The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2011 by China Intercontinental Press
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Old Land, New Tales was first published in 2011 by China Intercontinental Press as . Translated from Chinese by Zhang Min, Nan Jianchong, Hu Zongfeng, Liu Xiaofeng, Wen Hui, Du Lixia, Wang Hongyin, Zhang Yujin, Qin Quan’an, Yang Narang, Liu Danling, Zhang Yihong, Li Meng, Ren Huilian, Ji Wenkai, Xiaohui Xue, Chen Yi, Zhang Yating, Yang Jinmei, Liu Yuan, and Guo Yingjie as a work for hire, copyright China Intercontinental Press. Published by AmazonCrossing in 2014.
Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle
ISBN-13: 9781477823705
ISBN-10: 1477823700
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014900610
Editorial Selection by Shaanxi Writers Association
Directors
Lei Tao, Party Secretary and Executive Vice-Chairman
Jia Pingwa, Chairman
Deputy Directors
An-Wei, Chairman, Shaanxi Translation Association
Chen Xiaoying, President, China Society for Comedy Aesthetics Studies and Senior Advisor, Shaanxi Translation Association
Ma Ke, Vice-Chairman and Secretary General, Shaanxi Translation Association
Members
Li Guoping, Vice-Chairman
Wang Fangwen, Secretary General and Director of Creative & Liaison Department
Wang Peng, Vice-Chairman
Ye Guangqin, Vice-Chairman
Bai Aying, Vice-Chairman
Feng Jiqi, Vice-Chairman
Gao Jianqun, Vice-Chairman
Zhu Hong, Vice-Chairman
Mo Shen, Vice-Chairman
Li Kangmei, Vice-Chairman
Leng Meng, Vice-Chairman
Hong Ke, Vice-Chairman
Zhang Hong, Vice-Chairman
Yan An, Vice-Chairman
Qin Quan’an, Deputy Secretary General, Shaanxi Translation Association
Wang Xiaowei, Vice-Director of Creative & Liaison Department
Hu Zongfeng, Deputy Dean, School of Foreign Languages, Northwest University
Li Hao, Vice President and Dean of the School of the Arts, Northwest University
Yang Dafu, Former Dean of English Studies School, Xi’an International Studies University
Li Xijian, Dean of Chinese Language and Literature School, Shaanxi Normal University
Zhang Yujin, Associate Professor of International Studies, Xi’an Jiaotong University and Deputy Secretary General, Shaanxi Translation Association
Kong Baoer, Chief Reporter of Xi’an TV Station and Board Member, Shaanxi Translation Association
Advisors
Allison Adair, Audrae Coury, Robert Farnsworth, Robin Gilbank, Buffy Gilfoil, Andy Gross Green, Darlene Kunze, Sonya Lason, Michael Lestz, Myrtis Mixon, Julia Phillips, Vicky Tangi, Mary Warpeha
Contents
Preface
1 LU YAO Elder Sister
2 CHEN ZHONGSHI A Tale of Li Shisan and the Millstone
3 JIA PINGWA The Country Wife
4 ZHOU ZHIAN Oh, a Colt!
5 JING FU The Walking Stick
6 GAO JIANQUN A Trip for Love: The Story of an Unmarried Mother
7 LI TIANFANG Love’s Unknown Variable
8 YE GUANGQIN Rain: The Story of Hiroshima
9 XIAO LEI Who Would Go to the Scaffold
10 ZHAO XI The Soul of the Great Wall
11 FENG JIQI The Butcher’s Knife
12 LI KANGMEI The Portrait of the Ancestor
13 HONG KE One Family in the Desert
14 MO SHEN Mountain Forest Lasting Forever
15 WANG PENG Sister Yinxiu
16 ZHANG HONG Lei Ping’er
17 WU KEJING The Bloodstained Dress
18 WANG GUANSHENG At the Foot of Mount Yanzhi
19 LI CHUNGUANG Stargazing
20 HUANG WEIPING Wife, or Otherwise
Preface
LEI TAO
Let Literature Fly through the Blue Sky and White Clouds
As the spiritual secret history of a nation, literature (especially novels and short fiction) is the product of many communications and collisions. This evidence of spiritual life is valuable not only to a particular nation, but to the civilized society of the whole of humanity. From the May Fourth Movement to today, many international literary works have been translated and introduced into China, resulting in an evolution in Chinese literary aesthetics. Beyond style, readers discover the world’s diverse visions and virtues through literature. Meanwhile, works of many Chinese writers have now been translated into a wealth of other languages, helping readers around the world understand the current diverse spiritual and ethical pursuits of the Chinese nation. This mutual exchange is a pillar of the international community.
