Resurrection Resurrection“Damn you,” Fulan cursed her husband, Lu Han. “Now the whole Ox Village knows you slept with my sister. How can I go out and meet their faces?”
Lu was sucking at a pipe in silence. The wrinkles on his forehead stretched to his temples, and his small eyes were lusterless. He was not yet thirty, but he had changed so much recently that he looked like a man in his fifties. Fulan took their four-month-old boy off her large breast, turned him around, and thrust her other nipple into his mouth. She said, “Shame on you. Can’t take care of your own cock. Even a studhorse knows not to mount his sister. Shameless—why don’t you go out, find a tree, and hang yourself?”
Lu wanted to jump up and yell, “Your sister’s no good either, a cracked melon already! If a bitch doesn’t raise her tail, no dog can do anything to her.” But he remained on the bench, motionless, biting his thick lips.
“All right,” she started again, “play deaf if you like. Tomorrow I’ll go back to my parents with Leopard. If your face is thick enough, come and fetch us. My dad and brothers will skin you alive.”
Lu stood up and walked out into the dusk. He knew that talking was useless; once she got an idea into her head, you could never bring her around. Besides, what could he say? He was in the wrong to have slept with Fuli when his wife was pregnant. He felt so ashamed that he had cursed himself many times, but what was done was done, and all he could do now was bear the consequences.
The peanut plants rustled in a lazy breeze. Katydids were chirping tremulously as the night air brought its coolness. Lu sat down by a millstone under a large mulberry. His broad shoulders drooped, and his short legs wearied. He gave out a long sigh and muttered to himself, “You asked for it.”
He began thinking about how to atone for his error and start his life anew. The day before, the Party secretary, Zhao Mingyi, had told him to prepare to make a clean breast of his offense. He was supposed to go to the production brigade’s office the next evening and face interrogation by the brigade leaders. He was not afraid of their scolding, because he was certain he could keep quiet and endure their scathing words. What worried him was that if they were not satisfied with his confession and self-criticism, they could have him denounced publicly or paraded through the streets as a corrupt element. If that happened, his family and he himself would be done for. He had to be careful not to offend those leaders. For the time being, he thought, let Fulan do whatever she wants. He should deal with the external crisis first. Only after settling that could he put his family in order again.
Next morning, after breakfast, Fulan was ready to leave with their baby for Date Village, where her parents lived. She was to take a horse cart, which was going there to carry back peanut cakes for the brigade’s chicken farm. Before she got on the cart, Lu gave the driver, Chu, a packet of Rose cigarettes and asked him to take care of his wife and son on the way. Chu smelled the cigarettes and promised with a grin, “They’ll get there without losing a hair.”
After they left, Lu went directly to the soybean field on the southern hill and joined the commune members in hoeing.
He didn’t cook lunch for himself at noon; instead he ate two cold corn cakes and radishes with soy paste. After feeding the poultry and the sow and the piglets, he went back to the field. For a whole day he smoked continually, musing over the impending trial. How lucky it was that his parents were dead. If they had been alive, the shame he brought on them could have killed them. How lucky he was that the leaders hadn’t caught Fuli, or they would have interrogated her to see whether everything he told them was true. She had left for her aunt’s in Heilongjiang Province a month before the scandal became public. In the northern frontier every woman was considered marriageable, because men outnumbered women. Two brothers would even share one wife. Lu heard that Fuli became engaged to a middle-aged veteran soon after she arrived there.
At seven in the evening Lu reached the brigade’s office. The door was open, and inside the room the radio was playing a song, “I See the Pole Star When I Look Up.” Lu stepped in, but dared not go farther; he stood by the door waiting for instructions. Secretary Zhao, the brigade director Wang Peng, and Scribe Hsiao sat at a table smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. Zhao motioned to Lu to sit in front of them. The scribe turned off the radio. The room grew quiet, but Lu could hear a droning sound made by a few flies. He was reminded of the lines from a poem by Chairman Mao: “On our small planet / A few flies bang on walls / Buzzing, moaning, sobbing.”
The trial started. Zhao pointed at the scroll hung on a wall beneath the Chairman’s portrait, and ordered: “Read these words for us.”
“Leniency Toward Those Who Confess; Severity to Those Who Refuse!” Lu read in a shaky voice.
“Good,” Zhao resumed, “you understand the Party’s policy, so I won’t waste my breath explaining it to you. Your attitude towards your crime will determine how we handle your case.”
Lu was struck by the word “crime.” Is adultery a crime? he asked himself. It must be. Then they can treat me as a criminal, a class enemy! Sweat broke out on his forehead. The thought occurred to him that he ought to appear more remorseful.
“Tell us, when did you start the abnormal relationship with Lin Fuli?” Wang asked.
“Last fall,” Lu said.
Scribe Hsiao dipped a pen into an inkstand and started taking notes.
