Hard Like Water

by Yan Lianke

  I shouted as though I were fighting a battle, with a heroic spirit capable of conquering mountains and rivers. I saw that my questions were as strong as iron and steel and were hurtling toward Cheng Tianqing like bombs. He stood under the memorial arch’s right-hand column, appearing as though he wanted to say something but was at a loss for words.

  I hollered, “Cheng Tianqing, answer me! Are you an enemy, or are you a member of the Chinese Communist Party? Whom do you view as the enemy, revolutionaries or capitalists? Everything you are doing is already at odds with the Party’s objectives, and if you don’t pull back from the brink, you’ll end up crushing your own foot with the stone you are trying to carry. As Chairman Mao said, ‘If you treat your comrades as your enemies, you will place yourself in the position of the enemy. If you are determined to place yourself in the position of the enemy, you shouldn’t be surprised that this son-in-law of yours won’t recognize you as a relative!’”

  His complexion went from green to yellow.

  I hollered, “If you aren’t prepared to answer my question, then you should tell your crowd to withdraw.”

  He didn’t tell the crowd to withdraw. Instead, he turned to them while vigorously gesturing at us and issuing his distinctive command. I thought that crowd of commune members—carrying their poles, vegetable cleavers, and wooden clubs—was about to charge at us, but to my surprise, when he shook his head, everyone simply put down their cleavers, clubs, and poles, then moved to either side of the memorial arch. Next, six or seven men and women in their seventies and eighties emerged from the crowd, including Cheng Xianzhu’s grandfather, Cheng Xianqing’s grandfather, Cheng Qinglin’s grandfather, and Tian Zhuangzhuang’s grandmother. There was also Cheng Qing’an’s maternal grandmother, who always dressed and ate like a young woman. They were all unarmed but maintained an impassive expression that left it impossible to determine whether they were frightened or whether they in fact shared their grandchildren’s revolutionary fervor. Their wrinkles and gray hair flying in the morning sun became their most fearsome weapons. They walked over unsteadily from the memorial arch, tearfully calling out their grandchildren’s names:

  “Xianqing, quick, come home with your grandfather. This isn’t a revolution. By being here, you are smashing your ancestors on the head with a hammer.”

  “Qinglin, your grandfather is begging you to go home. No matter how poor we might be, we can’t try to earn work points by knocking down the memorial arch.”

  “Qingju, Qinghua, go home with your grandmother. If you want to knock down this memorial arch, you should first bury your grandmother beneath it …”

  There followed a wave of tearful cries from these grandparents, after which the many mothers and fathers surged forward. Calling out their children’s names, they repeated what the grandparents had said and, in the blink of an eye, shattered the revolutionary procession. They collected the hammers, shovels, and poles their children and grandchildren had been holding. With everyone shouting, there was complete chaos below the memorial arch at that moment. Shards of sunlight that had been shattered by the crowds drifted down, and the spittle from everyone’s shouts was flying through the air. The road was piled high with the yellow footprints and red voices of comrades on their way home, and there were countless poles and ropes lying on the side of the road.

  That was how our procession dissolved, like water absorbed by the soil. These first flowers of spring shriveled up when faced with an unexpected frost.

  That was how Chenggang’s first revolutionary movement died a premature death.

  Hongmei was standing on the side of the road, and holding her hands up to her mouth like a bullhorn, she shouted, “Comrades, comrades-in-arms! We cannot leave. Everyone must stay behind! Our relatives are not the enemy, but we also cannot let ourselves be their captives. Wouldn’t it be the ultimate humiliation if we were defeated not by true class enemies but by our own mothers, fathers, grandmothers, and grandfathers?!”

  I ran over and stood on a stone hitching post in front of Cheng Tianqing. Shouting even louder than Hongmei, I proclaimed: “Comrades-in-arms, comrades! Increase your discipline, then the revolution’s success will be inevitable. Everyone must increase their discipline! Everyone must stay here, and you mustn’t rest until you have achieved our objective! Everyone should wipe their eyes, so you can all see what we are doing today. Our actions today have ramifications for the fate of the Party and the nation. Mao Zedong Thought and feudalism, capitalism, and revisionism are having their first encounter here in Chenggang and have entered into a raging battle. Accordingly, I ask that everyone not leave. If we can persevere, we can still achieve victory!”

