Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

what to say. As my brother’s anger subsided, sadness welled up inside him and tears streamed down his face. He climbed up onto the kang, covered his head with the quilt, and for the next two days wouldn’t eat or drink a thing and responded to nothing anyone said. Poor Mother came into the room and went back out, over and over, the cold sores at the corners of her mouth, a sign of her anxiety. Ai, how stupid could I be? she muttered. What a stupid old woman! Finally, my sister could stand it no longer. She pulled the bedding back to reveal a haggard, stubbly young man with sunken eyes. It’s just an old tunic! she said, clearly rankled. Is that worth nearly driving Mother to suicide? He sat up, his eyes glazed, and sighed. His tears began to flow even before he spoke. You don’t know what that tunic meant to me. You know the saying, “Humans need nice clothes, horses require a fine saddle.” It was that tunic that made it possible for me to issue commands and intimidate the bad elements. Well, there’s nothing you can do about it now, my sister said. Do you expect your tunic to recapture its original shape because you lie in bed like a dead man? My brother thought that over. All right, I’ll get up. I’m hungry. Those last two words sent Mother scurrying into the kitchen, where she set to work preparing noodles and frying some eggs, the fragrance quickly saturating the compound.

Huang Huzhu walked into the house bashfully while my brother was wolfing down the food. Well, young lady, my mother commented with notable interest. We all share a single compound, but this is the first time you’ve been in our house in a decade. Mother looked her over with unmistakable affection. Huzhu didn’t look at my brother, she didn’t look at my sister, and she didn’t look at my mother. She just stared at the wrinkled bundle that was my brother’s tunic. Aunty, she said, you made a mess of Jinlong’s tunic when you washed it, but I know something about fabric, and I know how to sew. Would you be willing to let me work on it? Like they say, “treating a dead horse as if it were alive”? Maybe I can restore it to its original shape. Young lady, my mother said, eyes bright as she took Huzhu’s hands in hers, you really are quite the young lady. If you can restore Brother Jinlong’s tunic to its original shape, I’ll get down on my knees and kowtow three times to you!

Huzhu took only the tunic with her. She kicked the imitation army cap into the corner where the mouse hole was. Huzhu left, and hope was on its way. Mother wanted to see what sort of magic Huzhu would use on the tunic, but she got no farther than the apricot tree before her courage left her. Huang Tong was standing in his doorway chopping up elm roots with an ax. Wood chips flew like bullets. Scarier still was the enigmatic look on his tiny little face. As a class-two capitalist-roader, he had been attacked by my brother in the early days of the Cultural Revolution, and stripped of his powers and functions. He had to have a belly full of loathing for my brother, just waiting for the chance to retaliate. Still, I knew his thoughts weren’t all that clear-cut. Decades of living in our society had taught him the importance of observing things carefully. He’d never have missed noting the feelings his two precious daughters had for my brother. So Mother asked my sister to go see what was happening, but she just snorted contemptuously. I wasn’t sure why, but I knew from the hostile words Huzhu had said to my sister that the enmity between them was deep. So then Mother asked me to go. You’re too young to be worried about losing face. In her eyes I was still a child, the sad story of my life. But since I was curious to see how Huzhu was going to restore my brother’s tunic, I slinked up near her house. My legs turned wobbly when I saw Huang Tong chopping up those elm roots.