“How many times did you two have sexual intercourse?”
“I can’t tell exactly.”
“Think hard.” Wang’s eyes drilled into Lu’s face and made him shudder a little. “Tell me, how many times?”
“Probably twenty.”
“How many times did you go to bed together?”
“Mmm—once.”
“Why only once?”
“Because my wife was home all the time. She went to town to sell chickens that day, so we two slept together on the warm bed.”
“I can’t remember exactly. It was last winter.”
“Your wife was carrying your baby at that time?”
“Yes.”
“Shame on you!” Wang thumped the table. “Your woman was big with your child and went to town selling chickens for you, while you were screwing her sister at home. What kind of a man do you think you are?”
“I’m sorry.” Lu hung his head low.
“Sorry, too late,” Wang shouted. Then he moved his head closer to Lu and asked in a soft voice, “Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know. Couldn’t contain myself.”
“No, it’s not a problem of self-control,” Secretary Zhao broke in. “You have too many bourgeois thoughts in your brain. Though you’re a descendant of a poor peasant, those thoughts have corrupted your mind and driven you to commit the crime.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Lu admitted.
“Tell us why you had sex with both your wife and her sister,” Wang resumed. “What’s the difference between them? Aren’t they dishes from the same pot?” Wang’s baggy eyes searched Lu’s face.
“Don’t know. I can’t tell the difference.” Lu was bewildered by the question, but he told the truth. He had never thought of differences between the two women.
“All right, let’s come back to the first time. Where did it happen?” Wang asked.
“In the sorghum field by the reservoir.”
“Talk more about it. Describe how you two met there, who started it, what you said to each other, how you did everything there. From the beginning to the end.”
“Lu Han …” Secretary Zhao spoke in a serious voice. “You’ve been trying to evade the questions. I hope you understand that this attitude will put you in an awkward situation, which will require us to take necessary measures.”
“Yes, I do, I do.”
“Tell us everything then,” Wang went on. “Who can believe you forgot the first time.”
Lu began weeping. “I don’t remember clearly.”
“All right, tell me who opened pants first?”
“Mmm—, she o-opened mine.”
“See, you remember it well. Then what did she do?”
“She, she—”
“Don’t mince your words.”
“She took me into her mouth.”
The secretary, the director, and the scribe all chuckled but immediately became solemn again. Lu kept his head low and dared not look at them.
“What did she say?” Wang asked.
“I can’t recall.”
“We’re sure you remember. You refuse to tell us, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Tell us then.”
“She said, said—”
“Said what?”
“She said, ‘I love this—this chunk of flesh best.’”
They burst out laughing. Lu shuddered, his face covered with sweat. A cold tingle ran down his spine. He knew he had said too much. The villagers would soon know what he said, and other villages would hear of those words as well; his in-laws, too humiliated, would chop him to pieces.
“Tell us, did your wife ever do that to you?” Wang asked.
“No.” Lu shook his head.
“See, that’s the difference. Just now I asked you why you ate two dishes from the same pot. You said you don’t know. You’re dishonest, lying to us. How can you receive any clemency?”
Lu wiped the tears and sweat off his face. He hated himself for having incurred such a misfortune—his family was broken and he could easily become a reactionary element. Everything had happened because he hadn’t been able to control his penis and had never thought of the consequence. Why couldn’t he wait for his wife until she gave birth to the child? His woman was much prettier than her sister. It served him right. However hungry, he shouldn’t have taken food indiscriminately.
Secretary Zhao whispered in Wang’s ear. They apparently had to go somewhere for a meeting or a party. Wang nodded, then turned to Lu. “We stop here for today. This is just a beginning, and you haven’t shown us a sincere attitude yet. Go home and write out your confession. Describe every meeting with her to the smallest detail. Don’t leave out anything on purpose. We can tell where you play a shoddy trick. Is that clear?”
Lu looked at Wang and then at Zhao. His face contracted nervously and produced a false smile.
“We know you can write,” Secretary Zhao said. “You’re one of the few middle-school graduates in our Ox Village. If you can’t write, nobody can.”
“Yes, that’s why you always carry that thing,” Wang said, pointing at the Gold Dragon fountain pen stuck in Lu’s breast pocket. Then he turned to the scribe and ordered, “Young Hsiao, give him stationery.”
Hsiao came over and put before Lu five pads of letter paper, two bottles of blue ink, three brand-new penholders, and a small box of nibs. “All are yours,” Hsiao said.
Lu took the stationery, stood up, and made a bow. He put on his cap and turned to the door.