The reforms of new China have opened the country’s borders to many new and diverse channels for cultural exchange. Chinese writers are now finding broader aesthetic communities through translation—and, with this exposure, finding confidence to explore new territory.
Seated in central China, the Shaanxi region is one of the cradles of Chinese civilization. The province’s principal city and current capital, Xi’an, is the eastern terminus of the Silk Road, which leads to Europe, the Arabian Peninsula, and Africa—making Shaanxi a longtime hub of cultural exchange, both within China and overseas. With the reform of new China as its inspiration, the Shaanxi Writers Association of China’s Literature Translation Special Committee started the SLIP program in 2008 to introduce and popularize outstanding works by Shaanxi authors.
The members of the Shaanxi Writers Association and Provincial Translation Association reached out to local literature and translation circles, seeking stories that reflect Shaanxi writing in all its diversity and richness. The twenty tales selected for this book represent the standard and style of contemporary writers from the old but civilized land of Shaanxi. This community of writers, defining Shaanxi literature as a unified school, includes many winners of national awards, including the Mao Dun Literature Award, the Lu Xun Literature Award, the Bing Xin Literature Award, and the Stallion Award.
The sky of literature is vast and blue, and it is a realm full of hope and fantasy. Writers dream of adding wings to their works, to watch them fly through the blue sky and white clouds of the heavens. It is my hope that through reading these stories by conscientious writers and lovers of life, we might help drive forward the peaceful development of the world, linking human progress across cultures from the ancient perspective of this province in the heart of China.
We are under the same blue sky, and we have the same destination. This is the home to literature and also the source of our strength.
Lu Yao (1949–1992)
Lu Yao, formerly known as Wang Weiguo, of the Han nationality, was a contemporary Chinese writer. He was born into a peasant family in Yulin City, Qingjian County, Shaanxi Province. His family was too poor to raise him, so at age seven he was adopted by his uncle in a village of Yanchuan County. After middle school, he returned home to work as a farmer in 1969.
He graduated from the Department of Chinese Language and Literature at Yan’an University, which
launched his writing career, and after graduation he edited the literary magazine Shaanxi Literature. His first novella, A Suspenseful Scene, was published in 1980 and won the country’s first National Award for Best Novella. He won the award again in 1982 for Life; the film adaptation won the Hundred Flowers Award for Best Feature Film and was a hit across the country. That year, Lu Yao joined the Chinese Writers Association and his novel In the Difficult Days won the Novel Prize in Contemporary Literature.
In 1988 Lu Yao completed his thirteen-volume, million-word masterpiece Ordinary World, which won the third Mao Dun Literature Award. Before the book was even finished, it was broadcasted as a radio play on China National Radio. Lu Yao passed away in 1992, at the age of 42, at the height of his career.
1
LU YAO
Elder Sister
My twenty-seven-year-old sister should have been married a long time ago. In rural areas, it is a disgrace for a girl of that age to continue her unmarried life in her parents’ home. Embarrassing rumors have been circulating in the village, which sting more than the severest slap to our faces.
Papa has become a man of few words. Ever since Mama died, he has simply kept his mouth shut, busying himself with all sorts of farmwork. Neither Sister’s marital prospects nor other family affairs can arouse his slightest interest.
