cracked his whip on your rump, over and over, each snap leaving a red mark. But you didn’t turn on him, you offered no resistance, though at the time I wished that you’d turned and butted him all the way into the river, where he’d crack through the ice and be half drowned or half frozen to death – two half deaths would have meant one complete one – though I didn’t really want him to die, since that would have crushed Mother, who, I knew, cherished him more than she cherished me. So I broke off some thick reeds, and while he was lashing you on the rump, I lashed him on the head and neck. Perturbed by my lashing, he turned and used his whip on me. Ow! Dear Mother! That not only hurt, it tore open my padded coat. Blood trickled from a cut on my cheek. Then you turned around.
Oh, how I wanted you to butt him. But you didn’t. Still, he warily backed off. You made a low, grumbling sound. Your eyes were so sad. The sound you made was, after all, a call to your son, something he didn’t understand. You came toward him; what you wanted was to stroke him, but he didn’t understand that either. He thought you were coming after him, so he raised his whip and brought it down on you. It was a brutal hit, and right on target – it hit you in the eye. Your knees buckled into a kneel; tears gushed from your eyes and dripped noisily to the ground.
“Ximen Jinlong,” I screamed, horrified, “you thug, you’ve blinded my ox!”
He hit you again on the head, even harder, opening a gash on your face; this time it was blood that dripped to the ground. My ox! I ran up and covered your head. My tears dripped onto your juvenile horns. I protected you with my slender body. Go ahead, Ximen Jinlong, use your whip, rip my coat to shreds, slice my flesh like mud and spread it over the dead grass, but I won’t let you hit my ox anymore. I felt your head throbbing against my chest; I scooped up some of the alkaline soil and rubbed it into your wounds, and I tore padding from my coat to dry your tears. I was heartsick that he might have blinded you. But as the saying goes, You cannot cripple a dog and you cannot blind an ox: your eyesight was spared.
Over the month that followed, the same scene played out every day: Ximen Jinlong pressuring me into joining the commune before Father returned. I said no, he beat me, and my ox took it out on Hu Bin. And each time Hu Bin was the target, he hid behind my brother. The two of them – my brother and my ox – squared off against one another, neither giving ground for several minutes, until they both backed off and the day passed without further incident. At first, a fight to the death seemed inevitable, but as time passed, it turned into a game. What made me proud in all this was the fear my ox instilled in Hu Bin, and how that cruel, evil mouth of his lost its insolence. The minute the jabbering began, my ox would lower his head and bellow, his eyes would turn red, and he’d tense before charging. All the panicky Hu Bin could do was hide behind my half brother, who never again raised his whip against my ox. Maybe he had an inkling of something. You two were, after all, father and son, and there must have been some sort of connection. As for his beatings of me, they too became more symbolic than real. That was in reaction to the bayonet I wore in my belt and the helmet I had begun wearing after that first violent struggle. I’d stolen the two additions from a scrap pile during the steel smelting campaign years before. After keeping them hidden in the ox shed for so long, it was time to put them to use.
16
A Young Woman’s Heart Is Moved as
She Dreams of Spring
Ximen Ox Displays His Might as He Plows a Field
Ah, Ximen Ox! The spring planting season were happy days for us. The letter Dad brought back from the
