Remembering that moment with Lai Shun, Darky felt intensely loyal to her husband. She would remain vigilant against the temptation of Lai Shun. But however beneficial her resolve was for Mu Du, thousands of miles away, for Darky, a young married woman with normal sexual needs, spending the night on a huge, empty bed by herself seemed unbearable and unfair.
She began to feel bad for rebuffing Lai Shun. He was a nice guy, after all. When she had considered remarrying, she could have married him. Marriage is unpredictable, she thought. A woman gives her heart and soul to one man or another. Once she marries, her husband can enjoy her at home to his heart’s content, while other men cannot possess her, even when her husband is gone. Is this what fate means?
The next time Darky saw Lai Shun, she was picking wild herbs on the ridges of the fields. She saw him at a distance and took the initiative to greet him. Lai Shun cheerfully returned her friendly greeting, and the two stood under the warm, early winter sun and talked at length. Lai Shun drew her attention to the briskly flowing water in the river beyond the fields: a myriad of blue flamelike points of mist soaring from the cliff on the other side of the river and the shimmering arc upon the mountains far away, barely visible through the sunshine and rain clouds. She felt part of a sweet dream, as if it were the first time she’d encountered the glorious scenery of the nearby mountains, though she had been born and raised there.
In time, Darky grew increasingly plump and smooth skinned. Her dark, solid muscle now turned delicate and soft. Very fine wrinkles appeared around the corners of her mouth like a Chinese pear-leafed crab apple. With the fifty yuan Mu Du sent each month, Darky bought a felt hat for her old father-in-law. She made herself a pullover with white flowers on a blue background, in which she looked graceful and poised. When she combed her hair smooth and went to the river with a basket of radishes, she would show a smidgen of her charms. Once, when she was strolling hastily along a path with her back to the golden rays of the sunrise, somebody watching her on the road called out, “Knockout!” She was so embarrassed that she instantly squatted down and froze. It was Lai Shun, and he continued his praise. He said that as she came over the hill, the morning rays magically surrounded her with a layer of red radiance, like fine fur around her body. “It was just like the divine light around the Bodhisattva!”
Her heaviest load became her father-in-law’s illness, which worsened day by day. They had plain food but no luxuries like meat, so she went barefoot to the ditch to dredge up river snails—the villagers called them “sea cows.” She scalded them in boiling water, gouged out a bit of flesh into a bronze spoon, and stir-fried it for her father-in-law.
One day, after lunch, the hunchback napped on the kang while Darky prepared pig swill by pounding the dried sweet-potato vines that grew atop the yard wall. Suddenly she heard Lai Shun calling her softly from the door.
She looked up to see him pouting his lips at the main room. He whispered, “Your old dad at home?”
Darky whispered back, “He’s taking a nap.”
Lai Shun leaped onto the threshold, stood under a grape trellis that crisscrossed a corner of the yard, and said, “That’s good. Or he’d treat me like a threatening tiger or leopard!”
“What’s up?” Darky asked.
Lai Shun gave no reply but wore a weird smile. The sunbeams peeping through the grapevines covered him with spotted shadows; he looked as naughty and funny as a little boy. From beneath his shirt he pulled out a frosted sack made from a scarlet castor leaf. “Today the school canteen gave us something special to eat—four cubes of this. I saw you scraping sea cows from the ditch and knew that you both needed a bit of fat in your guts. So I only ate one.”
Inside the castor leaf were three fat cubes of marinated pork.
Darky felt a warm current rushing through her heart. She received the gift with both hands, saying, “You’re just like a kid. I’m not hungry. You take them—I won’t.”
“Why not!”
“I’m already so plump,” Darky said. “The more I eat, the fatter I get. Take them for yourself. Don’t let the villagers see them and become envious!”
Lai Shun replied, “Then I’ll take one and you take two.”
Darky took one cube—a mouthful of grease—and wrapped the other up with the castor leaf, saying, “I will keep this for old Dad.” She’d hardly finished speaking when the hunchback stepped out from the doorway, eyes burning with fury. He let loose a torrent of abuse.