I love my sister. Pure, tender, and kind, she is a white cloud in the azure sky. Villagers say she is good-looking, and what they say is true. Every village here, no matter how remote or backward, boasts at least a few stunningly beautiful young ladies who, like the local produce—dates and daylilies—are known across the region, from the provincial capital to the neighboring towns and villages. Why, don’t you believe it? Go and ask whoever is on the road.
I am not bragging when I tell you that my sister is one of these beautiful women. She has been my idol since childhood, when I developed a love for art and a taste for beauty. Mama once told me that a provincial singing and dancing troupe had intended to recruit Sister as an actress when she was still a little girl; however, Mama and Papa refused, on the grounds that she was too small and that they would not like to be parted from her.
Several years have passed since Sister graduated from high school. She took entrance examinations for higher education but failed each time, only a few points short of the admissions criteria. Sister went to high school in a time when the Cultural Revolution was seething with enthusiasm—so she didn’t learn much. On the foreign-language section of the entrance exam, she didn’t even know the twenty-six letters of the alphabet; it seems that her hopes of becoming a college student are gone forever.
There’s no way for her to become a worker, either, for the security of that kind of career can be had only through a back door. And even when a back door is opened for her, there’s never a current vacancy to be filled. It seems she is destined to labor her whole life away in the fields. However, Sister doesn’t seem to mind at all being a farmer. Since she was brought up in this barren area, not even the toughest farm tasks deter her. Everyone in the village says she equals a man in doing farmwork.
The feet of matchmakers have worn thin the threshold of our house over the years. Among the candidates they sought for my sister, most were cadres or workers from bigger cities, but none has ever struck her fancy. Villagers feel sorry for her to have missed so many golden chances; they wonder why a twenty-seven-year-old girl is not the least bit worried about an event as important as her own marriage.
But in fact, Sister has had a sweetheart. This is a secret kept from everyone in the whole world but me.
The boy Sister loved was Gao Limin, an educated young man from the provincial capital. People say his father was a deputy governor of our province, his mother the director of a certain bureau. Accused of heading a spy organization, they were arrested and imprisoned soon after the Cultural Revolution broke out.
Of the dozen young people who came to our village with Gao Limin, some were recommended to study in universities and others were taken on as workers. All of them returned to the cities eventually—except for Gao Limin. He was detained because of his parents’ case. Not only couldn’t he get away from our village, he couldn’t even lead an easy life as a farmer; wherever he went, from the commune to the county, he’d be given a dressing-down.
Those years found him a most wretched dog, for in the eyes of the masses, being the son of spies was worse than being a reactionary. Most villagers dared not associate with him for fear of courting unexpected disasters. So Gao Limin, like a lamb alienated from the herd, could keep only his own company. His clothes were too shabby even for a beggar; he ate only raw food, as he didn’t know how to cook, and as a result he often suffered from stomachaches that would send him rolling about on the muddy ground.
My sister couldn’t bear to see him suffering like that, so she often went to help him with cooking, sewing and mending, and washing. On holidays, Sister would bring him home and give him the best food we could offer. Sometimes I doubted I was her younger brother, because she seemed to care more for Limin than she did for me.
My parents never uttered a word against Sister for doing it. They were both kindhearted farmers just like her. However, some folks in the village began making up stories; they said my sister and Gao Limin had an improper relationship. They didn’t dare spread such rumors in the presence of my sister or my parents, but they often repeated them to me when I was a little boy. And each time I would protest.
“Sister’s just being kind to Limin,” I’d say furiously. “How can you guys ruin their good names?”
They would always burst out laughing.
Everyone knew that Gao Limin was the son of spies. Why should Sister treat him so kindly? I kept turning this question over in my mind.
