Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

was darkening; a sunset blazed in the west, an array of pink clouds that promised snow for tomorrow. My brother issued an emergency command to light the gas lamp and build a bonfire. He would be making an announcement regarding a happy event. Now that he’d issued his orders, he leaned over to converse with the old-line Red Guard. Huang Huzhu ran into her house to have her mother fry some eggs, one for the man talking to my brother, the other for the driver, who was still sitting in the tractor. Both men politely declined the invitation to be guests in their house and refused to go into the office to warm up. So Wu Qiuxiang, who should have known better, came out carrying bowls with steaming eggs, Huang Hezuo in tow. She glided like one of those vamps you see in movies. The Red Guard refused the offer, a look of disgust on his face. Jinlong snarled under his breath: What do you think you’re doing? Take that back inside!

Something was wrong with the gas lamp, which was spewing yellow flames and black smoke, but the bonfire blazed, the sap on the green pine limbs crackling and spreading a sylvan fragrance over the compound. My brother climbed onto the platform amid the flickering firelight, excited as a panther that has pounced on a golden pheasant. He began to speak: When we reported on the village revolutionary situation, we were warmly received by Comrade Chang Tianhong, vice chairman of the County Revolutionary Committee. He was satisfied with our revolutionary work and sent the assistant director of the County Revolutionary Political Work Section, Comrade Luo Jingtao, to direct our village revolutionary activities and announce the names of the Ximen Village Revolutionary Committee members. Comrades, my brother said loudly, the Milky Way Commune has not yet set up a revolutionary committee, but we in Ximen Village have! This pioneering effort by Vice Chairman Chang has brought great glory to our village. Now I’ll turn the meeting over to Director Luo, who will announce the names.

My brother hopped down from the platform to give Assistant Director Luo a boost up. But Luo declined the use of the platform and stood some five yards away from the bonfire, where half his face glowed and the other half was in shadows; he took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, shook it open, and began to read in a low, husky voice:

I hereby declare that Lan Jinlong is chairman of the Gaomi County Milky Way Commune Ximen Village Production Brigade Revolutionary Committee, with Huang Tong and Ma Liangcai as deputy vice chairmen…

A cloud of thick smoke was blown into Assistant Director Luo’s face, forcing him to move out of the way. Without reading any more, he handed the paper to my brother, said good-bye and shook hands, then turned on his heel and walked off. His actions had my brother at a momentary loss. His lips parted as he watched the man climb into the cab of the tractor, which started up, turned around, and headed back the way it had come, leaving a large indentation in the ground. We saw the tractor headlights light up the street like a bright alley, while the red taillights peered out like the eyes of a fox…

On the third evening following the establishment of the revolutionary committee, the loudspeaker mounted in the branches of the apricot tree came to life, blaring “The East Is Red.” When the anthem ended, a woman’s voice broadcast news of the county The lead item was an enthusiastic message of congratulations to the first village-level revolutionary committee in the county. The Gaomi County Milky Way Commune Ximen Village Production Brigade Revolutionary Committee was established, she announced, adding that the leading group of the Ximen Village Production Brigade Revolutionary Committee, including Lan Jinlong, Huang Tong, and Ma Liangcai, embodied the “Three-in-One” revolutionary organizational principle. The masses looked up at the source of the announcement and made no comment, although they were inwardly showering my brother with admiration: so young to be a chairman, and if that wasn’t enough, he was being assisted by his future father-in-law, Huang Tong, and Ma Liangcai, who was so tight with my sister.

The next day a youngster in a green uniform came puffing his way into our compound with a stack of newspapers and letters on his back. He was the new postman, an innocent-looking fellow whose eyes shimmered with curiosity. After laying down the newspapers and letters, he took a little wooden box out of his bag and handed it, along with a notebook and pen, to my brother to sign. This is from Vice Chairman Chang, he said to Huzhu after reading the inscription. I knew he was talking about Braying Jackass, Little Chang, an exemplary rebel who, in his role as vice chairman of the County Revolutionary Committee, was in charge of propaganda and the arts, as I overheard him tell my sister, who reacted to the news with what appeared to be mixed emotions. I knew she had strong feelings for Little Chang, but his meteoric rise in stature created an obstacle. It was certainly possible for love to develop between a talented student in an arts academy and a pretty girl with a peasant background, but there was no chance that a leading county-level cadre in his twenties would ever actually marry a peasant girl, no matter how pretty or fetching she might be. Of course my brother was aware of her feelings, and I heard him urge her to lower her sights a bit. Ma Liangcai was a royalist at first. Why then was he named vice chairman? Can you really not see what he had in mind? Was he the one who appointed him? my sister asked stubbornly My brother nodded. Does he want me to marry Ma Liangcai? Isn’t it obvious? Did he tell you that in so many words? Did he have to? Is an important person supposed to put all his intentions into words? You have to figure things out for yourself. No, my sister insisted. I want to hear it from him. If he tells me to marry Ma Liangcai, I’ll come home and marry him! By this time in their conversation, my sister’s eyes were brimming with tears.