“I don’t care about one cube of meat! Mu Du’s woman, aren’t you afraid that the meat will be poisoned? Chuck it out!” He staggered over, seized the meat, and threw it to the ground, trampling it into a scrap of oily sludge. Then he jabbed his skinny forefinger in Lai Shun’s face and roared, “Lai Shun, you’re an indecent and despicable creature! Her poverty and starvation have nothing to do with you! And you have the nerve to come here and offer her meat when Mu Du is away? You dare to take advantage of my family? If you’re so shameless, go and take liberties with the mayor’s daughter!”
Lai Shun was blinded by the flood of abuse. He forced open the door and rushed out, frightened, while the old man continued to curse him angrily.
Returning to the room, Mu Du’s father sat feebly on the threshold, sweating heavily, his mouth full of foam.
Darky quickly bolted the yard gate in case the neighbors had overheard. After helping her father-in-law sit down on the bed, she tried to explain but soon returned to her room and sat in a trance. She blamed the hunchbacked old man for being oversensitive and making trouble out of nothing. She reexamined Lai Shun’s behavior closely and felt even sorrier to have made him go through all that.
A woman is blessed with a tender sense of pity, and she is pleased by affection and adoration from men; their sympathetic actions or considerate words often win her gratitude. On the other hand, if a man acts aggressively, like a rascal, the woman’s gratitude will soon vanish. But then a clever man pretends to have been wronged and humiliated—and then the woman’s tenderness returns as deep as the overflowing sea. Lai Shun was one of those clever men.
The following day, Darky purposefully went to the school gatehouse after school and comforted Lai Shun with a few words. Lai Shun wore a bitter look, so Darky stayed awhile and helped him scrub the clothes that were soaking in a basin.
That night proved a golden opportunity for Lai Shun’s cultivated sulk. It was neither cold nor damp; the moon shone brightly and the crickets chirped. Seeing that Darky treated him with sincere feeling, Lai Shun’s melancholy faded from his heart. He chatted freely with her, his words tiptoeing on the borderline between proper and improper. As he watched Darky scrubbing the clothes, the hair on her temples rising and drifting, creating a sweet and charming look, he couldn’t help himself; he gripped Darky’s waist with his two hungry paws.
Darky vainly struggled in alarm and cried, “Lai Shun! Lai Shun! Are you crazy?” Then she quietly fainted. Lai Shun laid her down on the small bed.
Sympathy is a woman’s strength and also her greatest weakness. That night, Darky’s sympathetic nature pushed her into a pit of grief.
When Darky became clearheaded, she watched the lamp in the room as its tiny wick went dim and nearly out; only a small blue flame glimmered faintly. She remembered that when her body had been laid down, this robust man did not treat her rudely like Mu Du; instead he handled her patiently, with tenderness. So she knew that he was either an old hand in dealing with women or a novice who had learned without a teacher—which proved him wiser than Mu Du either way. With a blank face, she rose from the bed and, without casting a glance upon Lai Shun, quietly left the room.
Lai Shun had no idea what Darky was thinking. Since he couldn’t find any proper words to comfort her, he watched her leave without a word.
On her way home, she heard the sound of his radio at high volume.
5
In April, Mu Du came home. He had always been dark in the face, but now he had become darker, like a ghost or a devil, the rough pore
s of his skin inlaid with coal dust that could not be rinsed away. His lambskin jacket had worn down to the cotton lining and had been left in that other world underground. However, on his cotton bag there was an extra large pocket. He put 2,120 yuan into the pocket, sewed it up tightly, and did not take off his clothes for several days on the train. From the train station he hitched a ride in a car and slept in an inn over a thousand miles away. Finally home, he carefully took out the money; after days of soaking in his sweat, it stank.
The villagers regarded Mu Du as a homecoming hero; he had earned a small fortune within a few months. He spoke grandly about his adventures in Tong Guan, as if he’d just come back from abroad. While money had made the credit agent’s son sink further into degeneracy, it made Mu Du crazy with excitement.