  Our shouts echoed back and forth beneath the memorial arch before radiating outward. Above the sky, below the earth, in the road, in the fields, in the villages, in the streets, and out toward the distant Balou Mountains—everywhere was filled with our bright red shouts, with our ardent enthusiasm and fervor. Some young people had freed themselves from their parents’ grasp and were trying to stay behind to complete the mission, and it was at that point that Hongmei’s husband, Cheng Qingdong, emerged from the crowd and rushed forward, grabbing her like a madman.

  Hongmei struggled to free herself, and in doing so she accidentally knocked off her husband’s glasses and ripped a piece of his clothing. I saw her hollering, partially out of desperation and partially to summon me. I jumped down from the hitching post, but just as I was about to go rescue her, a snowy-white, blood-red slap materialized on my left cheek.

  My mother suddenly appeared before me.

  “Get out!” she cursed, “If you dare make any more trouble, I swear I’ll bash my brains out against this memorial arch!”

  … .

  That was how the Battle of the Memorial Arch ended in defeat.

  Chapter 4

  Overcast Skies

  1. Revolutionary Thought

  I didn’t find Xia Hongmei on the banks of Thirteen Li River. We had originally agreed that after destroying the memorial arch, we would burn all the village’s images of local deities and other idols and then meet up on the banks of Thirteen Li River after lunch, to celebrate our victory together.

  But the Battle of the Memorial Arch ended in failure.

  Before the revolution even had a chance to mature, it had been smothered in its cradle by feudalism. The wind sweeping through the tower heralds the storm in the mountains. As I headed toward the banks of Thirteen Li River, the other villagers gave me an odd look, as though I were possessed. I saw the young revolutionaries who had marched with me that morning. Now they were each holding a rice bowl while sitting on a stone in front of their house, and upon seeing me they either lowered their heads and started eating or else immediately turned away. I don’t know if they didn’t dare look at me because they felt embarrassed by their cowardly behavior or whether they—like their parents and grandparents—now thought I wasn’t worth a second glance.

  I assumed they must have felt embarrassed, because the blood rushing through their veins is revolutionary blood.

  Thirteen Li River originates from deep in the Balou Mountains and goes from west to east. The river is thirteen li long, which is why it’s called Thirteen Li River. It comes nearest to Chenggang three li south of the village, where it forms a shallow shoal on its way to Yi River. This shoal is what the people of Chenggang call “the riverbank.” On that particular day, no one knew how depressed and discouraged I felt while standing on that riverbank. Unable to find any trace of Hongmei, I remembered a verse that all of you surely know by heart:

  You lost your husband Liu,

  I lost my wife Yang,

  Both souls have ascended to heaven.

  I ask the deity Wu Gang what he has brought,

  And with both hands he pours us

  A cup of osmanthus.

  Then I wept, and pearl-like tears clattered noisily onto the stones beneath my feet.

  There wasn’t a soul to be seen on the riverbank, and as the ri
ver noisily rushed past, countless gold and silver scales of afternoon sun appeared on the water’s surface. In the middle of the river there was a dam made of bowl- and fist-size stones, which raised the water to the level of my shins. The dam made some of the greenish-blue water flow northward along an irrigation canal located behind Cheng Temple. In this way that water was able to fulfill its destiny. As the rest of the water continued toward Yi River, it left behind a continuous white and bright sound that transformed the riverbank’s stillness into a broad, deep expanse. Overhead, a couple of silver-white waterbirds were flying back and forth, and as their feathers fell through the air they spiraled and glittered in the sunlight, eventually landing on the water and flowing downstream. There were also countless tiny carp, some of which had already entered the birds’ mouths but struggled out in midair and dove back into the water like knives, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Other than myself, there was no one to be seen along the entire riverbank. The first revolution had ended in failure, and it would have been excellent if Hongmei had shown up at that moment, as we had agreed. She was my only revolutionary comrade and my only reassurance. She was my only supporter and defender. She was my thought’s sustenance and affection. She was my blood, my flesh, my spirit, my very essence.

