Hard Like Water

by Yan Lianke

  Exhausted, we were down to our last gasp; depleted, we dashed forward a hundred meters to greet the dawn. Our bodies were soaked in sweat, as if we had just taken a bath, and even though our bones were weak and our muscles were sore, our final climax couldn’t be stopped. Greeting the tide, panting crazily, standing at the front of the tide, with my chest toward the sun, I exerted all my strength. After all sorts of twists and turns, Hongmei was left injured or nearly dead. Looking up at the sky, she screamed in ecstasy, and when I heard this sound, my own attack call grew even louder. I originally thought I would gush out a second earlier, but Hongmei said that it would be best to come together. I replied that this time was most intoxicating and extraordinary, and that after this I would be happy to accept death. She said, we’ve done this thousands of times, but this is the first time we’ve had this kind of simultaneous climax, as though our bodies are entering the mist and our hearts are entering the clouds; we feel both drunk and divine, as our souls rise to heaven and our spirits spread in all directions. After making love tonight, the sweetness of life will be forever embedded in my heart, and this single encounter will supercede the hundreds of others that preceded it, just as these few seconds of extraordinary beauty appear to have lasted longer than centuries of ordinary life. After a night of clouds and mist, rain, dew, and fog, tomorrow morning we’ll return to prison, and with a smile we’ll face our warden. Even if we are sent to the execution ground, I’ll still be grateful to the revolution for the opportunities it has provided. Love is as strong as a tree, and revolution produces fat, like affection produces fruit. Love is an eye, and revolution is a fishnet, and only by pulling the headrope can you open the mesh. Love grants our revolution endless strength, and makes our will stronger. Revolution makes us genuine and sincere, and our love will outlast the heavens and the earth. There is no spear, nor is there a shield; and if there is no headrope, what is the point of talking about opening the mesh? The moon derives its brightness from the sun, so what would be the point of the sun if there were no moon? The glory of the revolution will illuminate thousands of generations and will shine in all directions. After cleaning up the mess and getting out of bed, we notice that the temple is now incredibly still and shrouded in mist. As the moonlight shifts, the tree shadows shudder, and the dew dripping resonates throughout the newly awakened world, as the light begins to appear in the eastern horizon …

  Ah …

  Ah …

  Aiya aiya aiya aiya …

  Finally, finally, the final moment is like a rope tied around my hands and feet. Finally, finally, the final moment is like a bayonet that impales my heart.

  Finally …

  Finally …

  Finally I turned and looked at Cheng Tianmin, and saw that he was still tied to the chair and the pillowcase was still stuffed in his mouth. But now the chair was turned with its back to us. This way, Cheng Tianmin could avoid seeing us. Eventually, however, he turned around and stared at the bed. His neck was as rigid as a green bamboo pole; his mouth was slightly open, even as his jaw remained firmly clenched. His eyes were opened wide and were staring so intently, without blinking, that two drops of dark blood had seeped out and pooled on either side of his nose, like ears of wheat hanging from a flagstaff.

  Finally …

  Finally …

  Finally, we walked out of the temple courtyard, hand in hand. At that point—when most of the people in the Chenggang production brigade were still asleep, and those who had worked were still lazing about in bed—we lit all the detonation fuses.

  An instant later, there was a deafening explosion, followed by a string of loud booms. Afterward, there was the sound of shattered bricks and tiles falling to the ground like rain. These sounds could be heard up to ten li away, and after they finally faded, Chenggang was engulfed in the sulfurous smell of explosives. The town fell silent, as though it wasn’t merely Cheng Temple and the memorial arch that had been demolished but rather the entire world that had disappeared.

  The revolution had already advanced to a new level. The revolution was now standing on the shore and gazing out to sea, where it could see the mast of a ship; it was a nearly mature fetus inside its mother’s belly; it was standing on a mountain peak looking in the direction of the rising sun that was about to illuminate the entire land. The sun came up, appearing red and bloody, as though it too had been detonated by the explosives. By this point it was no longer possible for us to make it back to the prison before dawn. Moreover, after we returned, we planned to reveal everything to the Party and not keep anything a secret. We were determined to act like an honest couple of respectable, pure, moral individuals who had freed themselves from vulgar tastes. We were determined to act like a couple who would be useful to the People. So, why did we need to rush back?