Only at night did Mu Du give a true account of what a dark and terrible underground world the coal mine was. A shift lasted for a whole day. He’d had to take thirty-two pancakes with him, chewing them like a wolf down in the pits. When he’d emerge from the mine, a crowd of coal miners’ relatives would be waiting at the entrance, staring expectantly for their loved ones; nobody ever awaited him. At first, the bright sunshine offended his eyes. He’d be unable to move and would have to squat there like a black spider or a blind bear, waiting for his pupils to adapt to the dizzying rays.
Mu Du learned to worship gods and bought a protective peachwood talisman. One time, the pits caved in. He had watched as a boulder fell and crushed one of his workmates to death. The blood burst out from the man’s head like spurting water.
All these details made Darky’s hair stand on end. Covering Mu Du’s mouth with her hand, she threw herself at her husband, embracing and gently warming his stinking breast, arms, and head, her face bathed in tears. She said not a single word about Lai Shun.
One day Mu Du came across the credit agent at the town fair. The agent asked jovially: “Mu Du, you made a fortune?”
Mu Du answered humbly: “Comparing me with you is like comparing a man’s lean pinky to his waist!”
The agent roared with laughter. “I didn’t hire you in my factory, nor would I lend you money. I wanted you to work on your own. Now you’ve really made a killing! How will you manage your two thousand yuan? Would you like to invest it in our credit cooperative and have your money produce sons and grandsons?”
When Mu Du told Darky about the creditor’s suggestion, Darky insisted that the money should be neither saved nor spent extravagantly. They should start a business with the capital.
Eventually they decided to start a restaurant. They began modestly, since Mu Du was good at nothing but hard labor. They found a small storefront at the eastern end of town with a rent of only forty yuan a month. A big willow tree stood in front of the restaurant. During the day, a signboard flapped like a flag amid the bright green of the thousands of thin branches dancing in the breeze.
The locals were not used to eating outside their homes in the daytime. However, the town was a hub of communications—so businessmen, workers, and passersby, coming and going from all directions, came to eat at the restaurant. The customers were gods. Darky and Mu Du would greet them with smiles, letting them take a seat on the stone stool beneath the willow and offering them a pot of tea while they awaited their meals.
The couple would light the fire and make noodles. Darky, her large, full breasts trembling beside the kneading board, rolled the dough as thin as paper. Before Mu Du brought the water to a boil, she would lean over the windowsill and chat with the customers.
The customers were well traveled and had wide experience. They liked to chat with women. They would make up fabulous stories—a mouse that gained human wit, or a wedding between a woman and a ghost. Darky was a good listener; her rich facial expressions showed interest, surprise, and joy. Her captivating face left a deep impression on the diners, and they talked about her everywhere they went. The restaurant’s business was booming every day.
The town’s nighttime culture centered on drinking, so the restaurant bustled with noise and excitement after dark. Liquor changed those men of the mountains into a different race. They cursed wantonly and drew Mu Du to join them in drink. Since Mu Du was not a good drinker, he would turn and shout to Darky for help—and thus Darky would join the company of men with strong arms, while Mu Du, tittering and smirking, urged her to imbibe. The drunkards would curse Mu Du, calling him a lucky dog for marrying such a good-looking and competent wife. Their envious taunts made Mu Du feel proud and vain; he’d boast about his macho prowess.
The restaurant became well known near and far. Many people had heard about Darky, and soon some of those good-for-nothings began to make a move on her.
One day, after the restaurant’s rush hour, Mu Du went home to look after his hunchbacked dad. Darky rinsed the noodle board and had just sat down to rest for a moment when her small ex-husband peeped into the restaurant from the gate. When Darky saw him, he assumed a mock-serious manner, pretending to nonchalantly scrape his fingernails with a nail file.
“What are you doing here?” Darky said. “Service is finished.”
The small man replied, “Don’t turn against me—I was your man once! So, you’re getting along quite well?”
Darky shrugged. “I won’t wave the stick.” She lowered her head and cleaned the board again. She thought he had left, but when she raised her head she saw that he was still there.
Halfway over the threshold, he looked attentively at something in his hand, asking, “What’s this?”
Without thinking, she replied, “What?”
The small man stepped in and opened his hand. It was a blue quartz digital watch; two black dots flashed continuously on its screen. “Want it?” the small man asked. “Take it!”
