Hard Like Water

by Yan Lianke

  I said, “Hongsheng, wipe your hands. Don’t be afraid. Your dad is going to join the revolution.”

  The child shook his head and wiped his hands on his pants.

  I said, “What are you afraid of? Your dad is going to join the revolution.”

  We stepped into the temple’s outer courtyard. The ground of the outer courtyard was covered in twenty-centimeter-square bricks. The path from the Lattice House Gate to the Bearing Respect Gate was worn where generation after generation of Cheng descendants had previously walked, carrying incense and kowtowing to their ancestors. Tree roots were pushing up against the bricks and cracking them, and under the shade of the tree’s canopy the bricks appeared moist and black. The bricks were covered in a layer of green moss, which also grew in the cracks between them, making the ground appear old but sturdy, and full of the color and smell of the feudal ruling class. This gave visitors a desolate and mysterious feeling of oppression and exploitation. Holding my son’s hand, I walked along the brick path. He looked around, his small hand chilled by the temple’s cold air. On the east and west side of the courtyard there were the eaves and columns of the Spring Breeze Arbor and the Standing Snow Pavilion. At that point, the temple’s discolored dragons and ghosts, as well the painted lions and tigers, were all gazing fiercely at us, baring their fangs and brandishing their claws.

  I said, “Hongsheng, are you afraid?”

  He shook his head, even as his fingers grasped my hand even more tightly than before.

  I said, “Don’t be afraid. The day will come when your dad will destroy all of this.”

  He stared at me in disbelief.

  I said, “Without destruction, there can be no creation. When you grow up, you’ll understand.”

  The child stared at me in even greater confusion.

  As I look back many years later, I feel that was the most mysterious and moving period of my life. For years afterward, no matter how earth-shattering the love and hate that I subsequently experienced, it was never as marvelous or unforgettable as the feelings I experienced at that time. I never again felt the same mysterious and moving warmth and beauty that I felt when I was with her—a warmth and beauty that was like divine water dripping onto my heart. I have never had an opportunity to see the Great Helmsman, Chairman Mao Zedong, in person, but I imagine that even if Chairman Mao were to pour me a glass of water with his own hands, or even if Comrade Jiang Qing were to cook me a bowl of poached eggs, the resulting feeling would not be as deep and moving as what I experienced at that instant. The water he would pour me would still be merely water, and the poached eggs she would cook for me would still be merely poached eggs, but what could possibly compare to what I felt at that beautiful, miraculous instant? Regardless of how vast heaven and earth might be, they are still not as vast as the Party’s kindness; and regardless of how deep the oceans and seas might be, they are not as deep as the impact that instant had on me.

  I heard footsteps that made me think of moss blowing through the courtyard—moist and heavy, the footsteps fluttered leisurely in midair. This was because that temple was so empty, even desolate; there was no one but the former mayor, who would periodically go there to find some peace and quiet. Other than national holidays and the birthdays of the Cheng Brothers, it was very rare for anyone to step into that courtyard or even to be given permission to go inside. The clattering of footsteps sounded as though they were coming from at least two people. I looked up in the direction of the Bearing Respect Gate and saw that the footsteps were pitch-black, and there was a moldy smell wedged within them. The steps proceeded unevenly, and it seemed as though there was the sound of a voice chanting or singing.

  I looked up.

  I noisily looked up, and with a bang, I saw her. She was holding a three-year-old child in one hand and a three-layer aluminum lunch box in the other. She was still wearing the same pink synthetic shirt, the same velveteen shoes with aluminum buckles, and the same imitation army pants that she had sewn herself. Everything was exactly as it had been when I first encountered her three days earlier by the train tracks outside of town. Her face had traces of worry and exhaustion, which gave her delicate skin a sickly pallor. The Bearing Respect Gate was not as large as Cheng Temple’s main gate, but every brick surrounding the gate on three sides was emblazoned with a lotus pattern, and together they resembled a vine hanging down from the door frame. She was standing there, her mouth agape. One of her feet was positioned in the temple and the other was still outside. Between the lower edge of the doorway and her head, I could see that the grape lattice in the middle courtyard was not yet completely covered in leaves, but it was already shading the courtyard. Standing in the doorway, in that shadow, she looked like a painting. In those days, whenever you wanted to compliment someone’s beauty, you would always say they resembled a painting, and she really did.