  I walked back and forth along the riverbank, repeatedly looking in the direction of Chenggang. When the revolution is advancing, we have boundless enthusiasm; but in moments of sorrow, there is only the endless sound of the river flowing. After I became fatigued and my eyelids grew heavy, I selected a stone from a high bank and sat down on it.

  I don’t know how long I sat there.

  As I was sitting there, I proceeded—without actually realizing what I was doing—to engage in an activity that tainted the reputation of the revolution.

  I masturbated.

  It was only after I finished that I finally awakened from my stupor. I slapped my own face, then rinsed my hands, washed myself, and glanced over at the sun—which was now sinking below the horizon. At that point, I had no choice but to return to town.

  The next day, after recruiting a child to take Hongmei a note that said, “Let’s meet at the agreed-upon location,” I went back down to the riverbank to wait for her. When I finally realized that she wasn’t coming, I recklessly proceeded to her home, which was constructed in a courtyard arrangement found only in northern Chinese rural communities. The courtyard was paved with bricks that had been baked to a greenish-red color, and the corner posts and roof beams of the surrounding tile-roofed houses were all made from high-quality bricks. The borders of the doors and windows were tightly packed with brick inlays, and although the other walls were made of simple adobe, they were nevertheless covered in a mixture of clay and lime that gleamed in the sunlight. While this courtyard was not as imposing as that of Cheng Temple, the fact that Hongmei’s family lived in a courtyard complex at all—at a time when most of the town’s other houses were simple tile- or thatch-roofed buildings—revealed her family’s position and status. The entire courtyard was filled with the smell of sulfur from freshly baked bricks and tiles. I was deeply envious of the former mayor, of Cheng Qingdong, and of this house. I thought that I should be the one who owned this house and courtyard. When I arrived, Cheng Qingdong was under the window of the tile-roofed house on the east side of the courtyard, brewing some Chinese medicine. He poured a large dose of medicine into an earthenware pot, added some water, then used his hand to gently push down the leaves floating on the surface. Next to the window was a bamboo basket half full of medicinal dregs. I walked into that courtyard of my dreams and let the odor of sulfur drift past my nose, then detected the faint medicinal scent that lay underneath it. Standing in the middle of the courtyard, I hungrily took a whiff.

  “Cheng Qingdong, is Hongmei home?”

  He turned around and gazed at me coldly.

  “She returned to her mother’s home.”

  I stared in surprise.

  “When did she leave?”

  He turned to put the medicine pot in the window.

  “Yesterday, after lunch.”

  My heart lurched.

  “When will she return?”

  He placed a paper lid over the pot.

  “I don’t know.”

  I suddenly had an urge to go into the former mayor’s house and sit there for a while. I wanted to enter Hongmei’s room and sit on her bed. I wanted to gaze at the table and the chair in the mayor’s house and at Hongmei’s bedstead, the legs of her bed, the pattern and color of her sheets, the size of her pillow, the fabric of her pillowcase, together with any hair or sweat she might have left behind on the pillow—I wanted to devour all of this. But as I stood in the courtyard, it seemed as though Cheng Qingdong didn’t even see me. After he had finished brewing his medicine, he pushed the dregs into a pile in the basket, then collected up the remainder that had fallen to the ground. I knew he was deliberately ignoring me because he was terrified of revolutionaries. Non-revolutionaries are always terrified of revolutionaries. I saw that there was a shovel leaning against the wall next to that window. The former mayor didn’t employ any workers, and neither he nor his son were workers. Neither of them belonged to the proletariat, and yet, leaning against the wall was a shovel with a sharp, rounded blade. It occurred to me that I could use that shovel to chop Cheng Qingdong’s head open like a watermelon. Instead, however, I simply stood there and said, “Qingdong, how many years has it been since we last saw each other?”