  Hand in hand, like a couple of newlyweds, we slowly walked through the beautiful dawn light, heading back to that prison on the outskirts of town.

  Chapter 13

  Coda

  1. Coda (I)

  We returned to the prison.

  By the time we got back, it was already midday.

  Shortly after noon, Secretary Guan sent someone to subject us to a round-the-clock interrogation, then quickly left the county seat. The reason he didn’t speak to us was because the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party sent an urgent telegram to all the nation’s cadres at the county level or above, reporting that the Chinese-Soviet border situation had become critical and that the enemy was deploying troops to our side of Zhenbao Island. Day and night, our leaders were sending aircraft, tanks, and artillery; they were deploying millions of tireless troops in anticipation of unifying the army and the nation; they were constantly defending against invasion; they were bringing together the nation’s troops to build a great wall; and they were shattering the ambitions of Soviet revisionism. Apart from needing to attend a coordination meeting regarding civil air defense construction and a mobilization meeting for militia training, Secretary Guan also had to oversee numerous issues relating to the sending of local troops to relieve a garrison stationed at the border. Given that he needed to attend to these matters of national security, he naturally had no time to come speak to us in person, so instead he sent his trusted colleague, Director Zhao, from the district security office. He engaged us in a conversation that was as long as the distance from the Balou Mountains to Hainan Island.

  We spoke for an entire day and an entire night.

  Hongmei and I (but mainly it was me) reported to him for an entire day and night.

  By the time we were finished, our mouths were dry and our lips were numb. We were utterly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse and sleep for three days straight, or even for weeks. Throughout it all, Director Zhao remained as still as a clay sculpture, staring straight ahead as though watching an extraordinary play, listening to a heartrending song, or reading a heroic poem. At this point, light from a new day entered through the window of that detention chamber and fell on my face, my mouth, and my eyebrows.

  A red sun rose in the east. We revolutionary youth didn’t fear heaven or earth, and instead all we feared was that you might elevate everything to a level of ideological abstraction. As long as you don’t elevate things, we’ll still be able to hoist the red flag; we’ll be able to sow the fields of Dazhai and brandish arms on Hutou Mountain. The revolution will continue moving forward, and the battle will continue to rage; for every square centimeter of land there will be a heart, and all of our hearts will be entrusted to the Party; we must hold our position without yielding, and attack without fear of death. If you insist on abstracting things, then the moon may rise but we won’t be able to see the light, the stars in the sky will remain dark, and the sunrise in the eastern sky will be obscured by rain. Revolutionary love becomes bullshit; revolutionary enthusiasm becomes a pool of excrement; revolutionary spirit becomes evil qi; revolutionary blood becomes night soil; revolutionary drive becomes feces; and revolutionary awakening nothing more than in
testines. It must be said that the revolution is following an anti-revolutionary path: its red fingernails have come to resemble a bad example, its straw sandals have become straw ash, its pants have become a disguise, its jacket is locked away in a chest, its cap has become a manure basket, its scarf has become shackles, and its face is oriented toward the west. The revolution is on its knees, the revolution has its back to the Party, the revolution’s red heart is making tears flow, the revolution can’t straighten its neck, the revolution’s head has become a target, and dark blood trickles out of its heart. Heaven and earth, revolutionaries are holding guns up to the heads of other revolutionaries. They’re not afraid of blood, and they’re not afraid of work. All they fear is that no one will be carrying the red flag of revolution. Heads may roll and blood may flow, but we definitely must let the sun rise in the east and shine bright. When the clouds part at dawn, the sun will be there, and after sunset, over the western mountains the moon will appear. If we look up, we’ll see the Big Dipper, and when we wake up, the east will be bright. We sacrifice without fear, as long as we can exchange it for the ability of people to live happily for thousands of years.

  After our report concluded, Hongmei was in tears, and Director Zhao sat to one side silently reflecting. By the time we had finished speaking, I was distraught. Director Zhao reflected for a while, then said, “Hey, keep going.”

  “I’ve finished.”

  “You’ve told me everything?”

  “Yes, everything.”

  “What time was it when you returned after blowing up Cheng Temple and the memorial arch?”

  “It was already noon. Everyone was already scouring the area looking for us.”