  Needless to say, at the moment I saw her, she must have also seen me.

  Our gazes cut through the emptiness of the front courtyard, where a cluster of sparks were shimmering like the halo from a welding torch. The air in the temple grew still, as the sunlight that was seeping down through the canopy of the old cypresses also stopped waving back and forth. The aluminum lunch box she was carrying bumped against the left side of the door frame, chipping off a piece of paint, as some dust drifted down from the door frame onto her head. Her complexion turned dark yellow, and her lips tightened into a thin red and white line. My heart seemed to stop, and my hands became so wet with sweat a ship could have sailed through them. As we stared at one another, the crows were building their nests in the cypress branches overhead, and from the sky above them fell their songs and twigs from their nests. The air’s humid, musty smell assaulted my nose. The crows’ sharp purple cries pounded my ears and chest like falling roof tiles. I didn’t know then whether these cries were inauspicious or whether they were just ordinary crow calls.

  I looked up into the tree, and when I lowered my gaze again she was in the process of trying to squeeze by me with her child (it turned out she already had a daughter, though five days earlier she hadn’t looked at all like she could be a mother). Her footsteps were lighter than before, and her lunch box made a whispering sound as it swung back and forth. At this point I spun around to look at her, and my frozen blood began to thaw and surge into my head. I stared as she walked from the Bearing Respect Gate to the Lattice House Gate, then I quickly released Hongsheng’s hand and rushed toward her.

  I shouted, “Hey, hey!”

  She turned around and said, “Three days ago I was possessed. From now on, it will be as though you never saw me and I never saw you that day. We have never seen each other before, and definitely don’t know each other.”

  After saying this, she picked up her baby and stepped out of the temple and into Rear Cheng Street. She left like a thief sneaking away into the night. A sunflower faces the sun when it blooms, and its flowers bloom tirelessly. Tonight we’ll sow the seeds of friendship, and friendly feelings of revolution will flourish for ten thousand generations. I continued standing outside of Cheng Temple’s main gate until I saw her pass through the alley through which I had arrived, whereupon I turned and entered Center Cheng Street.

  This was my revolutionary love, my fiery love. It didn’t begin when I ran into her in front of Cheng Temple, but rather it had been born three days earlier. I knew our revolutionary love had not yet really begun. In front of Cheng Temple our love life had merely turned a new leaf. We had taken the first step in our Long March; the snowy mountaintops and grassy plains had not yet appeared. The revolution had not yet succeeded, and our comrades needed to continue to struggle. Hardship and adversity still awaited us.

  My son was standing behind me, shouting, “Dad … Dad!”

  4. A Revolutionary’s Longing

  Once you’ve eaten honey, you’ll realize that sweet potatoes are not really all that sweet, and they’ll never taste the same way again. After all, sweet potatoes are merely sweet potatoes, and they can n
ever become honey.

  I learned so much about the mysterious woman from visiting my mother’s home. I found out that her name was Xia Hongmei and that she was the daughter-in-law of the former mayor, Cheng Tianmin. Her mother’s family was from Dongguan, in the eastern portion of the county seat. Her husband’s name was Cheng Qingdong, and he and I had been classmates in primary school, though after that I had gone to the county seat for high school, while he went to a local teacher’s college. Later, I joined the army to help protect our homes and defend our country, while he returned to Chenggang after graduation to become a middle-school teacher. With this, our revolutionary and counterrevolutionary lives diverged.

  After the dozen or so families who previously lived there moved down from the hillock, they left behind several dilapidated thatch-roofed houses and a handful of elders who, for some reason or other, were determined to continue living up away from everyone else. When I reached my family’s home on the hillock, my gray-haired mother was shucking corn to feed the chickens. Seeing me, she immediately dropped the corn and took several steps in my direction. Then, as she leaned against a tree and gazed at me, her eyes filled with tears.

  I said, “Mother, I’ve come to get you and take you home.”

  My mother shook her head at me.

  I said, “If Cheng Guizhi dares to treat you badly, I’ll simply cast her off.”

  My mother stared at me.

  I said, “I’m a Party member and want to join the revolution. In the future, the Party branch secretary Cheng Tianqing will have to do as I say.”