For two days Lu worked on the first page of his confession. Indeed, he had written well in middle school and even won a prize for an essay on the advantages of planting trees, but he had never tried this sort of writing. In addition, he was uncertain what he should put into the confession. Whatever he wrote on paper would be kept in his file and could be used against him in the future. Moreover, those leaders would surely pass the writing around, and the whole village would read it. Some people had already known what he said two days before. This morning, while he was cutting grass for the geese near the village entrance, Chu drove the horse cart by, cracking his long whip and chanting, “I like this chunk of flesh best! I like this chunk of flesh best!” How he hated Chu. How he wanted to grab that whip, flog him to the ground, and thrash all the breath out of him. He regretted giving Chu a packet of cigarettes worth twenty-three fen.
No, he must not say anything like that again. It was a matter of life and death. He envisaged his four brothers-in-law, led by their father, brandishing scythes and spades in search of him. Even the two screaming sisters-in-law wanted to scratch and bite him. From now on, every word he said had to be carefully thought out.
On the other hand, if he didn’t satisfy the leaders, they could handle his case in whatever way they liked. They could punish him as a criminal, to warn those who dared to disobey them. Or, at least, they could assign him an extra amount of work every day in the name of reforming him through labor. However well he wrote, he could never please both his in-laws and the leaders.
Full of remorse, he again cursed himself and regretted having the affair with Fuli. Life was so miserable. He had done himself in without second thoughts. If only he could have stopped lusting for women. How wise were Buddha’s words: Desire and lust were the source of disaster. He looked down at his crotch and cursed his penis again. The little devil always went its own way.
He was supposed to turn in the confession the next evening, but he was still on the first page. He had quoted a long passage from Chairman Mao, criticized himself with severe words, and talked about the liberal nature of his offense. Yet these items formed only a beginning to the confession. He had to fill out several pages at least. He was beating his brains about how to continue.
Having mused for hours, he decided to write about the day when they went to bed together. He began with how he had seen his wife off with the chickens in front of the tofu plant, and how he had carried back two buckets of water from the eastern well. When he returned, Fuli was naked on the large brick bed waiting for him. She asked him to bolt the front door, which he did. At first he felt uneasy; then he let himself go and did it with her.
He managed to draft three pages and copied them out in clean handwriting. After reading the manuscript aloud twice, he felt pretty good about it.
The next evening he took the confession to the brigade’s office in hope of persuading the leaders of his sincerity. The same men waited for him. Unlike the last time, a mug of hot tea was on the desk before Lu.
After glancing through the confession, Secretary Zhao handed it to the scribe and asked him to read it out, since Director Wang was illiterate. Zhao lit a cigarette and blew the smoke toward Lu, his narrow eyes fixed on Lu’s sallow face. Lu trembled and looked away.
No sooner had Hsiao finished reading than Wang stood up and pointed at Lu’s nose. “What goddamn confession is this? Screw your ancestors. Three pages full of farts! You took away five pads of good paper but returned only three pages of rubbish. Do you want to confess or not?”
“Yes, I do. S-sorry, I’m still learning how—how to write.”
“Your confession does include one truthful sentence, though,” Secretary Zhao put in. “Do you know what one?”
“No, I don’t. Please enlighten me.”
Zhao picked up a page and read it out. “When I was back with the water, I saw her lying on the bed stark naked, like a huge fresh ginseng-root.” He threw the page on the desk and asked, “Do you know why I say it’s a good sentence?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Because it tells what you saw and how you felt at that very moment.”
“Yes,” Wang said, “Secretary Zhao’s right. Write like he said. Don’t cut corners.”
“We give you a week for a complete confession,” Zhao said deliberately.
“Go home,” Wang ordered, “and recall all the twenty times. Write down all the facts and details. Make no less than a hundred pages.”
Lu managed to get up, but forgot to bow before moving to the door. With his head heavy and something like mosquitoes buzzing in his ears, he staggered out of the office.
He slept only three or four hours every night, working hard on the confession. Still, he wrote no more than five pages and was uncertain if they were acceptable. Of course he dared not tell them anything in detail. That would destroy his sister-in-law’s life. The leaders would surely send a letter to the local Party branch in charge of the area where Fuli was now. Who would want to marry her if everybody knew of what they had done in the cornfields, in haystacks, in bushes, in pigpens, in the pump house? A detailed confession would also ruin his own family—his wife would never come back with his son. He was very lucky that his first-born was a boy, because the rule allowed nobody to have a second child. His luck was what made others jealous, particularly Director Wang, who had only a granddaughter. Because he was a leader and a Party member, Wang couldn’t allow his son’s wife to have another child, thus breaking the rule that everyone was eager to tamper with. Those bastards—they could never bear to see others’ happiness.
Lu’s eyes grew bleary from writing under an oil lamp. Though full of self-disgust, he constantly imagined different ways to get out of the trouble. He knew he could never meet the standard set by the leaders. More than a hundred pages? That was a book, and they might make many copies of it. The whole village would read it, and probably all the commune cadres too. He was no writer and had no time to learn to be one. Even if he were, he wouldn’t dare to write such a book. But in two days he would have to hand it in; by no means could he get it ready. How, oh how could he find a way out of the crisis?