The next morning, Huzhu came over with a bundle under her arm. My brother hopped excitedly out of bed. My mother’s lips trembled, but she said nothing. Huzhu looked calm, but the corners of her mouth and the tips of her eyebrows gave her sense of pride away. She laid the bundle down on the bed and opened it. There, folded neatly, lay a restored tunic and, atop it, a brand-new army cap. Though it too was made of white material dyed yellow, it was so beautifully done it could pass for authentic. The centerpiece, however, was a red star she’d embroidered on the front with knitting wool. She handed it to my brother, then shook out the tunic for him. The wrinkles were still visible, but just barely. She lowered her eyes and blushed. Aunty, you boiled it too long, she said apologetically. This is the best I could do. Oh, my, her modesty was like a hammer striking my mother and brother’s hearts. Tears virtually sprayed from Mother’s eyes, while my brother could not stop himself from reaching out and taking Huzhu’s hands. Rather than pull them back right away, she let them fall away slowly before sitting down on the edge of the kang. My mother opened the cupboard and took out a chunk of hard candy, which she smashed into smaller pieces and handed to Huzhu. She chose not to eat them, so Mother literally put a piece into her mouth. As she sucked on the candy, she stared at the wall and said, Try them on, see if they fit. I can alter them if they don’t. My brother took off his padded coat and put on the tunic and cap, tied his leather belt around his waist, and hung the starter’s pistol from it. The commander was once again the figure of absolute authority, maybe even more so than before. She was like a true seamstress, and like a true wife as she walked around, examining my brother, straightening the hem here and tugging on the collar there. Then she stood in front of him and adjusted the cap with both hands. It seems a bit tight, she said with a sense of regret. But it’s the only piece of fabric I had, so it’ll have to do. In the spring I’ll go into town and buy a few yards of better fabric and make you a new cap.

It was clear – I didn’t stand a chance.

19

Jinlong Stages a Play to Welcome Spring

Lan Lian Would Die Before Giving Up His Vow

My brother’s recalcitrance softened considerably after he and Huzhu got together. Revolutions reform societies, women remold men. Within the space of a month or so, he not only held no criticism sessions where the targets were kicked and beaten, but he actually organized ten or more Peking operas in the modern revolutionary style. Huzhu, once bashful and timid, was transformed into a bold, forceful woman with unrestrained passion. That she had a fine voice and knew the music from so many revolutionary operas took everyone by surprise – I had to admit that my fantasies surrounding Huzhu were nothing but a toad hungering over the flesh of a swan. Years later, even Mo Yan himself revealed to me that he too had entertained illusions about Huzhu. So, to my surprise, big toads and little ones both hunger over the flesh of swans – The Ximen compound came alive with strains of music from flutes and bowed instruments, with men and women joining their voices in song. The center of revolutionary activities metamorphosed into a culture salon. Daily beatings and criticisms, with howls and wails, had been exciting at first, but they grew disturbing as time passed. By abruptly changing the shape of the revolutionary format, creating new sights and sounds, Jinyang brought smiles to the people’s faces

The rich peasant Wu Yuan, who played the two-stringed huqin, was brought into the troupe of musicians. So was Hong Taiyue, with his rich musical background as a singer. He served as conductor by banging on his glorious ox bone. Even the bad elements, whose duty was to sweep the streets clean of snow, hummed to the music emerging from the compound as they worked.

On New Year’s Eve, my brother and Huzhu braved snow to travel to the county town. They left the village as roosters were greeting the dawn; they returned at dusk the following day. They went by foot but returned on an East Is Red caterpillar tractor made in the city of Luoyang. Given its high horsepower, it was intended for farm work – plowing and harvesting – but had been appropriated by Red Guards for transportation. Now nothing could stop them from traveling where they wanted to go, not storms and not muddy roads. The tractor crossed the frozen river into the village rather than try to negotiate the unstable stone bridge, then drove down the main road to our compound. It traveled worry-free in high gear and, gas pedal pushed to the floor, nearly flew down the road, its caterpillar tracks sending snow and mud flying and leaving two deep ruts in the ground. Great puffs of green smoke were expelled from its overhead exhaust pipe like brass cymbals that circled and made loud, echo-producing crashes, drawing terrified shrieks from sparrows and crows that flew off to points unknown. People watched as my brother and Huzhu jumped down out of the cab. They were followed by a young man with a thin face and melancholy look. His hair was cut short, he wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses, his cheeks twitched, and his ears were red from the bitter cold. He had on a once-blue uniform turned nearly white from many washings; displayed prominently on the breast was a large Chairman Mao badge, while low down on his sleeve hung a Red Guard armband. One look told you he was an old-line, battle-scarred Red Guard.

My brother told Tiger Cub Sun to summon everyone with his bugle. Blow the general assembly call. Actually, there was no need for the bugle, since every villager who could walk was already there and had surrounded the tractor. Just seeing this powerful giant was not enough; the chatter was coming fast and furious. One self- designated expert pointed out: Weld a turret on top of that thing and add a cannon, and you’ve got a tank! The sky