  My mother gazed at me with a look of terrified confusion, as if her son had gone stark raving mad. Before the revolution succeeds, one will necessarily encounter confusion. This is a lesson that history has already taught us. I didn’t say anything else to my mother, because I knew she had a backward and ignorant side to her.

  I sat with my mother in the entrance to the courtyard of our family’s residence, and in the light of the setting sun I gazed down at the town of Chenggang. The canal that extended from Thirteen Li River was as straight as a chopstick. Water flowed through it year-round, and when it passed the base of the hillock behind the town, it resembled a sheet of silk hanging from the mountains. At that moment, I felt as though my eyes would be washed clean if I stared at the surface of the water, and if I looked at the temple’s front courtyard I’d see that the red paint Hongmei’s lunch box had chipped off the door frame was now still glimmering on the ground.

  I asked my mother, “What is her name?”

  My mother replied, “Her name is Xia Hongmei.”

  I said, “Where is she from?”

  My mother said, “She’s from the city. Her mother’s family is from the area just outside the city gate.”

  I reflected for a moment. Then, almost as if talking to myself, I said, “How could she have married into Chenggang? Why would someone from the city want to marry into this remote town? Everyone wants to move up in society, just as water flows downhill. Based on her appearance, it would have been more appropriate for her to have married someone from Jiudu.”

  My mother looked at me, as though trying to determine what I was thinking. Then, as though solving a puzzle, she slowly asked, “What do you expect her to do? Chenggang is, after all, a town. The fifth day of every month is market day, and the number of people who pour in is definitely comparable to the number of people who go to the market in the city. Furthermore, Qingdong attended college in the district, became a teacher, has a salary, and his father was mayor. And while Qingdong’s father was serving as mayor, what was Hongmei’s father doing? Her father was in town sweeping the courtyard, boiling water, and waiting on the mayor. So how could she not marry the mayor’s son?”

  This is how revolution is. Without tribute, there can be no foundation, and without sacrifice there can be no success. When Xia Hongmei married, she wasn’t yet twenty. Her skin was white and tender, and everyone for miles around regarded her as a local flower. She was gracious in her speech and dexterous in her work. In a single day, she could knit one of those foreign-style sweaters that people in the city wear. If a group of women surrounded her in the village, asking her to say a few words, she would sing them one of those songs that only people from the city know and dance one of the foreign dances she had learned at school. As effortlessly as a bean begins to sprout once placed in water or a branch begins to bloom once spring arrives, her desire and pride not only shaped her life but also led to the splendor and the tragedy of her fate with me.

  Mother remarked that it was too bad that Hongmei had become infected with this sort of revolutionary fever. Not only did Hongmei refuse to cook and wash clothes for the mayor, she even threw around the bowls and chopsticks he used. Mother claimed that the mayor had made Hongmei so angry that at one point she abandoned her husband and child and moved into the temple. Hongmei returned to her mother’s home in the city, where she stayed for a few days. After she returned, however, she reported that she hadn’t gone to her mother’s home but instead had traveled to Beijing to see Chairman Mao, claiming that he had even shaken her hand. Mother asked me, “Where is Beijing?” Then she answered her own question, noting that Beijing is located thousands of li away to the north. Could Hongmei have made it there if she had tried to walk? Moreover, who is Chairman Mao? He is an emperor, so could she even have been able to see him? Could she have shaken his hand? Mother added that after she returned to the town, whenever she saw anyone she would always show them her hand—explaining that this was the very hand that Chairman Mao had shaken. She stopped using that hand to hold her chopsticks, and even stopped washing it—explaining that the warmth from Chairman Mao’s hand still lingered on her own. Mother asked, “Wouldn’t you agree that she is possessed?” She added, “Isn’t it clear that she’s gone mad?” Mother said that the mayor had told Cheng Tianqing to ask the Chinese medical doctor to come see her. Then three young men held Hongmei down, as the doctor inserted more than twenty acupuncture needles into her head and hands. Hongmei trembled for a long time, but when they removed the needles she was no longer possessed. Instead, she cooked when she was supposed to cook, fed the pigs when she was supposed to feed them, and when she was supposed to go to the temple to take food for her father-in-law, she did that too.