He thought of giving gifts to the leaders, but he wouldn’t have any real money until the end of the year, when the brigade’s annual account was settled. Those leaders wouldn’t accept promises. Four months remained—and no distant water could quench the fire here and now. However, one thing continually came to his mind and tickled his brain: General Chou’s Shrine at Sea-Watch Cliff was said to be about to open after being in ruins for eight years. The temple had been built in memory of a national hero, Chou Wu, who a hundred years ago led the Chinese troops and civilians in burning the ships of the Japanese invaders and driving them back into the sea. In order to inspire patriotism among the Chinese, the present government decided to restore it. Lu heard that the temple was under repair and that monks were being recruited.
The ocean of misery has no bound, he thought; repent and the shore is at hand. Why don’t you give it a try? Good, quit the whole thing. I’ll leave this mess behind and go into the mountain. For sure, they won’t bust the temple and drag me out. That would violate the Party’s religious policy and they would get themselves into trouble. Being a monk, I’ll have time to study, have food and clothes always, and no worry about earthly affairs. I’m fed up with the farm work here. You work your ass off but get no pay if the harvest is poor. Fulan has her place to go; I too have somewhere to stay. I won’t come back, even if she begs me on her knees. Let her learn a lesson from being a widow with a husband alive.
What if you don’t like the temple? Why worry so much? If it’s no good in there, you can always come back. Who’ll force you to be a monk? No time to waste; you must leave as soon as possible. Hide away for a while. In a few weeks I’m sure they’ll lose interest in the case. At least I’ll have enough time there to figure out a new way to deal with them.
A few lines of Chairman Mao’s poetry echoed in his mind: “Many things must be done in a hurry / Heaven and earth spin—time presses / Ten thousand years are too long / We must seize every hour.” Yes, go. The longer the night lasts, the more nightmares will come up.
He got up, grabbed his pen, and wrote on a blank sheet of paper,
Respectable Leaders:
Having understood the gross nature of my crime, I have decided to become a monk. I love our country and am grateful to the Party, but I feel too ashamed to face anybody in the village, so I am leaving now for a temple where I can continue self-examination and self-education. I will study hard there and live a new, peaceful life. Farewell, my dear comrades.
Yours guilty,
Lu Han
P.S. Please inform my wife of my leaving so that she can come back and take care of the house and the pigs. I really appreciate this.
He wrapped into a blanket his summer clothes and his only two packets of Great Gate cigarettes, and tied them up with a rope. With all his secret personal savings—eleven yuan—in his pocket, and the clothes bundle on his back, he went into the kitchen and drank two scoops of cold water. He returned to blow out the lamp, then walked into the dark.
The night was cool and moonlit, filled with insects’ chirring and frogs’ croaking. He was not afraid of wolves. What he really feared was man, to him the most vicious animal and the most dangerous thing, because only man knew how to trap you. He ran as fast as he could and forced himself not to listen to any distinct sound. Fortunately, the temple was not far away, only four and a half kilometers from Ox Village. In twenty minutes it emerged in the distance. The glazed tiles shimmered in the moonshine, and the curved eaves stretched along the ridge of a hill and were shaded by the huge crowns of trees. On the roof perched the statuary lions and tigers that seemed alive and ready to stand up and patrol like guarding gods. What a view, Lu thought; it must be a place where immortals visit. He hastened his steps and felt he had made a wise decision. Anyone who lived in that majestic temple would enjoy longevity and happiness. Yes, he said to himself, go there, and forget the hubbub and turmoil at home.
At once his body became light, as if he were flapping a pair of wings through the air. Within half an hour he stood at the front entrance of the temple, striking the wooden gate and shouting, “Open the door!”
After a short while a noise came from inside. He heard someone coughing and shuffling to the entrance. Beyond the high stone wall flickered the light of an oil lamp. “Who’s there?” an old man’s voice asked.
“Master,” Lu said, feeling his heart in his throat, “I came to study gods with you. Please open the door and let me in.”
“What do you really want in the middle of the night?”
“To be your disciple. Please open the door.”
With a screech a hole six inches square was revealed on the gate, and a column of light thrust out. Lu moved closer and saw the old monk’s chubby face, gray hair, smiling eyes. He had a large wart beside his crimson nose.
“Master, I want to be your student.”
“Young man,” the monk said, “1 do want to take a lot of students, but so far 1 don’t have any. I’ve no say in this.”
“Take me please, Master. I can read and write. I can work and cook.”
“Like I said, I want to, but I have no say in hiring.”
“Hiring? You mean I have to be hired?”