  “What was your motivation in voluntarily returning to prison?”

  “Revolutionaries are open and honest, generous and magnanimous. There is no need for them to pursue intrigue, resort to tricks, or go into hiding.”

  “Did you know that Cheng Tianmin died?”

  “Rain falls from the sky and flows across the earth. That is the good ending that he deserved.”

  “Cheng Temple was destroyed to the point that not even a piece of tile remains, and Cheng Tianmin was buried beneath the rubble. Did you know that not even a shred of his flesh was to be found?”

  “We didn’t know, we didn’t know. But so what?”

  “Now that you do know, what is your response?”

  “It’s very fitting that he was buried under Cheng Temple’s shattered bricks and tiles. That leaves behind revolutionary soil that will be good for sowing and transplanting seedlings.”

  “Gao Aijun, is there anything else you’d like to say?”

  “No, I’ve already told you everything. I put my entire red heart on display for the Party.”

  “Think carefully. Are you sure there isn’t anything else you want to say?”

  “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know. I wouldn’t hide anything from the Party.”

  “And you, Xia Hongmei?”

  “Aijun has already said everything I wanted to say. He has spoken for me, and his thoughts are the same as mine.”

  “Do you have any regrets about what you’ve done? Do you feel any sense of shame?”

  “I’ve devoted my heart and soul to the revolution, and I love the Party with all my heart. My affection for Aijun is a revolutionary affection, and my love for Aijun is a revolutionary love. I don’t regret the blood we’ve shed or the sacrifices we’ve made, nor am I heartbroken about the heads we’ve severed.”

  “Then … why is it that you can’t stop crying?”

  “I am crying because the revolutionary wave has crashed into the revolutionary skiff, and the revolutionary ax has smashed the revolutionary gun. When the enemies made us bleed, we smiled, so why should we be upset when revolutionaries send us to prison? The happiest thing in the world would be to die by an enemy’s gun, and the most sorrowful thing would be if one’s own parents were to develop murderous tendencies toward their own children.”

  “OK, then, this conversation will conclude here. The two of you have been honest and have been loyal to the Party. You haven’t concealed anything. I will give Secretary Guan a faithful report and recommend that he be lenient. I will endeavor to give you another opportunity to prove yourselves and to devote yourselves to the revolution.”

  “Thank you, Director Zhao. We will remember your affection, the Party’s love, and the endless concern that the higher-level organization has expressed on our behalf. If, one day, we are able to dive back into the revolutionary current, we will cherish and treasure that opportunity even more. We are willing to die for our principles and to pursue revolution, and we are willing to let ourselves to be smashed to pieces in order to establish a new chapter.”

  “Then I’ll go back, but before I leave I want to ask you one final question—which is also one of the key issues Secretary Guan sent me to discuss with you. I hope that you will answer me truthfully and fully.”

  “Director Zhao, please ask us whatever you want. We’ll tell you everything we know. We are willing to put our heart and soul on display for the organization to see, and let Secretary Guan assess them.”

  “OK, then, I’ll ask you: When Director Liu from the organizational bureau invited you to the county seat, wasn’t there a period of time when the two of you were left alone in Secretary Guan’s office?”

  I said, “Yes, there was.”

  Director Zhao asked, “Wasn’t it about thirty minutes?”

  Hongmei said, “Yes, it was about half an hour.”

  Director Zhao asked, “During that half hour, what did you do? Did you see a photograph on Secretary Guan’s desk? A photograph of a middle-aged female comrade dressed in a military uniform?”

  I said, “Yes, we did.”

  Director Zhao stared at me and asked, “Where is that photograph now? Did you take it?”

  I looked at Hongmei.

  Hongmei said, “No, he didn’t take it. Neither of us took it. He looked at the photograph, then handed it to me, and just as I was looking at it, Secretary Guan happened to walk in. The photograph had the sentence ‘My beloved wife’ written on it, and I was savoring that phrase. So, when Secretary Guan walked in, I became flustered and dropped the photograph.”

  Director Zhao asked, “Where did you drop it?”

  Hongmei said, “It must have fallen between the couch’s seat cushions.”

  Director Zhao said, “Think carefully. Are you sure it fell between the seat cushions?”

  Hongmei reflected for a moment, then said, “Yes, it must have.”