  Perhaps I was also possessed? Perhaps the revolution had left me possessed? Perhaps Xia Hongmei had left me possessed? Perhaps I was possessed by both the revolution and by love? Beginning from the day when I saw Xia Hongmei in Cheng Temple, her voice and figure kept appearing in my mind. As soon as the loudspeakers in the streets began blaring, regardless of whether they were broadcasting songs or model operas, my body would become as agitated as though my shoes, my pant legs, the seat of my pants, and even my shirt had caught on fire. Then that scene by the railroad tracks outside of town would once again replay in my mind, making it impossible for me to fall asleep. This onslaught left me listless, unable to sleep and uninterested in eating. The revolutionary ardor sliced me open as easily as a blade cutting through a knot. One night, as I was trying to extinguish the passion that consumed me, I pinched my leg. Then I pinched my penis so hard that it started to bleed, but I still couldn’t get that memory of Hongmei out of my mind, nor could I extinguish the memory of what had happened by the railroad tracks.

  The disease spread to my vital organs and proved impossible to cure. I knew that the world had no savior, that there was no immortal or emperor who could save me, and therefore I had no choice but to save myself. Saving myself was my only choice. During the day, I wandered around the village, and would loiter in front of Xia Hongmei’s house on Front Cheng Street, hoping to catch sight of her. And if I couldn’t see her, I would deliberately leave Chenggang. Therefore, I got up one morning and went to the countryside to visit my aunt’s family and didn’t return to Chenggang until after dark. When my uncle’s family built a new house, I spent two days feverishly laying bricks. When I returned to town, I found myself unable to sleep, and in the middle of t
he night I couldn’t help climbing onto Guizhi’s body. I climbed on top of her because, to me, she was Xia Hongmei. I caressed her head, her face, her short and stubby toes, and her stinky toenails. At this point she turned on the light and, still half-asleep, looked at me and asked, “Gao Aijun, do you want me to get pregnant again?”

  I replied, “I want another child.”

  She said, “Then stop pawing me and come here. Do you think you can get me pregnant just by stroking me?”

  She didn’t know that I immediately regretted this as soon as I said it, nor that as soon as I heard her reply, the fire in my loins immediately faded. It had been only a month since I had returned to Chenggang, and my desire for Guizhi had already completely faded. But at that point I was merely a pig, a dog. I wasn’t a determined revolutionary, and I couldn’t help doing things for my wife. I gritted my teeth as I climbed on top of her, and she turned out the lights. Indeed, whenever we did it, she would always turn out the lights. Moonlight and an evening chill entered through the window. After the light in the room was extinguished, there was a yellowish burning smell. There was also a greenish spring scent, as well as a musty, mildewy smell of sheets that needed to be aired out. Hongsheng and Honghua were sleeping at one end of the bed, with Honghua’s arm resting on Hongsheng’s chest. Guizhi went over and covered them up again, then she turned out the light and sat on the edge of the bed and, like before, removed her underwear and placed it at the head of the bed. She pulled back the sheets, lay down, and said, “Come here. Do you want me to have another son or another daughter?” I replied that either would be fine. She said, “Come here. Why are you still standing there?” I replied that I felt a breeze, so I went and hung a piece of clothing in front of the window, blocking the moonlight, and another one behind the window screen. She said, “Come here. Don’t you want another child? Honghua can already run around. I want another child.” I had no choice but to slowly make my way toward the bed. If I didn’t go over, it seemed like her gaze would cross hills and mountains to peer into my heart—allowing her to glimpse that unexpected encounter that I had had with Hongmei on the edge of town. But at that moment, my desire abruptly receded, leaving my body as cold as if a bucket of frigid well water had been dumped over my head. My member became as limp as a blade of grass covered in frost. I wanted to tell her to forget it, that we could do it another day. I wanted to tell her that I thought I was ill, and although I had just been erect, a cool breeze had made the tree topple over and the birds fly away. I celebrated my collapse, and the fact that I wouldn’t have to climb atop her while thinking of Xia Hongmei—thinking of Hongmei’s figure and complexion, imagining her breasts and cleavage, her fresh face and short hair, and her ten persimmon-like red toenails. After the tree fell, the monkey returned to its den, and that night I would be able to sleep peacefully. But at that moment, just as I had fallen asleep, a loud sound startled me.