My brother opened the box with rusty scissors and took out some old newspaper print, two sheets of white window paper, and a layer of crumpled yellow crepe paper. Beneath it all was a piece of red satin. He unfolded it to reveal a ceramic Chairman Mao badge as big as the mouth of a teacup. He held it in the palm of his hand as tears slid down his cheeks, although he wasn’t sure if he was moved more deeply by Chairman Mao’s smiling countenance or by Little Chang’s expression of friendship. He held it out for all to see. A sacred and solemn atmosphere prevailed. After he’d shown it all around, my sister-in-law to be, Huzhu, carefully pinned the badge onto my brother’s breast. The heft alone made his tunic sag a bit.

In order to celebrate the new year, my brother and his friends decided to stage a performance of The Red Lantern. Huzhu, with her long braid, was a natural for Tiemei; my brother was all set to play the leading role of Li Yuhe, until he lost his voice, and Ma Liangcai was given the part. Speaking from the heart, I’d have chosen Ma over my brother anyway. Volunteers quickly claimed the remaining roles in the revolutionary model opera, and the entire village got caught up in the excitement that winter. Held in the Revolutionary Committee office in the light of the gas lamp, the rehearsals drew a crowd every night, filling the room, rafters included. Those who didn’t make it into the room crowded up against the windows and the door to watch, pushing and shoving to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside. Hezuo also landed a part, that of Tiemei’s neighbor, while Mo Yan pestered my brother for one of the other parts, until Jinlong told him to get lost. But Commander, Mo Yan said, blinking in disappointment, I’ve got unique talents. He turned and did a somersault. Honest, my brother said, there are no parts left. You can add one, Mo Yan insisted. So my brother thought for a moment. All right, he said, you can be an enemy agent. Granny Li was one of the major roles, with plenty of singing and talking, too much for the local uneducated girls to master, so in the end the role was offered to my sister, who coldly turned it down. As the year’s end approached, still no one had come forward to play Granny Li, and the performance was scheduled for New Year’s day. Then Vice Chairman Chang phoned to say he might come by to direct the performance and enhance our prospects of becoming a model village for popularizing model revolutionary operas. The news both excited and worried my brother, whose mouth was quickly covered with cold sores, and whose voice was hoarser than ever. When he told my sister that Vice Chairman Chang might come to take over the direction, she broke into tears and sobbed: I’ll take the role.

Soon after the Cultural Revolution was launched, I’d felt left out in the cold, thanks to my status of independent farmer. All the other villagers, including the crippled and the blind, had joined the Red Guards, but not me. Heat from their revolutionary fervor rose to the heavens, but I could only watch on with eyes hot with envy. I was sixteen that year, an age when I should have been flying high and burrowing low, roiling the waters with my youth. But no, I was forced into other frames of mind: self-loathing, shame, anxiety, jealousy, longing, fantasy, all coming together within me. I once screwed up the courage and the nerve to plead my case with Ximen Jinlong, who saw me as a mortal enemy. I bowed my head in a desire to participate in the torrent of revolutionary activities. He said no.

So I went to see my dad in the ox shed, which had become his refuge, his place of safety. Ever since the marketplace parade that occupied such a notorious page in the history of Northeast Gaomi Township, Dad had become a virtual mute. Still only in his forties, he was completely gray. Stiff to begin with, his hair, now that it was nearly white, stood up like porcupine quills. The ox stood behind the feeding trough, head bowed, its stature notably diminished by the loss of half a horn. Sunbeams framed its head and lit up its eyes like two pieces of sorrow-laden amethyst, deep purple and heartbreakingly moist. Our fierce bull ox was completely transformed. I knew such things happened when oxen were castrated, but I never imagined that the loss of a horn could have the same effect. Then it saw me enter the shed and, after a brief glance, lowered its eyes, as if that was all it needed to see