“Yes, employed. Everybody wants to be a monk all of a sudden. It’s like seeking employment. No, more than a job, it’s like going to college. A new monk is a cadre of the state, you know, the twenty-fourth rank, with a salary of forty-three yuan a month. Besides, you have food and clothes free and don’t have to stay here at night. You can even marry a woman if you want, and have your own home in a nearby village. Not a bad deal at all. Things have changed these days. We plan to receive many tourists, and the temple will be expanded. Anyway, I wish you good luck, young man.”
“Wait a minute,” Lu said. He put his sinewy hand on the opening and asked, “Do you know who I should talk to?”
“Your brigade leaders. You have to be elected by the commune members, I guess; or at least recommended by the Party branch. Good luck. I hope to see you here someday.” The opening was closed and the light disappeared.
As though struck by a thunderbolt, Lu dropped onto the stone steps and remained blank for a few minutes. Then he jumped to his feet, picked up the bundle, and was about to run back. No, he changed his mind, I can’t leave like this. The goddamn monk is sleeping inside while keeping me outside in the dank night. No, this is not equal. This is not socialism. I must leave him some work to do. Lu unbuckled his belt, pulled down his pants, and hunkered down, emptying his bowels right in front of the gate. After a few relieving moans, he fished for paper in his pockets, but couldn’t find any. Luckily, there was a piece of cornstalk lying on a step; he picked it up and cleaned himself with three strokes. He stood up and threw the stalk over the wall. “Keep it, you fat seedless monk,” he barked.
Even having left the pile of fresh excrement couldn’t cool him off. On his way back he swore continuously. Damn it, if you’ve bad luck, even a fart can sprain your back. Screw every one of them, including all the new monks. Someday I’ll ride the Wheel of Wind and Fire through the sky and burn down every home of those bastards. I’ll begin with Chu’s hut and stable. Burning, burning, burning, burn up every blade of grass!
When he arrived home the heavy dew of the small hours soaked him through. His teeth were chattering as he lit the lamp with a trembling hand. To his surprise, the note was no longer on the table. Holding the lamp, he searched about but couldn’t find it. Then he went into the kitchen and found the note lying on the floor. It must have been a wind that brought it here, he thought. No, what if it wasn’t the wind? What if those bastards have read it?
His hair stood up, and a mist rose before his eyes for a minute or two. He sat down on the bed, holding the corner of the dining table, shook his head, and sighed. He tried to collect his thoughts. Whether they’ve read this or not, I mustn’t stay. If they know of my trip to the temple and get hold of me, there’ll be a denunciation meeting tomorrow. My crime is doubled now. There’s no chance for clemency anymore. I must go, go far away.
But where can I go? To Uncle’s home in Green Village? No, that’ll get him into trouble. How about going into the Great Emperor Mountain for a while? But there are wolves and tigers in the forest. Too dangerous.
Then the idea of begging came to his mind. Yes, that’s it. I’ll go begging around. No, not “around.” I’m going to big cities, to Beijing and Shanghai. They say lots of beggars have gotten rich and carry thousands of yuan in their belts; they live in hotels at night, and only during the day do they beg in the streets. Yes, I’ll go to Beijing first. A wise man must read ten thousand volumes and travel ten thousand kilometers. Since I’m still young, it’s time to see the world and learn about our motherland and folkways. In Beijing, I’ll see all the palaces, the museums, the historic sites, and Tiananmen Square, the largest one in the world. It’s too bad that Chairman Mao doesn’t inspect Red Guards anymore, or I’d see his glorious face and his stalwart body on the gate tower as well.
How about Fulan and Leopard? I can’t worry so much. They won’t starve at home, will they? She can get everything from her parents. Once I have money, I’ll buy her a diamond watch. She’ll love it and look at it day and night with a broad smile. Then she’ll forget what I’ve done. Money and wealth can always turn a woman’s head.
“Today I feel unhappy at home, so I’m leaving for the capital,” he chanted rather cheerfully. But someday I’ll come back as a big official, whip every one of those leaders, and make them all kneel on the ground begging me for mercy. I’ll forgive none of them and have them all beheaded, even though they want to pay me a large ransom.
He thought of writing a short letter, but changed his mind and placed the lamp on the old note. Let them go to the temple to get me, he said to himself. By then, I’ll already have flown high and far.
Once he was outside the house, a constriction rose in his chest and tears came to his eyes. Revenge, he told himself. Someday I’ll wipe out all their clans and wash their homes in a sea of blood. With the bundle on his back he turned around and walked into the pale dawn.
After two hours’journey he arrived at Dismount Fort. He went directly to the train station, but he didn’t buy a ticket. From now on, he had to learn to get whatever he wanted without paying a fen. Four beggars were sleeping in a corner inside the hall. Having hesitated for a few seconds, Lu went to join them, lying supine on the cement floor. With the bundle under his head and his army cap covering his face, he soon fell asleep. Though footsteps tapped about and clanking trains passed by, Lu was so tired that nothing disturbed him.