Once, out of earshot of my parents, I asked her. “Sister, Limin is the son of spies; why don’t you just steer clear of him like everybody else does? Aren’t you afraid people will say you’re politically naive and can’t tell a friend from an enemy?”
My sister smiled, pressing her finger on my nose. “Baowa, you are more radical than Secretary Liu of the commune. Limin’s only fallen on bad days. He is no class enemy, so we need not make a clean break with him. Don’t you remember Grandma’s instructions? Grandma—may she rest in peace—used to say we should try our best to help those who are down. She said that if we do something evil, we’ll be struck dead by lightning. Look, here in our village he has no friends, no family to depend on. Can we bear to see him suffer to death? Let them talk bullshit—there is nothing to be afraid of!”
All of a sudden I was enlightened.
To rumors and slander Sister just turned a deaf ear, and when all the other educated youths left the village, she cared for Limin more tenderly than ever.
I still remember the day Limin fell sick. Sister spent a whole day looking after him. She took flour, sesame, and pickled leek flowers from home and made him a meal of noodles. Noodles! What a rare meal! Keep in mind, we were rationed to no more than fifteen jin of wheat per head per year.
It was late afternoon. My sister remained in Limin’s cave dwelling because a high fever had beset him. By the time it was dark enough to light a lamp, Mama grew worried and went over to have a look. Instead of bringing Sister back, she herself stayed and joined in the watch for the whole night.
How nice the relationship between Sister and Limin! Who could say their relationship was improper?
However, it was not long before I came to understand what the gossipers actually meant by “improper.”
One late summer afternoon, the clouds in the western sky burned crimson like fire for a moment before they changed into ash gray. As daylight lingered, I snatched a few clothes and went to the river in front of the village. The clothes to be washed were not so dirty, but I am a boy who greatly loves cleanliness and beauty.
As I walked along the path above the threshing ground, I suddenly heard two people talking behind a pile of wheat straw. They were the voices of a man an
d a woman.
Driven by childish curiosity, I stooped down and sneaked to the back of the wheat stack. My goodness! The sight almost scared me out of my wits. The man and woman were none other than Limin and my sister. Limin was holding my sister in his arms and kissing her madly on the cheek! I shivered, stumbling and scrambling all the way back to the path.
I stood there, my heart beating violently as if it would leap out of my mouth. I wanted to run away at once—but then their voices came again, and I had to hear what they were saying.
“You’re a kind person, Xing’er. I love you. I’ll never leave you. I can’t live without you. Tell me that you love me, too. Promise to love me, OK? But no, for what . . . My parents have been in prison for six or seven years. It seems I’ll be marked as the son of spies for the rest of my life. Of course you’ll be afraid . . .”
“No, I’m not afraid. I can wait, even if you are jailed.”
Limin wept. Soon he spoke to my sister again.
“Xing’er, I’ll give you all I have! I’ll never forget it’s your love that comes to my rescue under these circumstances. But I lived in clover as a child; I am not sure I’ll make a good farmer in the future. You’ll be implicated . . .”
“I’m not afraid, Limin! I love you. You’ll always find me at your side—even if you become a beggar.”
Limin wept again, sobbing like a baby. My sister joined him—and obviously not out of sadness.
Oddly enough, tears welled up in my own eyes, and I wept too.
I fumbled my tearful way to the quiet riverside. In the dusk I stood motionless, eyes gazing at the distant, somber outline of mountains. Ages passed before I could really figure out what had moved me to tears. My dear sister! Limin was such a rotten piece of meat that even a fly wouldn’t take a second look. While everyone shunned him like a plague, you fell in love with him! Despite my vague understanding of the love between man and woman, my innocent, childish heart told me that my sister had done something right.
That evening, Sister invited Limin home and took the liberty of making jiaozi dumplings for supper. My parents, always thrifty, kept asking my sister: why eat such good food when it’s neither a festival nor a New Year’s Day?
Old Land, New Tales: Twenty Short Stories by Writers of the Shaanxi Region in China Page 1