“Pooh.” Darky pushed him out of the gate, spat, and then closed the gate tightly.
Nevertheless, the credit agent often came to the restaurant and ordered meals to entertain his guests. Darky treated him in a professional manner—business was business. As for Mu Du, he would offer the agent a seat and some tea with a flattering demeanor. After dinner, Mu Du would put his own tobacco casket on the table and invite the agent to smoke. When the credit agent asked about their business, Mu Du would describe everything in detail, stressing that his small business was nothing compared to the agent’s income from his factories. Darky found Mu Du’s flattery contemptible and told him so. Mu Du replied, “After all, he is a big shot in our area!” Hearing that, for the first time in her life Darky spat in his face.
Mu Du and Darky continued to run their business successfully, and soon they were making a good profit. Unfortunately, the hunchbacked father’s illness became serious. After lying in bed for half a month without food, he came to the end of his time in this human world. The couple closed the restaurant for ten days, had a decent cry in mourning, and buried the dead man. Although the hunchbacked father had been impoverished, he’d been upright and unyielding in temperament throughout his life, and he’d died a clean death. He left no family obligations, except that now one of them had to watch the restaurant and the other the old house. Gradually Mu Du became indifferent to bedroom things.
Lai Shun continued to do odd jobs at the school—heating up the water, doing the cooking, ringing the bell. Whenever he saw the small man and the mayor’s daughter, happily hugging and kissing each other with soft murmurs, he suffered pains and itches as if he had a grain of sand in his eyes. (When the couple was on bad terms, they overturned desks and chairs and hurled things like pillows, teapots, and underpants out the window.)
The couple reminded Lai Shun of his affair with Darky. He was unable to stop thinking about her. When Mu Du’s father passed away, Lai Shun heaved a deep sigh in his innermost heart. He bought some touch papers and burned them in front of the dead man, weeping bitterly. Seeing him crying, Mu Du was deeply moved and wanted to help him up. But Darky stopped him, saying, “Let him alone—he needs to get it out of his system.”
Henceforth, Mu Du’s aversion to
Lai Shun disappeared. When Lai Shun stepped into the restaurant in his spare time, Mu Du treated him warmly, offering food and drink at mealtimes. Lai Shun was a bright, changed, and nimble man who helped the couple with the washing; he’d greet guests and offer them the menu. He was much better at attracting customers than Mu Du was.
However, Darky knew Lai Shun’s heart. The more solicitous he was, the more uneasy she felt. She delicately asked him to hold back from his busy activities at their restaurant. But the more Darky tried to restrain Lai Shun, the more Mu Du felt Lai Shun was a good guy, which in turn made Lai Shun work harder to please Darky.
In private, Darky told Mu Du, “This is our restaurant; we don’t need his help. Next time he comes, let him do nothing!”
But Mu Du replied, “He is so good-hearted to help us. If we dismiss him like that, it would create a rift and hurt his warm heart!” Darky had to keep her silence.
One hazy moonlit night, Darky hurried home from the restaurant, eager to go to sleep. With the yard door open, she could see new seedlings swaying in the breeze, shining darkly under the old Chinese scholar-trees outside the courtyard. As Darky sat in the yard, she heard a soft sound like that of a crawling snake. She looked around suspiciously and saw a dim, smoky light, red like a firefly. She rose with fright, asking, “Who’s there?” Lai Shun approached.
“You are sneaking around,” Darky said. “I thought it was a thief!”
Lai Shun said, “So you stay at home while Mu Du sleeps at the restaurant?”
“We have shifts, and he has to chop meat tonight. Where have you been? Are you just passing by?”
Lai Shun answered, “I’ve come from school especially to see you!”
“Take a seat. Tonight the moon is so beautiful. Have you been to your hometown recently? Do the cuckoos chirp?”
“Last night they chirped, and four days later the winter wheat will be filling out its ears. After that people will talk big about the coming harvest—the wheat this year is better than the last. But in my hometown up in the mountains, the wheat is just flowering; it ripens twenty days later than on the plain. So I can help you like a migratory farmer until it’s time to go harvest wheat!”
Old Land, New Tales: Twenty Short Stories by Writers of the Shaanxi Region in China Page 8