When he woke up, it was already past three in the afternoon. All the beggars were gone except an old man with red-rimmed eyes sitting against the wall and holding an empty bottle in his lap. A locomotive was blowing its steam horn outside. Inside the dim hall a few rectangular patches of sunlight stretched on the floor. Lu’s stomach rumbled and he felt hungry, but first he had to find out how to get to Beijing.
He asked the old beggar about the train schedule, but was surprised to learn that there was no train bound for the capital. The old man said Lu had better sneak onto the midnight freight train to Dalian first. Lu was a little confused by the advice. Then he realized that if he took a passenger train without a ticket, the attendants and the police could easily find him out and kick him off at any station.
After clarifying that, he got up and went out to solve the problem of hunger. Not knowing where to look for food, he walked along Market Street heading downtown. In front of Four Sea Fish Shop were about a hundred people lining up to buy something. Lu was curious and walked over. Seeing mountains of clams and oysters on the mat-covered ground, he felt his mouth watering. The folks here have a good life, he thought. They can have seafood every day. If only I could eat a few oysters. Oh, I’m so hungry. I’d like to bite them with the shells on.
But he tore himself away and took a right turn into Bath Street. The smell of fried leeks was hovering in the air. He caught the aroma and followed it instinctively. After he passed New Life Medical-Herb Store, the sign of Victory Restaurant emerged on the right. Lu hastened his steps to the door. He pushed aside the curtain made of glass beads and entered the restaurant. About twenty diners were inside, but two teenage beggars were already sitting in a corner waiting for leftovers. Lu went to sit beside them and wanted to see how they begged.
A moment later one of the boys got up and walked to a nearby table, where a fat middle-aged man was eating with a small girl, obviously his daughter. Without saying a word the boy held out his hand beside the steaming dishes. The fat man broke his bread and put a piece on the dirty hand. Immediately the other beggar went up to the table and got his share. Lu followed suit and received a chunk of bread too. “All right, no more,” the fat man said, and waved to Lu to go away.
Lu had never thought getting food could be so easy. Just stretch out you hand and you’ll have white, tender, fresh bread to eat. It tasted so good that he thought he had never eaten steamed bread so delicious.
Then a young waitress with slanting eyes came by, carrying a large fried yellow croaker still sizzling in the plate. After putting the dish in front of an old man, she pointed at the three beggars and said, “You stay there and wait until the customers finish, or you get out of here.” Strange to say, her menacing words sounded to Lu like a sweet tune. What a goddess! he thought.
Three other women, in their thirties and forties, were also busy waiting tables, but this young woman was absolutely glamorous in Lu’s eyes. Her skin was whiter than the bread just out of the steamer. He looked at her fingers, so exquisite and almost transparent. And those gorgeous glossy bangs. She ought to be tender and pretty, Lu thought; see what they eat here, all the delicacies from sea and land. Feeding on such food, even a pig would grow smooth and sleek.
Within two hours, Lu was stuffed with jelly soup, fried tofu, fish, oysters, pork, cabbages, pies, noodles, and even a half cup of sorghum liquor. Never at one meal had he eaten so many good things, which made him feel as if he were celebrating the Spring Festival. But something seemed missing. Yes, that young beauty. If only he could get close to her and pinch that pair of white paws. That would be real fun.
Unfortunately, a banquet was served after eight, so the three beggars were turned out. Having no place to go, Lu returned to the train station. The alcohol made him dizzy, yet he was very happy, because he found a beggar’s life more enjoyable than his life at Ox Village. I ate so many good things, he thought, without paying a fen or raising a finger for them. Wonderful. I should stay here for some days, to eat more good stuff. If lucky, I can make a pass at that charming wench. Pretty, so pretty. He made clicks with his tongue, which wiped his lips now and then.
But another voice rose within him: You’ve forgotten all the trouble, huh? Bewitched by your lust for women again? Shame. Your wound hasn’t begun to heal yet, but you’ve begun to forget the pain.
He looked down at his crotch. You little devil of a penis, you’re playing tricks on me again. You can’t take me in this time. I must go, go to Dalian tonight and switch trains there for Beijing. Too much pleasure surely weakens a man’s will. I mustn’t indulge myself. I’ve a long way to travel, to pursue a future of ten thousand kilometers. Besides, it’s always better on the road than at an inn.
He lay on the floor, taking catnaps and waiting for the midnight freight train. At ten o’clock he was roused by voices shouting, “Wake up! Wake up!”
Three militiamen were pushing with their feet the beggars sleeping in the hall. Each of them wore a long wooden club across his back. “Show me your identification,” a short militiaman said to the man lying beside Lu.