  The hand with which he was cleaning up the dregs paused in midair.

  “Aijun, you should have stayed in the army. Why did you have to return?”

  I replied, “To pursue revolution, of course. I returned to pursue revolution.”

  He said, “How can Chenggang accommodate a revolutionary like yourself?”

  I laughed and said, “If it can accommodate Hongmei, it can accommodate me.”

  He didn’t understand what I meant by this. He stared at me for a moment, then looked down and continued cleaning up the dregs.

  I asked, “Who’s sick?”

  He replied, “No one is sick.”

  I said, “Then who is this medicine for?”

  He said, “For me.”

  I said, “What’s wrong with you?”

  He said, “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m perfectly fine.”

  I said, “If you’re fine, then why do you need medicine?”

  He said, “As a supplement.”

  I didn’t ask anything else. At that point, I very much wanted to sit down. I wanted to go inside and sit down. I looked around, and my gaze came to rest on a bright red chair in the doorway of the main room.

  I said, “Qingdong, we’re former classmates who haven’t seen each other for years. Why don’t you invite me inside to sit down?”

  He replied, “Gao Aijun, you should leave. My home cannot accommodate a revolutionary like yourself.”

  My face began to burn, and I said, “Are you really turning me away?”

  He replied impassively, “I’m not turning you away. I’m simply asking you to leave.”

  I once again glanced over at the gleaming shovel, then walked out of that beautiful house that was filled with the smell of sulfur and Chinese medicine.

  I emerged from Hongmei’s home feeling dejected and even depressed. How could Qingdong have failed to invite me to sit with him? How could Hongmei have left without even saying goodbye? How could she, as soon as the revolution encountered a slight obstacle, have simply retreated to the shelter of her mother’s house? How could she have forgotten about our scheduled rendezvous?

  I spent the next three days in bed.

  I fell into a deep funk and a dark depression. I felt that the revolution’s future was bleak and my own life’s prospects were uncertain. I felt like I was a skiff someone has abandoned in a vast ocean. But one day, at lunchtime, just as I was feeling most hopeless, Hongsheng began shouting outside, then ran up to my bed.

  “Father, father! The
re’s a letter! There’s a letter for you …”

  The letter was in a leather envelope, on the back of which was printed, in red characters, the phrase, LONG LIVE THE GREAT PROLETARIAN CULTURAL REVOLUTION! On the front was my name and address, and in the bottom right-hand corner was an empty space where the sender’s name and address ordinarily would be. That was a letter from heaven, a letter from beyond heaven. It was a beacon of light brought by an angel to cheer up my dark spirits.

  Aijun,

  First of all, I salute your struggles on behalf of the revolution. Forgive me for having left without saying goodbye. I’ll explain everything after I return. I’ll return to Chenggang on the 26th. The dawn is before us, and the revolution will surely proceed from darkness into the light. I sincerely hope our revolutionary friendship will last forever!

  Hongmei, 5/22

  This was truly an angelic beacon illuminating my dark soul. Not only was Hongmei going to return to Chenggang and to my side, but more importantly, she wrote that she hoped our revolutionary friendship would last forever! And what is a revolutionary friendship? A revolutionary friendship is precisely the conjugal love that Hongmei and I shared. Like husband and wife, we would gaze at each other and caress each other when no one else was around. I would disrobe her one button at a time, as though ambling through one of the city’s gardens. I would shift my attention from her hair, forehead, nose, mouth, and neck, to her breasts, stomach, and thighs. I would carefully inspect her most hidden areas and would slowly caress her body. She would accept my gaze and my caresses, and I would of course accept her attention, her touches, and her demands. From this friendship we drew the power to struggle, to discuss revolutionary countermeasures, and to plan revolutionary action.

  I read the letter three times in a row.

  When I noticed that Hongsheng was watching me, I gave him ten cents and told him to go to the store to buy some candy.

  For lunch, I asked Guizhi to make me a bowl of noodles, and for dinner, I asked her to fry me some scallion pancakes.