  Director Zhao stood up and seemed to be about to leave.

  “Do you know who the women in the photograph was?”

  Hongmei and I shook our heads.

  Director Zhao said, “You really don’t know?”

  I said, “I really don’t.”

  Hongmei added, “She looked very familiar, but I couldn’t place her.”

  Director Zhao said, “Given that we’ve already reached this point, I might as well tell you the truth. The woman in the photograph was our great leader Chairman Mao’s wife and comrade-in-arms, Comrade Jiang Qing, but the phrase on the photograph was written by Secretary Guan. If we can find that photograph, your revolution will be preserved. But if we can’t find it, and if some day it were to fall into someone else’s hands, not only would Secretary Guan lose his position, he might even lose his life. If Secretary Guan loses his position and his life, do you think that the two of you can be permitted to live? At that point there would be no need to think any more about revolution.”

  With this, Director Zhao left. With lightning speed, he rushed off to look for the photograph.

  We advanced further and further. We wanted revolution and longed for the struggle. The revolution is a ship, and we are its helmsmen; the revolution is a wheel, and we are its axle. The revolution is a harvest, and we are the soil. The revolution is the soil, and we are the golden harvest. The revolution is a battlefield, and we a
re warheads. The revolution is a tall mountain, and we are a mountainside performance. The revolution is flowing water, and we are water games. The revolution is a field, and we are horses and cattle. The revolution is the Gobi Desert, and we are an oasis. The revolution is an ocean, and we are a wave. Just as fish cannot survive without water, if we leave the revolution we will become reduced to rust. Just as horses cannot leave the fields, we cannot leave the revolution without losing our lives. Just as spring cannot exist without the sun, we cannot leave the rain and dew of the revolution. Revolution cannot proceed without flags and banners, and we are the banner bearers. Progress cannot be made without bugles, and we are the buglers. The train cannot advance without wheels, and we are its stainless steel axles. A ship cannot navigate without beacons, and we are a towering lighthouse. We long to pursue revolution. We want to raise the revolutionary banner and let the call to advance resonate over the enemies’ hilltops. Life will not rest, the battle won’t cease, running water will not stagnate, and rolling wheels won’t rust.

  2. Coda (II)

  Photograph, photograph, photograph …

  Photograph photograph photograph …

  Photograph photograph photograph …

  Photograph photograph photograph …

  Oh, photograph! Photograph, I’ll fuck your ancestors!

  3. Coda (III)

  We were honest and direct. We were revolutionary and noble. But they weren’t at all magnanimous toward us. We originally assumed that, since we were a pair of revolutionary geniuses who had made an extraordinary contribution to the rural revolution, they would therefore release us in the name of the revolution and permit us to return to the revolutionary crucible. Instead, they threw us into a real prison. (Comrades who are afflicted with acute revolutionary illness cannot see the revolution’s subjectivity, and instead focus on the potental power of anti-revolutionaries. The result will be a path of adventurism that will injure others, ourselves, and the revolution.) This is a lesson we learned through blood—a blood lesson. I was confined to a prison cell that was so small that apart from a bunk and a toilet, there was barely room for an ant. The room had thick brick walls and iron bars. At mealtimes food was passed in through an opening in the door, and if we needed anything we had to shout out through that same iron door. I spent eight months in that cell, or perhaps it was a year and eight months. I almost forgot the day, and even the season, when I was initially imprisoned, and I almost forgot Hongmei’s expression and appearance when we were separated. Apart from the tormented time I spent reading Chairman Mao’s collected works and the model operas stored at the head of my bed, in order to reform my thought, I spent the remainder of my time lying in bed and providing sustenance for lice and fleas. In the end, I almost forgot about heaven and earth, Soviet revisionism and American imperialism. I didn’t know what month or year it was; I didn’t know about the rapid change in the revolutionary situation, and I forgot how high the floodwaters of the revolution had reached. I realize that by the time waves hit the beach, they have already lost their power. The world was turned upside down, and the sun began to rise in the west. Every morning and evening you don’t look up at the sky, and every evening and morning you don’t look down at the earth. Instead, day after day, you just look forward to the possibility that someone might come to arraign you. You don’t look forward to the earth or sky, or to the possibility that there might be some news from Hongmei.