The beggar put his hand into a pocket inside his jacket and took out a piece of paper. The militiaman read it carefully and gave it back to him. Then he pointed at Lu and demanded, “Your identification.”
“What identification?” Lu didn’t understand what was going on.
“The paper that allows you to beg around.”
“Where can I get it?” Lu blurted out.
“From your brigade. Do you have it or not?”
“I had it yesterday, but I’ve lost it somewhere. I can’t find it. Sorry.”
The militiaman screwed up his brows. “Lost it? Who can believe you? You didn’t even know where to get it. I think you are an escaped counterrevolutionary. If you can’t prove who you are, you must come with us.”
Lu knew it was no use refusing, so he got to his feet, standing by respectfully. After going through all the beggars, the militia took him to the police station on Old Folk Road. The policeman on duty told him that if he refused to identify himself, they would commit him to a reform-through-labor team. Lu was terrified, because he remembered that a “troublemaker” in his village had been sent to a place like that by the brigade leaders and had died of dysentery there two months later. Without any delay he confessed who he was and where he came from. They telephoned Ox Village and were told that Lu was being examined, and that they should send him back as soon as possible.
“I could tell at first sight that he was a bad egg,” the short militiaman said. He went up to Lu and removed the fountain pen from his breast pocket. “You don’t need this. Pretending you can write, hmm? How many bottles of ink have you drunk?” He dropped the pen into a drawer.
Lu trembled all over, fearing they would search him. He had eleven yuan in his trouser pocket and two packets of expensive cigarettes in the bundle. Luckily, they didn’t bother to look further.
That very night a jeep was going to Sand County to bring back the police chief, so they put Lu into the jeep, gave the driver a Russian 1951 pistol, and told him to drop Lu at Ox Village on the way. “If he escapes, shoot him,” the policeman said loudly to the driver.
Lu had never been in an automobile; though he felt rather excited seeing houses, lights, trees, and wire poles flitting past, he was too anxious to enjoy the ride. He dared not move his body in the jeep, and kept wondering what was waiting for him in the village.
It was past midnight when he was back in his house again. After lighting the lamp, he was surprised to find nothing seemed to have changed. Even the note was still under the lamp. He picked it up and saw, beneath his own writing, four big characters: “Nets Above, Snares Below.” It was Secretary Zhao’s handwriting.
Oh, Lu thought with a moan, it’s impossible to go anywhere. I can’t escape. They’ll never leave me alone until I write out what they want. All the officials are of one family; I can never jump out of their palms.
After burning the note over the lamp, he lit a joss stick to keep mosquitoes away. Tired of worrying, he remembered an old saying: “If the enemy come, we have troops to stop them; if a flood comes, we have earth to dam it.” Worrying is useless, he told himself; the cart will find its way around the hill when it gets there. He took off his clothes and went to bed, allowing himself not to think of anything. Soon he fell asleep.
He snored for seven hours without a stop. When he woke up, the sun already covered half the bed. He stretched his legs in the sunlight and began worrying about the confession and thinking how to avoid the trial in the evening. Unable to come up with a plausible excuse and unable to stop missing the slant-eyed waitress, he resumed cursing himself. All the trouble came from his inability to control his penis. Strange to say, that little fellow, ignoring its master’s disgust and hatred, went erect again, bulging the front of the underwear like a torpedo. Lu hated it. If only he could have plucked it out! It had no shame and fear, and wanted to go into action even in the face of danger and annihilation. He got up and put on his clothes. Still the erection wouldn’t go away. He gave it two slaps with the sole of his rubber shoe. The beating somehow scared the little devil down.
Lu went out, washed his face, took a corn cake, and hurried to the field with a hoe on his shoulder and a large straw hat on his head. Whatever had happened, he must not be slack in his work. He should pretend that everything was normal.
Evening came. With only five pages of writing and with the vision of the leaders furious at his attempted escape, Lu dared not go to the brigade’s office. He thought it better to stay home and wait until the leaders’ anger waned a little. If they asked him the next day, he would say he had a stomachache and couldn’t walk, and would beg them for a few more days. He cooked himself a pot of noodles with string beans, but he was too worried to enjoy the food; he forced himself to think how to make a few more passages of the confession.
The clock with a long pendulum ticked away on the red chest. In the room two ducks perched in a corner while a few chickens strutted and pecked about. On the broad brick bed were scattered his son’s clothes and toys and his wife’s sewing bowl, filled with scraps of cloth, threads, partly stitched soles, scissors, awls. It was stuffy, so after supper Lu took off his undershirt and pants, wearing only the shorts. He sat by the scrawled sheets of paper absentmindedly.
He didn’t expect the leaders would come to his home to look for him. The second he saw them in the yard, he lay down and held his stomach with both hands. They burst in, and Wang yelled at him, “Sit up, you son of a tortoise!”
“Oh, I’m sick.”
“Don’t play tricks with your grandpas. We can see through you. Get up. I saw you hoeing turnips two hours ago. No illness can be so quick. Get your damn ass up!”
Without a word Lu climbed up and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Why do you try to trick us?” Secretary Zhao questioned.
“I’m sick. I really can’t walk.”
“Cut it out,” Wang bellowed. “We know how you feel.” Then he lowered his voice. “All right, we’re going to take care of our patient tonight. Come with us. We’ll cure you of your illness in a couple of days.”
Lu was terrified, his scalp numb. He knew they would apply the tactics called “cartwheeling”—they would take turns questioning him day and night, not allowing him to sleep until he collapsed, confessed everything, even invented things to please them. He could not possibly resist so many of them. If necessary, the leaders could send for a platoon of militiamen. He was so scared that he broke into tears. “Oh, I’ve cracked my brains, but can’t write more. I really don’t know how to write. I’ve used a bottle of ink already. Please let me go just this once. I’m going to kowtow to you.”
“Hold it,” Wang ordered. “You can’t deceive us any longer.”
Scribe Hsiao stepped forward and restrained Lu from going to his knees.
“Oh, heaven,” Lu cried out, “how can I convince you of my sincerity? Do you want me to die? All right—my family’s already broken, and I don’t want to live anymore.” He pulled a pair of large scissors out of the sewing bowl and put them against his throat. “No more! If you want my life, say it. I’ll die here to show you my remorse.”
“Stop bluffing,” Wang said, smiling with contempt. “I know what stuff’U come out the moment you raise your buttocks. Do it, kill yourself. Then we’ll believe you’re a good, progressive comrade.”
“Lu Han, don’t take us to be beardless idiots,” Zhao said. “Who’s ever heard that a man killed himself with scissors. That’s woman stuff.”
“Do it,” Wang ordered. “Let’s have an eye-opener. We’ll name you a Revolutionary Martyr and give your family provisions.”
Lu was wailing, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Yes, do it,” Zhao demanded with his arms open. “We’re waiting. If you don’t, you’re not a Chinese.”
Lu moved down the scissors as if to prove his inability to kill himself. He turned around and bent down.
“What are you doing?” Wang said.
Lu ripped open his shorts, pulled out his scrotum, and cut it off together with the testicles. He dropped the cutting and fell to the ground, screaming and groaning. Immediately the chickens rushed over and carried away those meaty parts.
“Stop the chickens and get his balls back!” Wang yelled, kicking at a duck that was on its way to the bloody spot.
Both the secretary and the scribe ran out, but it was too late—the chickens had disappeared into the dark yard. Inside, Wang was busy stanching the bleeding with a towel. The sleeves of his white shirt were covered with bloodstains. Still Wang never stopped cursing. “Damn your ancestors. Who told you to do this? I hope you’re bleeding to death.”
“I hate it, hate it!” Lu said through his teeth, clenched to choke his moaning. One of his legs was twitching, the toe drawing small circles on the ground.
Finally Wang managed to tie up Lu’s crotch with three towels, and the blood was almost stopped. Then Hsiao returned with several men and with Chu’s horse cart. They wrapped Lu up with a flowery quilt and carried him out. The moment they placed him in the cart, the horses set out galloping to the Commune Clinic in Dismount Fort. Both the leaders went with the cart. They even gave Lu sweet-potato liquor on the way to stop him from moaning and shaking.
Lu’s self-castration earned him freedom. Nobody thought of pressing him for the confession again, since his act had indeed proved his remorse and sincerity. Naturally, a lot of men shook hands with him when he was back from town. The leaders even went to his father-in-law’s house the day after the castration and tried to persuade Lu’s wife to forgive him and come back home. On hearing of the sad news, Fulan burst into tears, saying she was guilty and shouldn’t have mistreated her husband that way. Her father, a well-respected old man, scolded her in front of the leaders and ordered her to go back at once. That very day she returned with Baby Leopard in Chu’s horse cart. Now she wanted to take good care of Lu and was determined to be a model wife.
As for Lu, he felt things were fine. Losing his testicles didn’t differ much from being sterilized by the family-planning team. Quite a few men in the village were emasculated that way, and the only difference was that they carried more weight below their bellies. Let others babble whatever they liked. Yes, he was gelded, but he had a son, who was as strong as a bear cub, to carry on his family line. From now on that devil of a penis would cause no trouble, and his family would enjoy peace and unity, which would surely lead to security and prosperity. Though he sweated more than before while working in the fields, he felt his back never so straight and his body never so sturdy. People noticed his face glowing with ruddy health and his hair turning darker and thicker. He did so well that the villagers elected him an exemplary commune member. Secretary Zhao even had a heart-to-heart talk with him and encouraged him to write an application for Party membership, which Lu was, of course, delighted to do. Most significant of all, he had a new, normal life.